41. Jeanie
41 /
jeanie
High-Speed Beef vs. Dexter’s Midnight Run
“One minute, the boys and I were at the VIP party having fun, and in the next, the little misfits disappeared. Then Freddie left a cryptic message on my phone saying something about Dex and the ER. And now I can’t get through to anyone, not even the hospital,” Mom says.
I glance at my phone and find several missed calls. They’re from Mom, Freddie, and an unknown number.
“What else did Freddie say?” I ask as we rush down the hall.
“Something about being unconscious and a dance club.”
My heart drops through my stomach and my insides collapse. In all his rage over Roman and me, did Dex finally flip out and go full-on mutiny?
My thoughts race to the worst possible scenario. I think of the times I teased Dex about not being rebellious enough. I thought the joke was harmless. He’s too good a kid. Then I consider the changes he’s made this week. He’s really come out of his shell.
What have I done?
Mom and I race through the lobby to the exit.
“How can I help you, miss?” the doorman asks.
“Taxi? RideShare? We need to get to the hospital,” I say quickly.
“On any other night, it wouldn’t be a problem, but with the Wine Festival ...” He gestures to several groups of people standing around, glaring at their phones. “They’ve been trying the RideShare app for an hour. I’ve got a guy on Collins Avenue waving at taxis, but no one’s biting.”
“What should we do?” Panicked, I turn to Mom.
Her unsure expression mirrors mine.
“I know!” An alternate plan strikes like lightning. Before Mom can respond, I take off running.
“I’ll catch up,” Mom calls out as she teeters behind me on heels.
In the hotel’s parking lot, the Beefmobile sits under a beam of light like an illuminated billboard. I find the hide-a-key and race to the door. My hands shake as I try to match the key with the keyhole.
Scrambling inside, I click my seat belt and turn the ignition. The Beef roars to life like a spectacle on wheels. Exterior lights kick on. Interior disco lights flash. On the roof, speakers play the shop’s commercial jingle on a loop like an ice cream truck.
Mom climbs into the passenger side and slams her door. “Go!” she yells.
Gripping the wheel tightly, I press the gas. The Beef lurches, driving over the median, taking out several large bushes. Horns honk as I cut off the flow of traffic on the main street and then perform a very tight U-turn.
Mom screams and holds the ceiling as the Beef tips on two wheels for a terrifying moment before dropping back on all four tires with a crushing blow. My foot slams the accelerator, and rubber burns in our wake.
In this frantic moment, there are no speed limits, etiquette for horn usage, stop signs, laws about weaving, or improper ways to flip the bird to other drivers. That’s Mom’s specialty.
When we reach the hospital drop-off, I drive over the curb and slam on the brake. I kick open my door and jump down onto the sidewalk while the Beef is still running.
“I’ll park it,” Mom says as she moves over to the driver’s seat.
I’m already pushing through the revolving door when she backs out.
“Dexter Benton?” I clench the hospital info desk, breathing heavily.
The woman’s eyebrows pinch as she studies me. I understand her wary glare. I’m still wearing the pina-colada-spattered party dress and my hair twist is unraveled from my sand-wrestling match with Roman.
“I’m his mother.” I hold out my driver’s license as proof.
With my identity confirmed, she types the info into her computer. “Room 236.”
The distance feels like it takes a lifetime to traverse. My hand grips the door’s frame to his room when I make visual contact and try to catch my breath.
What I expect is the worst: tubes looping over his body and down his throat, machines beeping in the background, his skin and bones bruised, bloody, and broken.
Apparently, I’ve watched too much TV.
Instead, Dex sits upright in bed, completely alert and eating a cup of pudding. There’s no blood, no tubes, and not even one beeping machine.
“Hey,” he says, sounding drained.
I let out the breath that’s been lodged tight in my throat since I learned where he was. Seeing him in one piece allows the tension to release like a deflating balloon.
My mom-mode activates. “You know I was joking when I told you to try drugs, right?”
“I didn’t try drugs,” Dex says.
“Stop. I’m trying to be a good mom since I’ve been a crap-tastic one. I never thought you’d actually do all those terrible things.”
“What terrible things?” He looks confused.
“I’m a pusher. I might as well have been your drug dealer.”
He sighs. “You’re not a drug dealer.”
“Then what happened?”
I hang my purse on a doorknob and collapse onto the bed beside him. I touch his shoulder, and his gaze falls to his empty pudding cup. His hair slides off his forehead, revealing a wound at his hairline.
“That must have hurt.” I cringe. Careful not to touch it, I push back the loose strands of hair to examine the nasty red-and-purple beach-ball-sized knot. It’s bad.
“We ditched Grandma at the VIP party, and then we snuck into a real club. I was dancing and having fun with my friends. I wasn’t paying attention, and I slammed my head into the edge of a metal spiral staircase. I got knocked out.” He shrugs.
“Are you saying you glow-stick-danced yourself into a head injury?”
He nods.
“No drinking? No zombie drugs that make you eat faces?” I ask.
Dex smiles. “Come on, Freddie would look terrible without his face.”
“That would be disturbing.” I harrumph.
“But I did sneak into an over-twenty-one club with my underage friends.” He waggles his brows, proud of himself.
“You little punk.” I cup his baby face and we share a conspiratorial grin.
My kid’s still the same. Mostly.
I’ll wait to break the bad news to him when we get home. He’s still grounded for ditching Mom and sneaking into an adult club. I may be a cool bad mom, but I’m not that cool or bad.
“Mom, I don’t want you to get back together with Dad.”
My hand falls away, and I tuck the sheet tight around Dex’s body.
“You know, you’re very brave and smart. Not for smashing your head on a staircase, that part was epically clumsy,” I say teasingly.
Dex laughs.
“You’re smart for realizing your parents’ relationship wasn’t working. You’re brave for wanting us to move on. You’ve been right about a lot of things, and I should have listened. The thing you may not realize, though, is you and Grandma are the most important people in my world. Got it?”
“Tell me more,” he says, grinning.
“As for Dad, he’s kind of a shart-cracker.”
“Continue.” Dex’s lip quirks.
“We’re never getting back together,” I say honestly and squeeze his hand for assurance.
“Good, because I like Nathan. He’s way cooler.”
“Nathan is way cooler, but that may not work either.”
“You don’t like him?” Dex sets his pudding cup on his food tray.
“Oh, I like him. Way too much. Like, way.” I gesture like I’m wrapping my arms around the entire world. “But with that amazing feeling comes the unknown. That part scares me.”
“I feel exactly the same,” a deep voice chimes in.
With a stiff back, I turn slowly.
Nathan stands in the doorway with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. My heart pounds like a bass drum at the sight of him here.
He’s never looked as sexy as he does right now, sun-bronzed skin against his white T-shirt, and his hair tangled in a sultry and sleepy way that makes me want to rake my fingers through it. But most importantly, he’s here for my kid when he should be on his way to LA for the biggest career break of his life, and that’s the sexiest thing of all.
I swallow and stand. Our gazes meet.
“Look who I found in the lobby,” Mom says as she squeezes past him.
Dex smirks like he knew Nathan was listening all along. With a vending-machine coffee cup in his hand, it’s clear Nathan was here before me, and he’s already up to speed on Dex’s midnight adventures.
Mom kisses Dex on the cheek. First, she checks over his body. Then, when she doesn’t find anything wrong, she play-smacks his hand.
“What’s that for?” Dex asks.
“That’s for cock-blocking me. Chef Gordon and I were hitting it off when I got Freddie’s message.” She pouts and flops into a big chair beside his bed.
“Better luck next time,” I say.
“You think I left without his number?” She looks at me like I’m crazy.
“We can double-date. I got his daughter’s digits.” Dex waves his phone. They high-five like wingmen.
“Good job, team.” Nathan claps and approaches the bed. “But let’s keep the rave dancing to a minimum from here on out.”
“There won’t be time for dates or dancing. After your wedding duties, we’re flying home,” I say to remind Dex.
“All good. I want to start writing my cookbook first anyway. It will impress Eileen. ”
Nathan and Dex exchange one of their secret handshakes. Dex’s features light up when Nathan asks him details about this new cookbook project.
Their easy interactions shouldn’t surprise me. Since the moment they met, Nathan’s shown interest in Dex’s hobbies, complimented him, and advised him on life. Not only has he been a good influence, but he came here in the middle of the night when Dex needed him most. Meanwhile, Dex’s father isn’t even here.
Nathan shows up.
This new evidence forces me to reconsider my initial worries. Nathan’s not anything like Roman or my dad. He cares. He makes the effort, even after I gave him an easy out. He didn’t give up. Instead, he dug in hard.
I burrow into my thoughts at this revelation.
When Dex and Mom share notes on their evening, Nathan leaves the conversation and approaches me. He stops a few feet away. I glance away, already regretting my earlier outburst.
“You’re flying home after the wedding?” Nathan asks.
“Sophia doesn’t need me anymore with Natasha here.” I shrug. I’m still coming to terms with the fact I’m a little more than annoyed about it.
He scrunches his face like he’s not sure.
“What?”
“I didn’t want to bring this up right now, but ...” Nathan peers over his shoulder like he’s confirming Dex and Mom are still occupied with their chat. They are.
He removes his phone from his pocket and taps the face. He tips the screen my direction, sharing a video. He presses play and everything unfolds.
It’s the beach at night. The hotel with the party lights of the luau glows in the background. At the center, Roman makes out with a woman. The biggest difference between our kiss and this one? This one is fully reciprocated, and with someone I don’t recognize.
The pig.
“Who the heck is that?” I grab the phone and press replay .
“I think it’s the woman Roman was fighting with.”
“The florist?” My gaze widens.
“ If she’s the florist,” Nathan says.
“That man-whore!” Mom yells too loud. As usual, she’s tuned into the drama.
A group of nurses stop to stare at us from outside the room.
“Sorry.” Nathan waves a hand. With his assurance, they continue on. He softly shuts the door with a click and turns to us. “What should we do?”
Deep down, my anger boils. How could Roman do this? Especially after I warned him if he hurt Sophia, I would destroy him. This time, a simple bash ’n’ splash won’t do.
“I’m going to kill him.” I grit my teeth.
And then something else that’s very, very important occurs to me.
“Where’s Freddie?” I ask.