Reckless (Blue Collar Boyfriends Book 1) (14 page)

He deserved whatever punishment Christy set in motion. He only hoped it wouldn’t ruin his relationship with Haley or end his career with
Jibb’s.

When he finished, Christy grunted, his face unreadable.

“Been looking for you,” he said after the most uncomfortable minute of silence Derek had ever endured. “What’s your plate number?”

Derek told him.

Christy fished a file folder out from a drawer and slid a carbon-copy yellow sheet partway out. He gave the sheet a quick scan before tucking it back in and slapping the folder on his desk. “Fits the partial we got.” He leaned back in his swiveling chair. “What took you so long to come forward?”

Perspiration tickled under his collar and down his spine. His face burned with shame.

“Denial,” he said. “Cowardice. Fear of consequences. Shit.” He shook his head, hating himself. He met Christy’s eyes with difficulty. “Was anyone hurt?”

Christy
nodded, his face grim. “A woman. Driver of the red Honda you described.”

His stomach contracted with remorse. The driver had b
een a woman. Somehow that made it worse. In his mind’s eye, he saw the red Honda rolling, the crushed roof, the airbag. In an instant, he relived the terror he’d felt when his dreams had dumped him behind the wheel of that little car. “How bad?” he forced out.

“Bad.”

His stomach hit the floor. He wanted to disappear.

Christy cleared his throat, making Derek look up through eyes itching to tear up. The hard lines of the lieutenant’s face smoothed, and Derek wanted to tell him to lose the sympathy.

He didn’t deserve any.

“Hurt bad,” Christy repeated. “But not dead. That’s good news for you. You don’t want to be up on vehicular homicide charges, especially when you fled the scene.”

The blood drained from his face. He hadn’t thought of it as fleeing the scene. Shit. That made him feel like an even bigger asshole.

“You’re looking at reckless driving and felony hit and run
—I know, I know, you didn’t actually hit anyone, but that’s the standard charge for non-fatal road rage in California. It carries a year sentence or up to a ten-thousand-dollar fine.” Christy’s voice was calm and even. Derek wished he would yell. “But your record is spotless. Depending on the judge, you might get off with a one-thousand-dollar fine and court-ordered anger management counseling. That’s a best-case scenario, mind you.

“Sit tight. I’ll get you processed and on your way. You’re not going to be leaving the state, now, are you, son?”

“No, sir.” His voice sounded far away and hollow.

When Christy got back, Derek watched him enter some things in his computer and asked, “Can you tell me about the driver of the Honda? Am I allowed to know how
bad—” He swallowed, unable to say the words
hurt
or
injured
. Saying them would make it feel too real. So would knowing how bad the damage was. He changed his mind. He didn’t want to know.

He waited for Christy’s answer.

“Let me do some homework,” the lieutenant said, “and I’ll let you know what I can about her condition later today.”

Derek walked from the East-Redding Precinct with lea
den feet. He’d thought turning himself in would ease the knot of guilt in his stomach, but knowing the damage he’d caused with one reckless decision made the guilt sit even harder and heavier.

The back of his head met the headrest in his cab with several hard thumps.
“Derek, you shithead.” He stared out his windshield for a while. Should he go to work? He’d never felt less like pulling the site together for a walkthrough, but seeing as he wasn’t in a holding cell like he’d been prepared for, he figured he might as well make himself useful. No sense in wasting a sick day when he probably ought to save them up for his court date and whatever might follow.

He glanced at his console clock. Almost ten; he could get a full day in if he stayed ’til six.

He started the truck and drove to the site. At least at work, he wouldn’t dwell on how deep in the crapper his life was about to sink.

Hot yellow sun pushed at the blinds. As much as Cami wanted to ask to have them opened so she could see the cheerful sky outside her hospital room, she knew her pounding head would never survive it. Even with pain meds dripping steadily into her veins, the headache drained all her strength and most of her good spirits. She could tolerate the soft glow from the bedside lamp now that her mother had draped a scarf over it, but that was about it.

Sound was another story. Fed up with the rise and fall of scratchy music, like a never-ending Zydeco record played through overhead speakers, she’d written out a request on her notepad.

Please ask the patient next door to turn down their TV.

Her nurse had responded with,
There’s no one in the next room, and the TV’s not on
. It turned out she had tinnitus, or ringing in the ears, a common side-effect of head trauma and often exacerbated by pain meds. She had her TV turned up to moderate volume, not really listening to the programming, but appreciating the way it distracted her from the music in her head.

Her mother’s voice helped, too. She sat by the bed, chatting away about normal life stuff, reading to her out of waiting room magazines, commenting on whatever was o
n TV, and generally doing her best to get Cami to smile.

She appreciated the effort, but it was a lost cause. Maybe if they made a pain med for heartache… She missed her imaginary Derek so badly she found herself longing at times to go back into the coma and find him again. Just for one more night.

One more night of being free from her insecurities and guilt. One more night of loving a man who looked at her like she was his salvation. One more night of basking in the confidence she couldn’t help but feel in his strong arms.

One more night, then another, and another…and she r
efused to follow that train of thought. She was glad to be conscious, even if it meant leaving behind a wonderful dream. If she repeated it to herself enough, surely she’d start believing it.

Her mother stopped talking and stood up.
Cami followed her gaze toward the door to find a female police officer striding into her private room.

The officer’s
uniform fit snugly over a plump figure. She wore no makeup except a swipe of pink lipstick interrupting the rich cocoa color of her skin. She carried herself with straight-backed air of sternness, but laugh lines around her mouth showed she smiled often. She held out her hand to greet Cami’s mother.

“Good morning, folks. I’m Officer Anita Reynolds, Redding PD. You must be Mrs. Arlington,” she said, shaking her mother’s hand. Meeting
Cami’s good eye, she pulled a laptop out of her messenger bag. “And you must be sleeping beauty, aka Miss Camilla Arlington of the famous I-5 spectacular. We heard you woke up middle of the night. Glad to have you back. Now that you’ve had a few hours to get your bearings, I’m here to take your statement. But only if you feel up to it. I’m not one to push if you’d rather I come back this afternoon or even tomorrow. Up to you.”

She set the computer on
Cami’s lap and flipped up the lid. A blinking cursor waited for her to type.

“In case your writing’s as hopeless as mine,” Officer Reynolds said.

The bright white of the blank document made Cami’s eyes water and her head throb.

Hello. Now is fine
, she typed.
Pls make screen darker. So bright
.

Officer Reynolds complied,
then tactfully suggested her mother take a cafeteria break. “I find it’s best if statements are given confidentially,” she said when they were alone.

Though she never would have admitted it,
Cami was glad. She loved her mother, but felt lighter with her gone for a little while.

Over the next half hour, she answered questions about Friday as best she could. Yes, she remembered the white truck cutting her off. No, she hadn’t gotten a plate number. No, she didn’t remember anything once her Civic started rolling, at least nothing that would interest Officer Reynolds. There had been terror and pain, but the order of events was a jumble she hoped never to think about again, let alone describe.

When Officer Reynolds was done, she said, “Thank you, Ms. Arlington. Now, do you have any questions for me?”

She thought about it.
Yes. What happened to the white truck? My mother mentioned the
police are looking for the driver. Does that mean what I think it means?

“Mm-hmm.
Hit and run. Even though your car never made contact with the truck, that’s the charge. Reckless driving and felony hit and run, to be precise. Off the books, we call it aggressive driving or road rage.” Officer Reynolds leveled a grim look at her. “We were looking for him, alright. Witnesses gave a partial plate. But wouldn’t you know it, the man comes strolling into the station this morning to turn himself in.” She slapped her knee in pleased astonishment.

How could someone cause an accident and just drive off? That was pure selfishness and rudeness. At least the person eventually came forward. That was something.

What’s going to happen to him?

“Up to a year in prison or a fine of ten grand.
That’s the max. Too bad it’s not more, you ask me. I don’t hold with no aggressive drivers or cowards who flee the scene.”

Cami
nodded in agreement, wincing with pain. Then she remembered it had probably been her timid driving that had pushed the driver over the edge to begin with. The thought of some guy going to jail or putting his family into financial hardship because she was a terrible driver made her feel awful.

Who is he? Why did he turn himself in?

She imagined some harried husband rushing to get home from work or to pick his kids up from school. Maybe he’d been too embarrassed to turn himself in. Maybe he’d feared what his family and coworkers would think of him. She understood the fear of disappointing people. She wouldn’t excuse it, but she could understand it. It only took one mistake to destroy a family.

Enough sympathizing with the man.
His aggressive driving had put her in the hospital.

Part of the fault was hers, and she was paying for that part. She supposed he should have to pay, too. It seemed only fair when she put it like that.

“Jerk’s name is Derek Summers.” Officer Reynolds’ voice slammed into her with the force of an airbag. “Who knows why he came forward. Attack of conscience, I guess. Too little too late, you ask me.”

Officer Reynolds was saying something about her havin
g her day in court, but Cami’s ears were hearing words spoken a lifetime ago.
I caused the accident… I really hurt somebody.

Reality clicked into alignment with those impossible nigh
ts from her coma. Could it be? Could Officer Reynolds’ Derek Summers be her Derek?

A storm of hope and hurt crashed over her, leaving her ravaged and raw.

Derek might be real. But if he was, then he’d cut her off and left her bleeding and hurting in the middle of the freeway. If she acknowledged his existence, she would also have to acknowledge her part in the guilt haunting his eyes and his dreams. He’d cut her off, yes, but she’d chosen to put herself in a dangerous situation. She wasn’t cut out for the demands of freeway driving, plain and simple, but she’d gotten on anyway, tossing her no freeway rule out the window for someone else’s approval. Once again, she’d hurt someone she loved with her terrible driving.

It became unbearable trying to mesh the Derek from
her coma with the one Officer Reynolds had just dumped in her lap, so she stopped trying. It was all a big coincidence. Derek was a common enough name.

Despite her resolve to dismiss this Derek from her life, she couldn’t help remembering the serious, sweet man who had earned her love with his honesty and passion. She typed
I want
to see him
before she could stop herself.

Officer Reynolds read the screen and both her eyebrows
disappeared beneath her bangs. “It’s a free country, Ms. Arlington. You can ask to see him, and he can agree or disagree.” While she spoke, her hip emitted a buzzing sound. She pulled her pager off her belt and scowled at it.

Recovering control of her digits,
Cami reached for the keyboard, but Officer Reynolds snapped the lid shut before she could type
Never mind.

“That’s my cue,” Officer Reynolds said as she stuffed the laptop in her bag. “Here’s my card. Have your mother call me if you have any more questions or if you remember anything else. I’ll get back to you on that request. You take care, Ms. Arlington.” She walked out the door.

* * * *

Derek pulled into the job site, grateful for the distraction of work. He found Fred in the trailer, hunched over his desk with the phone to one ear, a walkie-talkie to the other, and a puddle of spilled coffee dripping off a pile of papers onto the floor. Fred looked up as he growled a series of commands into the talkie. When he saw Derek, his head fell back in relief.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fred said into the phone. “It’s okay, now. Summers showed up.”

He threw himself into his day, working through lunch
to get the site ready for the walkthrough. He’d only paused long enough to text Deidre to find out how Haley was doing and read her response:
Wouldn’t even know she’s hurt
. The little bit of good news almost took his mind off the constant pull in his stomach from that frigging lump of guilt.

His personal cell rang around one. Not recognizing the number on the display, he headed to the unoccupied locker room to take the call. When he answered, Lt. Christy’s voice greeted him with, “Got info for you on the driver of the Honda.”

Derek paced while Christy told him her name, Camilla Arlington, her age, twenty-six, and that she was in serious condition at Mercy Med and had recently woken up from a coma.

“Had part of her skull removed to accommodate swelling in her
brain. When the swelling goes down, she’ll have surgery, and they’ll screw that piece of her head back in. Could take weeks to get to that point.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened.

“Officer who took her statement gave her your name,” Christy said. “Woman deserved to know who cut her off and put her in the hospital, don’t you think?” The words lashed into him, even though Christy didn’t go out of his way to rub his nose in the mess he’d made. The lieutenant plowed on without waiting for an answer. “She asked to see you. Can’t talk on account of the breathing tube they got her on, but she can write on a pad of paper. And she can understand just fine, which is a miracle considering her major injuries were to the head. I’ve got an officer free at three tomorrow if you want to meet up here at the station and have an escort over to Mercy Med.”

His mouth went dry. He thought about saying he had too much
work to do to break away tomorrow. It was the truth, since tomorrow was the last day before the walkthrough. But if showing his cowardly face would help the woman—Camilla Arlington—in any way, he knew he had to make it work.

He nodded his agreement,
then realized he was on the phone. “Okay,” he said. “Three o’clock tomorrow.”

That gave him a little more than twenty-four hours to work up the courage to face the consequences of his anger. Or flee the country and see if there were any good construction jobs in Mexico.

* * * *

Cami’s
mother returned with an herbal tea and a scone. “How did it go with the officer?” She settled into the visitor’s chair, eyes and ears pricked for exciting new information.

She thought about lying and saying she was too tired to talk about it, but her mother deserved better from her. Accepting her fate, she picked up the pen and briefly summarized Officer Reynolds’ interview, leaving out Derek’s name.
He wasn’t
her
Derek, so she didn’t know why she couldn’t bring herself to write out his name. It just felt easier to skip over that detail.

“Well, I’m glad that man turned himself in. I hope they throw the book at him.”

Cami stared at the wood-grain pattern of her rolly-bedside table.

“Aren’t you glad, sweetheart?” her mother tapped crum
bs from her scone onto a napkin before eating it. “You’ll have justice for all this.” Her gesture included all the machinery and monitors surrounding the bed. Her demand for justice reinforced Cami’s suspicion she had never really forgiven
her
. If her mother wanted justice for what Derek Summers’ mistake had caused, then surely she wanted justice for what Camilla Arlington’s mistake had caused, the loss of her husband, a rift through their happy family.

She shrugged her uninjured right shoulder in answer.

Maybe this was her justice. Maybe her mother would truly be able to forgive her now that she was suffering physically from a car accident. Other than a painful but superficial case of whiplash, she hadn’t been hurt in the accident that claimed her father’s life. Technically, he hadn’t suffered any serious injuries either. He’d died from a heart attack triggered by the stress of the accident. But his lack of injury had never lightened the weight of Cami’s guilt. And she doubted it lightened the weight of blame her mother laid at her feet. It certainly didn’t for Cade.