Longing For The Beach Billionaire Daddy
Chapter 68

*Shelby*

I woke to a soft and steady beeping, but I found it hard to open my eyes. When I did, the lights were dimmed, and I was only able to make out the bumps of my feet under a mauve-colored blanket.

I tried to move, but my arms felt heavy, lying on the bed. Long tubes were attached to me, but it took me a few moments to realize they were monitors and an IV, and the beeping came from a machine next to my bed, a hospital bed.

Suddenly, the memory of a blinding flash of headlights came to mind. Were we in a car crash?

I looked around the room, and the light was streaming in softly; I figured it must have been the early hours of the morning. Christmas Day, I realized. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a small chair in the corner, and Michael was sitting in it.

My stirring must have woken him. His eyes were sleepy, and his hair was slightly disheveled as though he had been running his hands through it. I knew he only did that when he was frustrated. I wanted to reach out to him, to ask him what was going on, until the memories of the night before flooded back into my memory.

“I can’t do this anymore… I can’t do us anymore,” his words from the night before rang through my mind as if he were saying them now.

My heart hardened against him, and I would have screamed at him if my throat wasn’t so dry. Michael stood and hesitantly made his way over to the side of my bed.

“Get out,” I rasped out, barely more than a whisper.

“Shelby, let me explain….” Michael trailed off.

I shook my head hard, tears threatening to fall just looking at him.

“No. Get out now,” I repeated.

Michael’s eyes looked like he wanted to argue with me, but he didn’t. He turned and walked toward the door. He turned back to look at me, his hand resting on the doorknob. He stood there for a long time as if trying to come up with the courage to tell me something. The truth would have been nice, but I tried not to get my hopes up.

“I’m really glad that you are okay,” he offered softly before slipping out into the hall.

He must have let the staff know I was awake because less than a minute later, I had two nurses in to check on my vital signs.

“How is your head? Any nausea or dizziness?” a nurse with tight black curls asked me.

“I have a bit of a headache. Could I get some water?” I asked.

“Of course. I will bring you some juice too. You’ve been on IVs all night, so you are hydrated, but I am sure your mouth feels like cotton,” she said with a soft smile.

I immediately liked her, so I felt comfortable asking her more questions.

“What is wrong with me? All I remember is seeing headlights heading toward us. Did we get into a car crash?”

“You did. You were lucky, though, and walked away with minor injuries. We will have to keep you here to monitor your concussion.”

“What about the man driving? He was in the front seat. His name is Lance,” I asked, realizing I didn’t ask Michael if the driver was okay. He was upfront, so he may have had it worse than I did.

“He is still in surgery. We will let you know when he is out,” the other nurse, with her brown hair braided down her back, said. She wasn’t quite as soft-spoken as the other nurse.

“We have high hopes that he is going to make a full recovery,” the other nurse said, setting a hand on my shoulder.

I nodded, too stunned to speak. The nurses finished checking me over and asking me more questions about how I was feeling.

“Is there anything else you need?” the nicer nurse asked.

I looked around the room, noticing that I didn’t have any of my stuff with me. I assumed it must all be back at the scene of the accident.

“Is there any chance my phone was recovered from the accident? I want to let my friends and Grandpa know that I am okay.”

“I’m sorry, hun, but they didn’t replace any personal items at the crash site. It might have gotten lost in the wreck.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“I will be back with something for you to drink. I also want to let you know that there will be a police officer stopping in to ask you some questions. They wanted to know as soon as you were awake,” the brunette nurse told me.

“A police officer? Why?” I asked, confused.

“The other driver didn’t stay at the scene. They still haven’t found him, hun,” she explained and then closed the door behind her.

True to the nurse’s word, a police officer walked into my room a few minutes later, dressed in full uniform. He had a serious expression on his face.

“Miss Hatton?” the officer asked.

His hair was cut short in a buzz cut, and he wore a pair of wire-framed glasses. His mouth was set in a firm straight line.

“Yes,” I answered, shifting in my hospital bed. I was beginning to notice how sore my limbs were.

“I’m Officer Johnson. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m doing alright. I’m confused, more than anything. The nurse said that the other driver didn’t stop,” I said.

“That’s right; I’m here to ask you about what you remember from last night,” his tone was serious, no-nonsense.

I nodded in agreement to answer his questions. The light streaming in from the windows was making my headache worse, but I tried my best to ignore the throbbing pain.

“I need you to tell me everything you remember. Please don’t leave out any details. The tiniest thing could help us catch this guy,” the officer said, his voice barely audible.

I appreciated that he was not talking loudly. He had probably been on enough calls like this to understand how difficult it is to focus after going through a major trauma.

“We pulled onto the highway, and it was snowing really hard. I remember looking out the windows, trying to make out where we were, but I couldn’t see anything through the darkness and the storm,” I started slowly.

Officer Johnson remained silent, letting me take my time as I strained to remember exactly what had happened. Everything seemed so foggy, likely from the concussion.

“I looked down to text a friend, letting her know I was headed to the airport, and when I looked up, all I could see were blinding lights from the headlights of another car. That’s all I can remember. I don’t know how much help any of that is….” I said, watching the officer writing on a notepad.

“Would you say the headlights were possibly someone’s high beams?” the officer asked, not looking up from his notepad.

“It is possible. The light seemed to fill the entire cabin of the car. It was so bright that I couldn’t make anything else out.”

The officer nodded, copying down my statement.

“And do you remember why you got out of the vehicle Miss Hatton?”

“I got out of the car?” I asked, shocked.

The officer’s eyebrows knit in concern as he responded, “Yes when we finally got there after someone called to report the accident, you were passed out in the snow next to the car. The back door was wide open. We figured you possibly got out to search for help before losing consciousness. You don’t remember getting out of the car?”

“No, I don’t. As I said, the last thing I remember was seeing the headlights. Everything went dark after that. I would have had to get out of my seatbelt and open the door to get out of the car, and I don’t remember anything like that,” I said, hating having so much time missing from my memory.

The officer scribbled quickly on his notepad, his eyebrows knitting together.

“You mentioned having your phone before the accident occurred. Did you have any other personal effects with you?”

“Yes, my suitcase should have been in the back. We were on our way to the airport. I was supposed to fly back to Cambridge.”

“Do you recall anyone stopping at the accident?” the police officer continued seeming more concerned.

“No, I can’t remember anything at all. How long were we there until we were found?” I asked.

“We’re not sure, but based on the divers b***d loss, you could have been lying there in the snow for over half an hour. You’re lucky that you didn’t get frostbite. The driver could have really used that extra time; if the driver had done the right thing and stopped when the accident occurred, we could have gotten to you both a lot sooner.”

“Who would leave the scene of an accident where people were injured?” I asked more to myself than the officer.

“We were guessing it was a drunk driver, where they hit you head-on; they were driving on the wrong side of the road. However, after talking with you, what we have found doesn’t support our theory of a drunk driver.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“The car was completely empty. There was no luggage found at the scene or personal effects of yours or the drivers.”

“Is it possible someone ransacked the car after they hit us?” I asked, now feeling violated as well as shocked.

“That’s why I asked if you remember getting out of the car on your own. It’s possible that you were pulled out of that car. That means we are actually looking for someone with a motive.”

“Are you saying someone crashed into us on purpose?”

“Is there anyone who would want to hurt you, Miss Hatton?” Officer Johnson asked, staring into my eyes.

“I don’t know,” I whispered softly.

Suddenly, the monitors started beeping furiously, and nurses came rushing in. My heart rate had skyrocketed.

“Officer, are you done with your questioning? The girl has been through enough, and she needs her rest,” my favorite nurse asked.

I was grateful for her intervention. My head was pounding, and I couldn’t imagine answering any more questions.

“Yes, I’m done with my questioning,” Officer Johnson said to the nurse and then turned to me. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Miss Hatton. I’ll be in contact once we know more.”

However, I didn’t need to wait for the police to wrap up their investigation to know who was in the other car.

Blaine purposely hit us head-on, then left us both to die.