Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 87
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 87 - Arielle Hawthorne lives for illegal street racing. Fast cars, high stakes, no attachments. Nate Carter races the same streets with reckless swagger and infuriating charm. Rivals by choice and partners by necessity, they’re forced together as rival crews and the police close in. Their chemistry is dangerous, their trust fragile, and falling for each other may be the riskiest move of all.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Humor Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Body Modification Violence
The One With A New Reality
A R I E L L E
When I wake, I’m confused. Where am I?
I move to sit myself up, groaning as my head throbs and my ears ring a little. I struggle with adjusting my body, but eventually manage to sit, quickly realizing I’m in the hospital.
“Ari.”
Chase’s voice is the first thing I hear and I attempt to lift my head up in the direction of the noise, but it causes a throb to pulse in my skull and I wince. He rushes to me, urging me to lean back and I don’t have the energy to fight against it. “It’s okay, relax.”
I exhale, pressing my palm to my forehead as if it’ll relieve the ache. “H—How long was I out?”
“A few hours,” he explains. “But they’ve had you on some pretty intense meds, so you haven’t been very lucid overnight.”
“Why?”
“The heavy meds?” He inquires and I weakly confirm. “They were concerned about trauma. Ari, do you remember what happened yesterday?”
I pause for a moment, my brain a bit foggy. I think part of it is because of the hold the medication has on me, but it takes me a hot minute until I remember everything he’s alluding to. I sit up further in a panic, “Nate —”
The mood in the room shifts and my body becomes acutely aware of the fact that something isn’t right. I can sense it in Chase’s body language. He swallows a lump in his throat, averting his eyes. “He’s—” he pauses, the words difficult on his tongue. “He’s gone.”
My heart begins to race, the monitor registering that very fact. “Wh—” I try to ask him something. What, I’m not sure. However, the words don’t leave my mouth. I’m suddenly very parched as my mind replays the image of blood on my hands.
“I’m so fucking sorry that I have to tell you this, but he didn’t survive.”
I shake my head, “That isn’t possible. No.”
Chase closes his eyes and I can tell this is difficult for him, but I don’t believe what he’s telling me. “Where is he?” I ask, refusing to accept any other alternative.
“Hayes said—”
“Where is he?” I shout, far too loudly.
“Ari, he’s dead.”
I don’t realize that I’m crying until I taste salty tears. My chest aches, bringing me right back to yesterday and the pain I felt seeing him lying there. I hold my hands up in front of my face and for a moment, I still see the thick, red liquid pooled on my palms. I turn them over, forcing the image out of my mind.
“Don’t tell me that, Chase. Fuck, please, don’t tell me that.” I sob, a gasp erupting from the depths of my hollow chest. I can’t imagine life without Nate. I don’t want to, but I understand this has become my reality. I’m not ready to accept it yet, but I get it.
“Please, tell me I’m dreaming.” I collapse to the bed, letting the grief wash over me. A flurry of memories floods my brain—the first thing I imagine is him, laughing. A big, goofy smile on his face. My favourite laugh, where his mouth has fallen open, his eyes nearly wrinkled shut.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he reiterates.
I sob into his chest as he embraces me, staining his shirt with my tears. I hear noise behind him, I think a nurse as they enter the room. I hear them moving around, doing some things, but I don’t lift my head from Chase, not giving a fuck.
The nurse must put something into one of my IVs because it only takes a minute or two and I feel my head start to cloud. The heart rate monitor begins to slow, but the hollowness in my chest doesn’t relinquish.
Three Days Later
My therapist, Mrs. Monks, stands from her chair with a smile, handing out a card in my direction. “I know they’re letting you out today, but we’ll still meet again tomorrow. Every day, for at least two weeks.”
I nod, not exactly thrilled at the idea. I understand the need for it and I think she’s been helping me, but I still don’t like reliving it all over and over.
The therapy has been by the advice of the doctors. It’s possible I might even have some slight form of post traumatic stress disorder from the evening of Nate ‘s ... accident. I haven’t slept in days, keep having recurring nightmares and I can feel myself slipping into being distanced and likely, depressed.
The night of the accident, I don’t remember exact details of. I think because of a combination of the head injury, the anxiety I felt, and just the fact that I want to block out certain shit, it’s causing my mind to have blanks. I’m thankful for it partly, but I also find myself curious of the details and wanting Vex to get what he owes coming.
Mrs. Monks has been meeting with me for two days now. She’s nice. Quiet. But I’m not a fan of therapy for reasons relating to my past. I don’t want to talk of any past shit, never mind of a few nights ago.
As much as I don’t want to do her therapy sessions, some part deep down inside me knows and understands that I need this. For myself. For those around me. That he’d want me to do anything and everything in my power to keep fucking sane.
The thought of him causes my throat to swell and I pinch my arm to get my brain to focus on physical pain and not my mental anguish. I force a smile, taking the card from her hand. “Yes, of course. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mrs. Monks.”
Before she leaves, she turns at the last moment, “Remember, anytime of day or night—if you feel like you need me, you can call that number.”
I nod my head, fighting off tears.
When she leaves, I exhale the breath I’d been holding and wipe away the tears that have since fallen. I honestly don’t know how I’m ever going to survive this. Nothing seems worth it at this point. It’s hard to focus on anything, when all I can seem to think about is him.
I miss him. Hearing his laugh. Holding him. Kissing him. Tracing his tattoos. Hearing him spout off a smart-ass comment. His smell. The feeling of running my fingers through his hair. I miss all of it. He’s everything to me. He always will be and with him gone, it feels like I’m merely a shell. Whatever I was before that night died with him.
“You ready to go?” Chase pops into the hospital room and it’s nice to see him.
These last few days have felt like a blur. I don’t know if I could honestly recall everything that’s happened. I’m on fucking auto-pilot. Chase has spent almost all day, every day with me. Zara has popped in daily, but she’s been depressing as fuck and that’s the last thing I want right now. Chase, at least, has tried to brighten my days. Attempted to make me laugh. It’s been nicer than depressing.
My head is fucked up right now. Dark and depressing. I don’t need everyone around me to treat me like I’m fucking fragile. It’ll only make this shit worse.
Weak and low on energy, I carefully stand. I reach for my bag, but he rushes to my side and grabs it before I can even come within three feet of it. He helps me to my feet just as the nurse is coming in with my pills. “Arielle,” she smiles, like she always does and holds out two cups—one with my pills and one with some water. “Last time we’ll do this.”
I fake a smile, taking them from her to swallow them. “Thank you, Elaxi.”
She touches a hand to my shoulder, “You get better, okay? I don’t wanna’ see you back here.” Her thumb brushes over the space just below the cut on my forehead while she glances at me in a motherly fashion.
“Of course, thank you for everything,” I mutter. When she goes to leave, I slowly walk to the mirror on the one wall to check my appearance. Despite showering this morning, I still look like shit. The bags under my eyes are dark and swollen. My hair is still a bit damp, but I pull it up off my face with a band, not wanting to deal with it. My eyes find the cut on my forehead—from bouncing off the dash of Nate ‘s Skyline in the accident—and I lightly brush my fingers over it, trying to ignore how the sight of it reminds me of everything that occurred.
Desperate to push the thoughts away, I pull some hair out of the bun, using it to cover the wound. As I turn back to Chase, I swear I notice the back of a man, with wild blue hair, broad shoulders and a tattooed neck leaning over my bed.
Nate.
With a blink of my eyes, he’s gone and I know it’s only my mind playing tricks on me.
A brain suffering from grief is a sick, twisted little thing intent on making shit worse.
Chase holds out his hand for me to grab, encouraging me back to reality. I take it, overwhelmed, but feeling a bit grounded with my hand in his. “Come on,” he urges, “Let’s get you home.”
The car ride home isn’t anything exciting. I end up zoning out as I watch the trees and buildings pass us by. There’s a moment where a bit of panic rises in me as I remember the accident and what it felt like, but I push the feelings down and hide them from Chase.
The second I walk in the front door, this ache of emptiness hits my chest. What once felt like home—what was where Nate and I lived together before he passed—feels foreign. It feels like someone else’s house and the pain only intensifies when I think of all the times we had together in the space of my living room and kitchen.
I swallow the forming lump in my throat as Chase grabs my shoulder. “Are you okay? Fuck, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Probably because I do. I see the ghost of Nate, in past memories, in various corners throughout the house.
I try my best to hide it, forcing a weak smile. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”
“You’re a terrible cook.”
He shrugs, “I mean, you can’t fuck up soup, can you?”
I simply don’t have the energy to answer, so I don’t.
“I’m gonna’ make you eat, Ari. One way or another. You need to eat something.”
“Fine,” I relent, not having it in me to fight. “But like I like it—lots of crackers.”
He smiles triumphantly and then begins his way down the hall. He leads me to my bedroom, where, when he opens the door, I’m greeted with a few bouquets of flowers. Despite the good intentions behind them, they make my heart ache.
I spot Nate ‘s blue daisies in the vase by my bed where I left them and my heart plummets into my fucking stomach.
He tosses my bag down on the dresser and then turns to me, “You get changed and into bed. I’ll go make you that soup,” he presses a kiss to my hair and then exits the room.
I stand frozen in the middle of my room for what feels like forever, simply staring at the bed that we once shared. Eventually, I dig out some pyjama shorts, fresh underwear and a shirt and I step out of my old clothing. I don’t even bother discarding it in the laundry basket, throwing it all to the floor without care.
I dig my phone out of the bag, along with one other item and move to my bed. I plug my phone into the charger since it’s gone stone dead and then put my thundercloud ring down on the side table. I turn the TV on and my ceiling fan on low and then sit myself up on my bed.
It’s perfect timing because Chase enters my room with a tray and the smell of tomato soup fills my nostrils, causing my mouth to water. He sets a bottle of water down and the tray across my lap, along with a package of crackers.
I offer him a small smile and a thanks and he sits himself on the edge of my bed as I break some crackers into the soup and begin to eat, even though I’m truly not very hungry. I haven’t been since—
New thought.
Chase tears open my prescription bag and reads over the medication terminology written on the bottles—an antidepressant, anti-anxiety pills, and something for the headaches and insomnia that I’ve been warned are likely to occur. All of which are only temporary prescriptions, at this point in time, but the trauma therapist will reevaluate on a weekly basis.
He places the three bottles down on my bedside table and then sets a pill on my little tray. “For the insomnia.”
“But I’m not sleeping yet.”
“You haven’t been sleeping, Ari. You need to. Just take one and have a nice long nap, okay?”
I want to ask him what if I don’t want to sleep, but I don’t. What if I have another nightmare? I’m afraid to even think about it.
I grab a bit of water, slipping the pill into my mouth to swallow it with ease. I know he’s right. I need to eat and I need sleep and I can only try my best. However, not only does sleep allude me, it terrifies the fuck out of me. In sleep, I’m unable to control my brain and that’s when I find thoughts of him come to me most. The chemicals in my brain transform some of the most beautiful memories of us and twist them into some fucked up nightmare that I can’t seem to escape, no matter how hard I try.
I continue eating my soup as Chase sits in silence and observes.
I can’t help my morbid curiosity and though I’m not sure I want to know the answer, I inquire, “What happened to him?”
Chase opens his mouth on a thought but stops himself before he utters anything. After a pause, he replies, “Are you sure you’re ready to hear?”
“I wanna’ know, Chase. For my own peace of mind.” I won’t ever get to see him again, I understand that, but I still need closure.
He runs a hand along his nape. “Where do you want me to start?”
I crush some more crackers into my soup as I think it over. “From when I passed out.”
He sighs. “Hayes made me take you away. Zara helped me get you into the back of the car and I took you straight to the hospital.”
“And Nate?” His name weighs heavy on my tongue and I hide the emotion by filling my mouth with more soup.
He takes a second to gather himself. “Hayes said he bled out. He called for help, but he—he didn’t make it.”
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