A COWBOYS REDEMPTION

𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓

I smiled, even though I was exhausted. "Yeah, you could, but I'm tired, and I just want to nap."

"Well, I'm gonna come over and hold you while you nap," Wyatt replied, his voice low and teasing.

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Okay, Wyatt."

As I walked through the hospital's halls, I could hear what sounded like a patient muttering curse words. "I just don't understand." I turned to see one of the patient's rooms, where an older man sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead like he was under a lot of stress.

"Hey, baby, I'll call you right back," I said softly before hanging up. I smiled before knocking lightly on the door and stepped inside, locking eyes with the man. He had dark brown hair streaked with grey and piercing green eyes, his face lined with years of hardship.

"Hey, is everything okay in here?" I asked gently.

He looked up, a weary smile forming on his face. "Oh, hi there, Miss." He stood up from his bed, "Everything's okay. It's just these hospital bills... they're expensive," he added, making me chuckle.

I nodded, stepping closer. "Well, you know there are Medicare programs that can help you pay for that? I could get you the paperwork if you'd like."

He sighed deeply. "That sounds nice and all, but I don't know if it'll do me much good."

"How come?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

He hesitated, then said, "I mean, I was incarcerated for almost twenty years."

My eyes widened, but I didn't pry. It wasn't my place to ask for details. Instead, I said, "Ah, well, you aren't allowed Medicare while incarcerated, but they never said anything about after being released."

He smiled, extending his hand. "I'm Beau."

"Milia," I replied, shaking his hand firmly.

"So, being incarcerated for almost twenty years seems like a long time. There must be a lot that's changed since then," I said, trying to keep the conversation light.

Beau sighed again. "Yeah, it truly has. Especially with all this new technology."

We shared a small laugh before a comfortable silence settled between us. My curiosity got the better of me, though, and I couldn't help but ask, "I'm sorry, I have to ask... what could you have possibly done to get almost twenty years in prison?"

Beau gulped, and I watched as the look of guilt formed onto his face. "Uh, let's just say I hurt two people who meant everything to me."

I frowned, the weight of his words sinking in. "Ah, okay," I started, "I mean, you don't think they'll ever forgive you for what you did?" I asked, feeling a bit of sympathy for the guy.

He let out a soft, bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "No. What I did was something beyond unforgivable."

I looked at him, not knowing how I felt about him. "Well, you won't know until y—"

I was cut off by the sound of glass shattering. I jumped, turning to see Wyatt standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, chest heaving, and face pale as a ghost. A vase laid broken at his feet, water and flowers scattered across the floor.

"Wyatt?" I said, stepping toward him. "Is everything okay?"

Wyatt's eyes never left Beau. "What is he doing here?" His voice was tight, barely controlled.

I blinked, confused. "What? Wyatt... he's a patient here."

Wyatt's gaze finally shifted to me, and I saw tears forming in his eyes. "No, Milia, that's my father."

My heart dropped into my stomach at his words. His father? The man he told me was abusive and murdered his own wife? I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. I looked between Wyatt and Beau, finally seeing the resemblance. The strong jawline, the green eyes, even the way they stood.

Shit.

Grabbing the vase, I stepped out of the truck, slamming the door behind me. The crisp evening air hit me, but my heart felt warm. Whistling a tune, I made my way toward the hospital, happy as can be at the thought of seeing Milia's face light up when she saw the flowers.

As soon as I walked inside, I spotted Sawyor at the front desk, writing on some paperwork. I walked over to him, and Sawyor looked up at me before he grinned mischievously. "Oh, Wyatt, I'm flattered, but I have a boyfriend."

I let out a laugh, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Where's my girl?"

Sawyor's eyes scanned the area for a moment before he shrugged. "Last I checked, she was doing rounds and checking on patients. She should be down the hall."

"Thanks," I said, giving him a quick nod before heading down the hallway, the vase still cradled in my hands.

As I walked, I kept my eyes peeled for Milia, expecting to see her cheerful self around any corner. But the hallway was quiet, and I didn't see her anywhere. That's when I heard her voice, soft but clear, coming from one of the rooms.

"I mean, you don't think they'll ever forgive you for what you did?" she asked.

There was a pause, and then a deep, male voice replied, chuckling, "No. What I did was something beyond unforgivable."

I frowned, my footsteps slowing as I neared the door.

Something about that voice set me on edge.

Carefully, I peeked inside, and there she was—Milia, sitting across from a man with dark hair streaked with grey and sharp green eyes.

My heart dropped as I took a closer look at the man's face, and suddenly, I felt like the ground beneath me had shifted completely.

"Dad, please don't hurt Mama," I screamed as I watched him storm down the stairs, the belt in his hand swinging.

His eyes were widened, his face red with anger. "Boy, you better back the hell up, or you'll be next!" he roared, and his voice echoed through the house.

I could see the anger in him, and I knew I couldn't let him hurt her again. I just couldn't.

He marched toward Mama, who was sleeping peacefully on the sofa, completely unaware of the what was coming her way. I watched in horror as he raised the belt, ready to bring it down on her. But I couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

Without thinking, I ran over and grabbed the belt just as he swung it down. My small hands gripped the leather, my heart pounding in my chest. "I won't let you hurt her no more, Daddy," I said, my voice shaking but firm.

He turned to look at me, his eyes blazing with anger. For a second, I thought maybe he'd stop. Maybe he'd see me standing there, protecting Mama, and come to his senses.

But he didn't.

He grabbed me by the shirt, his hands rough, and threw me against the wall like I was nothing more than a rag doll. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I slumped to the floor, dazed and hurting.

Before I could even gather myself, I heard the sickening crack of the belt hitting against Mama's skin. Her scream cut through the air, each cry of pain twisting in my gut. I wanted to get up, to stop him, but I was too weak, too scared.

All I could do was listen as my father, the man who was supposed to protect us, became the monster who tore us apart.

I felt the vase of flowers slip from my hand, shattering on the cold, tiled floor. The crash echoed through the hallway, startling Milia and pulling her attention from him. She turned toward me, her eyes full of concern. "Wyatt, is everything okay?"

I couldn't answer. My eyes were locked on the man sitting across from her, the man who shouldn't have been free, sitting there as if the past seventeen years hadn't happened. As if he hadn't torn my world apart.

"What is he doing here?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper but filled with all the anger and disbelief I felt.

Milia looked at me, confused, before glancing back at the man. "What? Wyatt, he's a patient here."

I shook my head, my vision blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. "No, Milia, that's my father."

Her eyes widened, flicking back and forth between us as the reality dawned on her. She scoffed softly, "Woah.. the resemblance is definitely there."

I took a step into the room, my body trembling with rage. "You need to get the fuck out of here," I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

The man looked up at me, his face pale. "Buckie... I-I wasn't expecting to see you."

I let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. "How the fuck are you even out right now?" My voice rose.

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "I took a plea deal years ago. Fifteen years in prison, two years in rehab."

I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. "Fifteen years? That's all you got was fifteen years? After you murdered my mama?!"

Milia stepped closer to me, placing a hand on my arm, her voice gentle but firm. "Wyatt, I-I need you to lower your voice, this is a hospital."

My father looked at me, his eyes filled with regret and pure guilt. "Wyatt... I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

I felt my chest tighten, the anger consuming me. "Oh, you're sorry? Well, sorry won't bring my mama back, now will it?"

He took a step toward me, his hand reaching out. "Wyatt—"

I didn't let him finish. I grabbed his shirt, shoving him against the wall with all the strength I had. "Don't you fucking touch me!"

His hands went up in surrender, his voice shaking. "Wyatt, I-I don't want to fight."

His calm demeanor, his audacity to act like he was some kind of victim, only fueled my rage. I threw him to the floor, my fists clenched, ready to beat him like he did my poor mama for all those years.

"Wyatt!" Milia's voice cut through my anger. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She pointed toward the door, her face a mix of concern and authority.

I looked up at her, my chest heaving, my fists still clenched. I wanted to argue, to yell, to do anything but leave. But the look in her eyes told me I had no choice. I unclenched my fists and stormed out of the hospital, in complete disbelief that my father was free.