Page 82 of Whispers and Wildfire
“Luke, it’s me,” I said through the door. “Don’t get up. I’m just going to see if it’s unlocked and poke my head in to make sure you’re all right.”
I tried the knob. It turned, and I eased it open a few inches.
“Luke? Are you okay?”
“What are you doing here?”
Worry burst through me like a firecracker at the hoarse sound of his voice. I flung the door the rest of the way open. “What happened? How bad is it?”
He lay on the couch, covered with a blanket, except for one leg sticking out. His face was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m fine. Why are you here?”
That was an excellent question. Why was I there? “I heard you were in an accident.”
“Heard from who?”
“Annika. We were at the park, and she got a call from Theo, and he said you were in an accident last night and are mostly okay except bruised ribs and I’m realizing as I say that I didn’t need to rush over here and I look like an idiot right now.”
He chuckled a little, then clutched his side. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“I wasn’t trying to make you laugh.”
“I know. Can you just shut the door?”
Instead of stepping through it, saying goodbye, and closing it on my way out—which would have been the reasonable thing to do—I stayed inside and shut it.
The living area was bare—total bachelor pad. He had a couch and an armchair facing a TV on the wall. The coffee table had a water bottle sitting on it and not much else. At the back was a kitchen, and at a glance, it looked clean. A large sliding glass door led to the deck I’d seen on my way in, and the view of the forest with the mountains rising in thebackground was gorgeous.
“Since I’m here, do you need anything?” I asked.
“No. I should probably eat something eventually, but the thought of food makes me want to puke right now.”
I walked over to the armchair and lowered myself down. “What happened?”
“I wrecked my car.”
“The Chevelle?”
“No, one of my other ones.”
“Dare I ask how?”
He closed his eyes for a second. “Racing.”
“Racing, where? Out at that track that closed? They still do that?”
“Yeah.”
My lips parted, and for a second, I wasn’t sure what to say. He’d started racing when we were in high school, and it had always been a sore spot for us. We’d had more fights about it than I could count.
But strangely—especially for me, because I was rarely one to shy away from an argument—my gut reaction wasn’t anger. I had no desire to tell him how stupid it was or give him an I-always-told-you-so speech.
Only one question came to mind. “Why?”
He seemed as surprised as I was. His eyes cracked open, and he moved his head to look at me. “Why?”
I nodded, and my voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Why would you be out there racing?”
