Hot Driver - S01 E81

Story 4 days ago

Hot Driver - S01 E81

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 81

Grab ur tissues🤧

Outside the Cinema – The Ambulance

The paramedics moved fast, strapping Duane’s limp body onto the stretcher, and Ivory scrambled up beside them, refusing every hand that tried to hold her back.

“I’m coming with him,” she said, voice raw and shaking. “I’m coming, don’t you dare try to stop me.”

They didn’t argue. There wasn’t time.

Inside the ambulance, she gripped his hand — cold already, so much colder than it had ever been — and pressed it against her cheek, sobbing so hard her whole body shook with it.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, over and over, the words losing all shape by the third or fourth repetition. “Stay with me, please, Duane, please, please, please—”

The paramedic worked over him with brisk, practiced efficiency, calling out numbers she didn’t understand, pressing gauze against wounds that kept soaking through anyway, and Ivory could only watch, useless, still clutching his hand like it was the only thing keeping either of them tethered to the earth.

Her mind spun backward without her permission — the kitchen at midnight, the breakfast he’d made her that first morning, the way he’d carried her home when she couldn’t walk, the pool, the mall,

the I love you, Ivy.

He’d waited so long to say it. He’d only just said it.

He can’t leave now, she thought desperately, tears streaming steadily down her face. Not now. Not after Ron. Not after everything. I finally let myself trust someone again, I finally let the walls come down, and if he leaves too—

She didn’t let herself finish the thought. She couldn’t.

“I love you too,” she said instead, pressing his hand harder against her cheek. “I love you, Duane, do you hear me? I love you, so don’t you dare stop fighting. Don’t you dare leave me like this.”

The ambulance screeched to a halt outside the hospital, and the doors flew open, hands reaching in to pull the stretcher out, wheeling him fast down a corridor that blurred past Ivory in streaks of white and fluorescent light.

“Ma’am, you need to wait here,” a nurse said, catching her by the shoulders as she tried to follow through the double doors marked Emergency — Authorized Personnel Only.

“No, I need to be with him, I need—”

“Ma’am, please. Let them work.”

The doors swung shut in her face, and Ivory sank into the nearest chair, blood — his blood — still drying dark and stiff across her palms, her dress, everything she’d worn to that beautiful, perfect night that felt now like it belonged to some other lifetime entirely.

She cried without stopping for what felt like hours, the waiting room slowly emptying and filling around her, strangers glancing at her with pity she was too broken to acknowledge.

The doctor finally emerged, pulling off his gloves, and Ivory was on her feet before he’d even fully cleared the doorway, rushing toward him with desperate, fragile hope written across every line of her face.

He stopped in front of her. His expression told her everything before he opened his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “We did everything we could. We lost him.”

The words didn’t land at first. They simply hovered there, meaningless, refusing to attach themselves to anything real.

“No,” Ivory said. “No, that’s not — you’re wrong. Let me see him. Let me see him right now.”

She didn’t wait for permission. She shoved past the doctor, running down the corridor, following the sound of a gurney’s wheels squeaking against the floor ahead of her, and there — there, being wheeled out of the emergency room, a white sheet drawn up over a body she recognized by the shape of his shoulders alone.

“NO.” She sprinted the last few steps, throwing herself against the gurney. “No, no, this isn’t — Duane, wake up, wake UP—”

—

Bennett’s Mansion – Same Time

Diana sat with her phone in hand, thumb hovering over Ivory’s contact for the second time that hour.

“She’s not answering,” she murmured to the room at large. “I told her to come home. I don’t understand why she’s ignoring—”

The television, playing quietly in the background, suddenly cut to a breaking news banner, red letters flashing across the bottom of the screen.

BREAKING: SHOOTING OUTSIDE CRESTON CINEMA — VICTIM RUSHED TO HOSPITAL.

Diana’s eyes lifted toward the screen. The reporter’s voice filtered through, describing a shooting in a cinema parking lot, a young man struck twice, a woman covered in blood screaming for help.

The phone slipped from Diana’s hand and hit the floor with a crack.

“Diana?” Arthur was on his feet instantly. “Diana, what—”

She couldn’t speak. She could only point, hand shaking violently, toward the screen.

Mr. Hale crossed the room in two strides and picked up the remote, turning up the volume, his face draining of color as the details registered.

“That’s him,” he said, voice barely audible. “That’s — Celeste, that’s near the empire, isn’t it? That’s where they were tonight?”

Celeste’s hands flew to her mouth.

Mr. Hale didn’t wait for confirmation. He was already moving, grabbing his jacket, Mrs. Hale scrambling up behind him, sobbing his name as she followed him toward the door.

“Wait for us!” Arthur called, and he and Diana were right behind them, keys already in hand.

“I’m coming too!” Hazel shouted, bolting for the door, Luis right behind her.

“STAY HERE.” Arthur’s voice cracked like a whip, stopping them both cold. “Both of you. Stay with the staff. We’ll call the second we know anything.”

The door slammed shut behind the adults, and Luis stood frozen in the entryway, his whole body beginning to shake.

“He was shot,” he said, voice small, disbelieving. “Hazel, he was shot—”

He sank to the floor right there in the hallway, sobs tearing out of him, and Hazel dropped down beside him instantly, wrapping her arms around him even as her own tears started to fall.

“He’s strong,” she said, though her voice wavered badly. “He’s the strongest person I know. He’s going to be okay, Luis. He has to be.”

Luis didn’t answer. He just cried harder, and Hazel held him tighter, both of them rocking gently on the cold marble floor, waiting for a phone call that felt like it would never come.

—

The Cinema Parking Lot – Same Night

Police tape stretched across the scene in wide yellow lines, officers combing every inch of the pavement under harsh portable floodlights.

“Got something over here,” one officer called, crouching near a support pillar. He lifted a small evidence bag, holding it up to the light — a single pink hairpin, delicate, out of place among the grim scene surrounding it.

“Pull the CCTV,” the lead detective ordered. “Every camera with a line of sight on this lot.”

Within the hour, they had it — grainy but unmistakable footage of a young woman stepping out from behind a parked car, gun raised, arm shaking visibly even in the low-resolution feed.

The first shot fired.

The footage showed Duane’s body moving — some instinct faster than thought — throwing himself into the bullet’s path before it could reach the woman standing beside him.

“She’s not even wearing a mask,” the detective muttered, disbelief evident in his voice, freezing the frame on the shooter’s face. “She didn’t even try to hide.”

The footage showed her fumbling with the weapon afterward — the gun jamming, or perhaps simply empty — before she shoved it into her coat pocket and fled the frame entirely, her face fully visible the entire time.

“We’ll have an ID within the hour,” an officer said confidently.

The detective nodded, though his frown deepened as he replayed a second angle — a darker corner of the lot, barely lit, capturing only a shadow. A second figure. Masked. Bundled in a heavy coat that obscured every identifiable feature.

“Two shooters,” he said slowly. “Two different guns.”

—

Beauty and Gemma’s Residence – Night

Beauty lay curled beneath a thick duvet, shaking violently despite the heat trapped around her, sobs wracking through her small frame in waves that refused to stop.

It wasn’t supposed to be him, she thought, over and over, staring at nothing. It was supposed to be her. Ivory. She took him from me. She was supposed to be the one—

The gun had jammed. Or maybe she’d simply run out — she couldn’t even remember anymore, the moment blurring into a haze of adrenaline and horror the second she’d watched him drop.

It was a special bullet, she thought numbly. That’s what he told me — the man I bought it from. There’s only one like it. Nobody survives that shot. Nobody.

She curled tighter into herself, sobbing harder.

I killed him, she thought. I actually killed him. And it was supposed to be her.

—

Creston General Hospital – Emergency Ward

Ivory reached the gurney just as the sheet slipped slightly at the top, revealing Duane’s face — pale, still, eyes closed, blood still smeared faintly along his jaw.

She lifted the sheet fully away from his face with trembling hands, and her tears fell freely onto his cheeks as she leaned over him.

“Duane,” she whispered. “Duane, please. Come back. Please come back to me.”

She shook him gently, then harder, desperation overtaking whatever composure she’d had left.

“Wake UP,” she sobbed. “You can’t leave me like this. You can’t. I love you, do you hear me? I need you to hear me.”

The double doors burst open, and the Bennett and Hale families rushed in together, the sound of running footsteps and choked cries filling the corridor.

The Bennetts hung back near the entrance, tears already streaming freely, unable to bring themselves any closer to the scene.

Mrs. Hale didn’t hesitate. She rushed straight to the gurney, pushing past Ivory gently, cradling Duane’s face in both hands.

“My baby,” she sobbed. “My baby boy, please, come back, I only just found you, please, please don’t leave us now—”

Mr. Hale reached for his son’s cold hand, pressing it between both of his own, tears falling freely and unashamed down his face.

“Twenty-eight years,” he whispered, voice breaking entirely. “Twenty-eight years, and I just got you back. Please. Please don’t do this to us.”

Diana stood near the door, tears streaming down her own face as she watched Ivory — watched her collapse further and further into something raw and unrecognizable, a woman she’d never once seen break like this in twenty-seven years of raising her.

She’s never loved anyone like this before, Diana thought, her chest aching. Not once. And now she’s watching it die in front of her.

The morgue attendants arrived quietly at the edge of the room, ready to take the body.

“No,” Ivory said, whirling on them, blocking their path with her own body. “No, you’re not taking him. Not yet. Just — just give me one more minute, please, just one more—”

She turned back to him, brushing her fingers over his brow with a tenderness that broke Diana’s heart to witness, tracing the line of his eyebrows, his lashes, memorizing every part of his face like she could hold onto it through touch alone.

His eyelashes fluttered.

Ivory froze.

They fluttered again — faint, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable.

“WAIT.” Her voice cracked through the room like a gunshot itself. “Doctor! DOCTOR! Did you see that? His eyes — his eyelashes moved, I SAW it, please, someone check him again, PLEASE—”

The doctor rushed back to the gurney, pressing two fingers against Duane’s throat, his brow furrowing in concentrated focus.

Everyone in the room held their breath.

“There’s a pulse,” the doctor said, disbelief evident in his own voice. “Faint. But it’s there. Get him back to the ER, NOW. MOVE.”

The gurney was wheeled back through the double doors at a dead run, nurses shouting orders, machines being dragged along behind them, and Ivory collapsed against the wall, sobbing with a violence entirely different from before — relief and terror tangled so tightly together she could no longer separate one from the other.

—

Alice’s Private Residence – Same Night

Maeve sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the small, unlabeled bottle resting on the nightstand beside her.

She’d found it in the back of a cabinet weeks ago, before any of this — before Curtis, before the diagnosis, before her entire life had been carved apart and rearranged into something unrecognizable.

There’s no meaning left in any of this, she thought, turning the bottle slowly in her fingers. Nothing left worth staying for.

From the other side of the door, Curtis’s knuckles rapped softly again, his voice thick and pleading.

“Maeve. Please. I’m still your father, whatever else I am. Please just talk to me.”

She didn’t answer. She hadn’t answered in days.

She set the bottle back down, unopened, and curled onto her side instead, staring at the wall, too exhausted even to cry anymore.

—

Morales Mansion – Same Night

Ron sat alone in his study, a glass of wine cradled loosely in one hand, the television playing the breaking news coverage on mute in the background.

He watched the footage replay — Duane’s body dropping to the pavement — and a slow, satisfied smile curved across his face.

Took a bullet meant for someone else, he thought, swirling the wine idly. How poetically stupid of him. Fitting, really.

He raised his glass slightly toward the screen, a private, mocking toast.

“One down,” he murmured. “Ivory’s next. Once this week is done.”

—

Beauty and Gemma’s Residence – The Next Morning

The street outside sat unnervingly quiet as unmarked cars rolled slowly into position, officers spreading out silently around the perimeter of the small apartment building.

Inside, Beauty had no idea any of it was happening. The footage from the previous night had been kept tightly under wraps, released only to law enforcement — no warning, no leak, nothing to give her the chance to run.

A knock sounded at the door.

Beauty answered it, still bleary-eyed, still wrapped in yesterday’s clothes.

The uniformed officer standing there was the last thing she expected to see.

Her whole body went rigid. She slammed the door and bolted for the back exit, scrambling through the kitchen, throwing open the rear door in a desperate sprint for freedom —

— and stopped dead.

Twenty officers stood waiting in the small backyard, weapons drawn, forming a wall she had no hope of breaking through.

“Beauty,” one of them called, voice calm and firm. “Hands where we can see them. It’s over.”

She sank to her knees right there in the grass, sobbing, offering no resistance as the cuffs clicked shut around her wrists.

Moments later, Gemma and Jeff arrived back from their morning outing, walking straight into the middle of the operation without any warning at all, and were swiftly cuffed alongside her, both of them shouting confused protests that fell on entirely deaf ears.

By that afternoon, headlines had exploded across every outlet in the city.

CULPRIT WHO SHOT HALE’S LOST SON ARRESTED.

DUANE BROOKE REVEALED AS HALE FAMILY’S STOLEN SON — SAME MAN SHOT OUTSIDE CINEMA LAST NIGHT.

The story had broken hours earlier, Mr. Hale himself confirming the connection in a brief, emotional statement to reporters gathered outside the hospital, and now the two headlines collided together across every front page in Creston, an entire city holding its breath for the same young man.

—

Bennett’s Mansion – Morning

Luis stood in front of the mirror, eyes swollen and red-rimmed from a night spent crying more than sleeping, buttoning his shirt with shaking fingers.

He’s not even my real brother, he thought, the realization still raw and disorienting. Mama never told me. All these years, and she never told me.

But it didn’t change anything, not really — not the way his chest still ached with the same fear, the same desperate hope, as though nothing about their bond had ever been anything less than real.

He’s still my brother, Luis thought fiercely, wiping at his eyes one more time. Blood or not. He’s still mine.

Hazel appeared in the doorway, her own eyes just as puffy, and without a word, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him.

“He’s going to be okay,” she said. “He has to be.”

They held onto each other for a long moment before finally heading downstairs together, and Hazel’s driver took them straight to the hospital, neither of them speaking much during the drive, both lost in their own private fear.

—

Creston General Hospital – Duane’s Ward

Duane lay motionless on the hospital bed, wires and tubes trailing from nearly every part of his body, monitors beeping in a steady, fragile rhythm beside him.

The bullet had been removed hours earlier — even before the brief, horrifying moment where they’d believed him gone entirely — lodged dangerously close to his heart, though it hadn’t quite pierced it. The second shot had done the greater damage, tearing deep through his left chest, and the doctors, exhausted and baffled in equal measure, had no real explanation for how he was still breathing at all.

“That bullet,” the attending doctor had told his colleague quietly, reviewing the scans, “should have killed him instantly. I’ve seen wounds like this before. No one survives them. Not even with immediate treatment.”

He checked Duane’s vitals one final time before stepping out, jotting notes onto his chart with a slow, careful hand.

In the corner of the same ward, Ivory lay curled on a separate bed, finally asleep after being sedated the previous night when her screaming and sobbing had refused to stop on its own.

—

The Waiting Room

The room had filled steadily throughout the morning — the Bennetts, the Hales, Celeste, and now Tyler and Abigail, who’d rushed over the moment they’d seen the news, Abigail’s hand resting protectively over the small curve of her stomach the entire time.

Mr. Hale paced near the window, phone pressed to his ear, voice sharp and commanding. “I don’t care what it takes. That girl needs to be locked away permanently. Make the calls.”

Mrs. Hale sat quietly beside Celeste, tears sliding down her face in a steady, silent stream. Celeste reached over and took her hand without a word, offering what comfort she could to a woman who’d lost, and found, the exact same son she had.

Her own phone had been switched off since the night before — her restaurant’s regulars calling nonstop, worried by the closed sign — but none of it mattered right now. Nothing mattered but the ward down the hall.

Hazel and Luis arrived and settled into the seats beside Diana, who wrapped an arm around each of them, stroking their hair gently.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she murmured, though her own voice wavered on the words.

“I want to see him,” Luis said, for what had to be the fifth time that morning. “Please. Even for a minute.”

“Soon, baby,” Diana said softly. “I promise.”

Across the room, Arthur watched Ivory’s empty chair — she was still asleep in the ward, sedated — and felt something heavy and unfamiliar settle in his chest.

She’s never loved anyone this deeply before, he thought. Not even close. And now, after everything with Ron, after everything she survived — this is what real love finally looks like for her. And it might end like this.

The waiting stretched on for what felt like hours before the doctor finally emerged, his expression grave, and the entire room rose at once.

He gestured toward the Hales specifically. “If you could step into my office for a moment.”

They followed him, hearts pounding, and once the door closed behind them, he laid it out plainly.

“He’s lost a significant amount of blood,” the doctor said. “We’re struggling to stabilize him — his blood type is rare, and we don’t currently have a sufficient supply in our system to properly transfuse him. Without it, I can’t guarantee how much longer his body can hold on.”

“What’s his blood type?” Mr. Hale demanded immediately.

The doctor told him.

Mr. Hale’s face shifted instantly. “Our twins,” he said, turning to his wife. “They’re both a match. We need to transfer him to Canada. Immediately.”

“I can arrange it,” the doctor said. “But it needs to happen fast.”

Mr. Hale was already dialing before the sentence finished, voice sharp and commanding once more. “Get the jet ready. Now.”

Within the hour, the paperwork had been cleared, and word spread quickfly through the waiting room — Duane was being transferred, immediately, to a private jet waiting to fly him straight to Canada.

The whole family gathered near the ward doors as Duane was carefully wheeled out, IV lines and monitors moving with hin, his face still pale and still beneath the oxygen mask.

Ivory, still deeply asleep from the sedation, remained behind on her hospital bed, unaware that the man she loved was being carried away from her, toward a country she’d never even thought to imagine losing him to.

TBC…