The Art of You

Present Day

The fire raged, destroying everything it touched as I ran into the mouth of hell.

“Alfie,” I called out, choking on the smoke. “Matt, are you⁠—”

“Wake up. Hudson.”

“. . . must be . . . a nightmare.”

“At least he’s speaking. That’s a good sign, right?”

“He’s moving, too. He keeps ripping off his oxygen mask in his sleep, so that . . .”

At the sound of the familiar voices, the fire extinguished. The building was no longer ablaze, and I wasn’t in Afghanistan. Instead, I was walking alone through a pitch-black room. Where am I?

“Hudson, can you hear me?”

Alfie? No. No, that’s not you. Matt?

“Hudson, you’ve been in an accident. Can you hear us? Do you know where you are?”

I didn’t recognize that voice.

But wait . . .?

I slowly blinked, opening my eyes. My left one hurt a hell of a lot more than the right. Like I’d smacked my face into a wall or a—steering wheel. The memories from what happened surged forward, making me gasp for air as I tried to sit but failed. My body wasn’t just weak, it was . . . drugged?

My eyes squeezed closed again. While my mind tried to drag my ass back to that inferno in Afghanistan, I did my best to stay present in the room and on the bed.

“I’m here with you.” The soft voice that came next shocked my eyes open, ripping me from the past with violent force.

“Bella?” I rolled my head to the side, searching her out. The lights were too damn bright. “Are you okay?” My hand went to my chest at the pressure there. My heart would fly free on its own accord and leave me a pile of useless limbs on the bed if I’d hallucinated her voice and she wasn’t really with me.

“I’m next to the bed. I’m covering your hand with mine now. You feel me?”

Bella.

I about choked out a sob hearing her voice, knowing she was alive.

Chills racked my skin, and I began to shudder.

“What’s wrong? Why is he trembling so hard?”

It was her again. My Bella. No. Not mine. But . . .

“I’ll up his pain meds, that’s probably why he’s⁠—”

“No, don’t,” I begged, reaching into thin air, worried this was all in my head and I was somewhere else. The land of fucking Oz for all I knew.

“You’ll be in pain,” the same someone who’d wanted to drug me warned. “And the shaking won’t stop otherwise.”

“I don’t care about the pain.” My eyes were closed again. When did that happen?

“Go get the governor and tell him his son is awake.” Another voice I didn’t recognize. “Do you know who you are?”

“The Tin Man without a heart.” I laughed. Fuck. The doctor doped me up anyway, didn’t he?

“Easy on the drugs. He said he doesn’t want more.” A deeper voice hit my ears that time. Italian.

“Constantine?” I muttered, trying to piece my broken thoughts together.

“Yeah, it’s me. Alessandro and the others are out in the hallway.” Constantine’s grave tone pierced through the hazy fog as my teeth stopped chattering. “They’ll only let a few of us in here at a time. A nurse is getting your dad now.”

“And where’s Bella?” Did I imagine her voice, or was she really there? “Is she okay?”

“I’m still here. Holding your hand. I’m now touching your face. Can you feel me?” Her words had me finally opening my eyes, and I found heaven staring back at me in physical form.

My throat tightened with regret at the sight of a light purple mark around one of her eyes. “You’re hurt.” She was in a hospital gown, her right arm in a sling. Panic set in, and I tried to sit.

“Easy there.” She rested her good hand on my chest, encouraging me back down.

My head hit the pillow, which felt no different than asphalt. “But your arm. Your eye.”

“I’m not that bad, I promise. And my arm isn’t broken or sprained; it just hurts. My arm must have been bent awkwardly when the bag went off. The sling removes some of the pressure.”

I didn’t believe her, and she must’ve read the look in my eyes because she pulled her arm free from the sling and moved it around to prove she was telling the truth. She couldn’t exactly hide the wince when securing it back in the sling, though.

“I’m mostly just sore. Banged my head on the window, which is why I think I lost consciousness. You took a far worse hit than me since your airbag malfunctioned and didn’t deploy.”

Malfunctioned?

“Trust me, Enzo will look into that when he’s allowed near his Porsche.” There was a hell of a lot more to that statement from Constantine. I assumed he’d expand on his words at some point.

“Just glad it was mine that was defective, not yours.” If anything had happened to her, the devil could go ahead and have his way with my soul. I’d have no need for it. “I’m so damn sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” A few tears fell. “We were hit. This is not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who should be sorry. I—I distracted you.”

I reached out for her hand, finding my arm mummified, wrapped in gauze. It didn’t feel jacked up, but . . . Right, I used it as a shield to protect my face since my bag didn’t go off. Of course, I knew I’d have reached out to guard Bella instead if she hadn’t had the cushion. Self-preservation would come second to her.

“You’re sure you’re good?” I asked again, ignoring her ridiculous apology that she didn’t owe me.

She nodded, and at her silent answer, Constantine spoke up. “Izzy slept a good eight or so hours. Once she was cleared, she wouldn’t take no for an answer and marched right into your room.”

Yeah, I could see that. So stubborn.

“But if I had concerns about her health, I’d strap her ass down, and you know it.” Constantine was also stubborn, and that was the only thing reassuring me right now she really was okay. Like hell would he let her be standing next to me if not.

But why were the two of them staring at me like the dog they never actually owned died? My head and face may have hurt like a motherfucker, but I knew them well. Drugs or not, I could read them, and something else was wrong. Far worse than bruises and a defective airbag. “What’s going on?”

“You had a few nasty hits to the head, so we took precautions to ensure there was no internal damage. You’ve been asleep for about twelve hours, but the scans show you’re in the clear,” the doctor said from somewhere in the room.

I wiggled my toes, ensuring I had feeling down there and that my spine hadn’t been jacked up. While it hurt to test everything out, I could move just fine. So, I was pretty sure I’d be able to walk out of there when the doctors eased up on the drugs.

“How much do you remember after . . .?” Constantine let that last word hang heavy in the air, as if it were supposed to mean something.

After what? After we were hit and flipped over? “I remember pulling onto the road. Someone came around the corner ahead of us, and . . .” Then what? I shut my eyes, trying to grab hold of the memories. “I think we were hit again. Maybe two more times.” What the hell happened after? “Who did it? Do the police have them in custody? Drunk driver, or just driving too fast in the bad weather?” But that wouldn’t explain the multiple hits. The drugs didn’t dull my headache, and the harsh pain in my skull made it difficult to try and recall more. I was forgetting something important.

“Finally, you’re awake.” That voice definitely belonged to my father. If I were the Tin Man, he was behind the curtain pulling all of New York’s strings. Only, in all reality, there were still others behind the puppet master.

Why am I thinking about this?

My dad skipped right over concerns for me. Not that I expected it, but he didn’t even offer an, I love you. Instead, he cut straight to questions. “Do you remember what happened after the accident?”

There was that word again. After. It spun around in my head, searching for somewhere to land. “Why don’t you tell me since I clearly can’t recall.” I opened my eyes and stole a look at Bella, curious how much she remembered. She lightly shook her head, letting me know we were on the same hazy page of don’t-know-shit.

“Don’t feel bad. It’s not uncommon after an accident to forget some of the details, especially with such a traumatic hit to the head and face.” The doctor seemed to care more about my overall well-being than dear old Dad. “You both blacked out long enough to give everyone a scare. Really is a miracle you two aren’t in ICU, or worse.”

Or worse? No, when it came to Bella, “or worse” was an unacceptable and illogical concept I’d never tolerate.

“Now that you’re awake, I’d like to run a few more tests, though,” the doctor said. “While he’s talking coherently and moving just fine despite the accident and pain medicine, I should⁠—”

“Tests will have to wait,” my father cut him off, barking out orders like the man was his campaign manager instead. “I need to talk to my son alone.” He rounded the bed and planted himself between Bella and Constantine. Suit jacket gone, red tie loose around his neck, he’d gone almost ghostly pale.

“I’m not leaving.” Bella remained glued to my side, standing firm in her decision to stay.

I could barely look at her without feeling gutted. I didn’t save her from injury, which meant I must not have reacted quickly enough or we wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.

My pain wasn’t just taking a back seat at the sight of her injuries. It was in another country, on a train heading for I Don’t Give A Damn About Myself land because I almost lost her.

“No, the tests can’t wait.” Constantine’s declaration shocked my father, pulling his eyes from me. I doubt even the governor could go head-to-head with my best friend. “Hudson needs time to wake up before we start talking more about what happened.” He may not have been blood, but he gave all the fucks my dad didn’t seem to give about me.

“And what exactly happened that I’m not ready to hear about?” I tried to sit. Still no luck. Because Constantine was right. The drugs were being obnoxious, and so were my apparent head injuries.

“Run your tests,” Constantine bit out the command, ignoring my father’s order, eyeing someone else in the room, presumably the doctor.

“My brother’s right. He needs time.” Bella gave my father her mopey expression: sad eyes and a downturned bottom lip. To say she’d used that expression on me a time or two, turning me to putty in her hands, was an understatement.

“Fine. I’ll hold off the Feds and make some calls.” My father had his phone to his ear before leaving my side.

The doctor attempted to shine a light in my eyes, and I waved him away. “Wait.” I focused on Constantine, too curious to be left completely in the dark before I was given that time I supposedly needed first. “Just tell me why you look like someone died.”

Constantine squeezed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Because last night, someone did.”