A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)(78)

If she had slapped him, he wouldn’t have been more surprised.

“I remembered. The minute I walked in, I remembered the smell. The filthy mattress. The tiny windows where the sun would only stream in at certain times of day.”

He picked up his jaw and gaped at her. “I thought . . . I mean, your head injury.”

“I know. I’ve had dreams. Nightmares, really. But I honestly thought I’d just made them up.”

Quincy looked outside, then closed the doors for total privacy. “Okay, no more bullshit. Start from the beginning, or I swear to God, I’m quitting right here and now and becoming an opera singer.”

She smiled despite herself. “You can’t sing.”

“Which is why it would be tragic.” He leaned closer and took her hand. “Look, I get it, Sun. You don’t like to talk about it, but all I know is that you were abducted in high school and held for almost a week. Then you magically ended up in the ICU at St. Vincent’s in Santa Fe with a traumatic brain injury. A month later, you woke up from a coma with retrograde amnesia. Oh, and a bun in the oven. So, mind filling in the blanks?”

“Quince, you know almost as much as I do.”

“Bullshit.” He curled his hands into fists and sat back in the paramedic’s seat. “I see how you go off into space sometimes. The look on your face when you come back is not nothing. You’re remembering something. Tell me I’m wrong.”

She blew out a breathy laugh. “It’s just, I don’t want my parents to know.”

“Like I’m going to tell them.”

“Please, my mother has you so wrapped around her little finger, it’s a wonder you can walk in a straight line.”

He shook his head. “Wrong. It’s the other way around. I have her wrapped around this finger right here.” He lifted his middle finger, sending Sun a message in crystal-clear Technicolor.

“Ah. Well, she wanted to know if you could take a look at her carburetor.”

He sat up straighter. “Really? Is tonight okay?”

She chuckled. “You’re so whipped. Does she even have a carburetor?”

He bit back a curse. “I can’t help it. I’m in love with her. And it’s more than that pitiful crush I had on her when we were kids.”

“Had? And what about my father?”

A patient smile spread across his face. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” When realization dawned, she shrugged. “Maybe. It’s just hard to talk about.”

“Well, get the fuck over it. Tell me everything, or I walk.”

She knew he wouldn’t, of course, but he did deserve to know what she knew. He’d stood by her every second of every day and never questioned any of her decisions, though he wasn’t very happy about her initial exodus.

Anita came over the radio for her. “Sheriff, what’s your 10-20?”

“We’re at the SAR site.”

“Copy that. We have a 10-39 at the high school. Sheriff, it’s your daughter.”

They looked at each other for 2.4 seconds and then tore out of the ambulance and headed for town.





18


Our favorite flavor of cake is more.



—SIGN AT THE SUGAR SHACK

Auri curled her fingers into Cruz’s hair in something akin to a death grip. They were sitting on the cot in the nurse’s office, her legs draped over his lap, as she sobbed until her chest hurt.

How would she face her mother now? How could she?

With her world collapsing around her, Auri contemplated the penultimate of last resorts again. She’d done it before, but it had been years.

And Cruz—tall, gorgeous, charismatic Cruz—was letting her slobber into his jacket. Why? Didn’t he see the broadcast? Didn’t he realize what she was?

He tucked a strand of hair over her ear and ran his fingertip over the outer edge. He felt good. Soothing. Wet.

She pulled back, suddenly mortified. Well, more mortified than she had been five minutes ago. His jacket was wet from her sobs. She reached over, grabbed a tissue, and tried to pat it dry.

He caught her hand in his and held it to his chest.

Then she realized she was sitting on him and tried to wiggle off. He caught her legs and pulled her even closer to him.

She let him, but did feel the need to protest. “I’m too heavy.”

“Please,” he said with a scoff.

“I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Sadly, I can.”

“You don’t have to wait with me.” She dragged out her inhaler and breathed in two pumps before continuing. “I’ll understand if you need to go.”

“Good for you.”

She turned to face him. “No, really. It’s okay. You don’t have to hang out.”

He cocked his head to one side. “And why wouldn’t I want to?”

She shifted away. “You saw the video, Cruz.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I don’t know, you saw the video.” She began feeling defensive.

“Okay, so, I’m supposed to be scared of you now?”

“No. Not scared. Just . . . All I’m saying is I’ll understand.” Just then, she noticed his hands. His scraped and blood-covered hands. She leaned away from him. “Cruz, what happened?”