Chapter 2
1034 Words
Hazel did not return home, nor did she send a single message to Christian. And Christian, bound by a wordless unspoken understanding, did not reach out to her once either.
She stared down at her phone screen, eyes fixed on the empty, silent chat window, her heart sinking slowly, one heavy beat at a time.
Once, to keep him from worrying, the Hazel who had once dominated every racetrack she’d set foot on had disappeared from that wild, fast-paced life for far too long.
She had quit street racing entirely, cut ties with the late-night club scene, and shed every label the world had pinned on her as reckless and untamed.
But on that day, the wild spirit she’d buried deep inside her for three years pushed her straight back to that place, one that felt both achingly familiar and painfully foreign now.
"Hey there! Look who it is, what’s Ms. Moore doing back at the underground races tonight?" a familiar voice called out the second she stepped through the entrance.
Old friends and fellow former racers crowded around her at once, their tones laced with playful surprise and gentle teasing.
"We all thought you’d sworn off racing for good for that cold, sharp-edged Dr. Blake," another man chimed in with a laugh.
A third person teased softly, leaning in slightly, "Our Ms. Moore found herself true love, didn’t she? Now she’s guarding her own life like it’s a fragile piece of fine china."
For three long years living with Christian, she had fought so hard to strip away those old, rebellious parts of herself.
The once fearless track queen had learned to cook, to keep a tidy home, molding herself into the quiet, gentle, compliant wife she thought he wanted.
She had done it all just for the rare, fleeting glance of approval he would sometimes cast her way.
But now, standing face to face with these familiar faces and the growl of race cars humming in the air, none of it felt worth it anymore.
It all struck her as completely, utterly meaningless.
In that moment, she vowed to be Hazel again, the unapologetic woman who took the wheel of her own life and steered it wherever she pleased.
"Two twenty-seven flat, Ms. Moore still holds the track record!" someone shouted, and a wave of cheers rippled through the small crowd.
Before the cheers could even fade into the night air, a reckless, out-of-control racer slammed straight into her vehicle.
The world erupted in a deafening, ear-splitting crash, metal crumpling and glass shattering all around her.
Her body was thrown violently against the car’s safety barriers, white-hot, searing pain shooting through every single nerve in her body.
Later, inside the rushing ambulance, a nurse’s sharp, urgent cry cut through her foggy, fading consciousness.
"Stat! Multiple trauma patient from a motor vehicle crash, suspected fractures, hematemesis, get her to the operating room immediately!" the nurse barked into the radio.
She blinked slowly, her vision blurry and clouded with pain, and caught a glimpse of a face she knew better than her own.
Christian was clutching her hand tightly, his usual calm, composed exterior masking the desperate, unyielding pressure of his grip.
"Hazel! Stay with me, don’t let go," he said, his voice tight with a fear he rarely let show.
"Didn’t I promise you? If you ever raced again, I’d be right there with you, riding shotgun?"
That faint, unmissable flicker of concern in his eyes wrapped around her fragile heart, warm and soft for just a second.
She knew it, deep down.
He had always been the one to mend her broken pieces, because he was Christian, her husband.
But as the gurney rolled swiftly toward the operating room doors, Christian froze mid-step.
A frantic nurse rushed up to him without warning, her voice hurried and urgent.
"Dr. Blake! Miss Spencer in Room 403 is having severe chest pain, and she’s refusing to let anyone but you perform her EKG, she won’t let any other staff near her," the nurse rushed out, her eyes darting briefly to Hazel’s bloodstained, injured form before snapping back to the doctor.
The nurse hesitated for a split second, clearly weighing the emergency priorities, then added, "My apologies, Doctor, I’ll handle this patient. Her condition is critical."
The nurse turned to hurry back to the gurney, ready to push Hazel into surgery.
Unexpectedly, Christian reached out and stopped her before she could take another step.
"Understood," he said softly, his quiet, even tone feeling like a sharp, cold knife twisting deep into Hazel’s chest.
"I’ll be right there," he added, his eyes not even meeting Hazel’s as he spoke.
Clutching desperately to her slipping consciousness, Hazel forced her bleary, heavy eyes to stay locked on his retreating figure.
It was that woman again.
The same woman who had been wrapped tightly in her husband’s arms just the day before, right in front of her.
Christian slowly, deliberately loosened his grip on her hand, his fingers slipping away one by one.
He turned to face her then, his expression cold and clinical, stripped of all the warmth he’d shown mere minutes ago.
"Hazel, I’ve arranged for my colleague to perform your surgery," he said, his voice flat and detached. "He’s highly skilled and experienced, you’re in perfectly good hands."
Without a single moment of hesitation, he spun around and strode quickly down the hallway toward Ward 403, not looking back once.
As the heavy operating room doors slid shut in front of her, the icy chill of the anesthetic began to flood her veins, numbing her body bit by bit.
Right before unconsciousness claimed her completely, a single burning, scalding tear slipped down from the corner of her eye.
Memories from three years ago came crashing over her all at once, unbidden and painful.
His soft, tender voice whispering, "As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters."
His sincere, earnest promise, "Next time you want to race, just call me, I’ll come with you."
Every single vow he had ever made to her turned out to be empty, worthless words in the end.
Not even a life-or-death emergency surgery could compare to that woman’s simple EKG request.
- Writer
