Chapter 48
Beau
“You’re not supposed to be out of bed. The doctor said—”
“I don’t give a damn what the doctor said,” I grumbled, reaching for the pot of coffee my dad had made and pouring myself a cup.
Two weeks of hospital coffee was enough to break a man—especially when you were stuck there with a severe concussion and a busted arm from getting tossed like a rag doll.
I’d only been home a couple days, but already, it felt like heaven compared to that sterile hellhole .
. . aside from my encounter with Harleigh, which was one of the reasons I needed coffee, because sleep and I weren’t friends at the moment.
Nothing tasted better than a fresh brew from my own machine.
“Yo,” Dalton stage-whispered from the door, his voice low enough not to piss me off.
According to the doc, I was supposed to avoid loud noises, bright lights, and basically anything that might make my headaches worse.
“How’s the patient holding up?”
Dad answered first, not missing a beat. “Good. And stubborn as shit.”
I grunted, flopping onto the couch, my head pounding from the movement.
“She come by?” Dalton asked, grabbing a cup of coffee and settling in next to me.
I’d managed to get to the house the other night undetected and opted to not open up and tell either of them, not wanting to hear shit from them.
Dad furiously shook his head. “We haven’t mentioned her. Didn’t want to irritate your headache—”
“Dad,” I groaned, tipping my head back against the cushion. “It’s fine. She won’t see me.”
“That’s fucked up, dude,” Dalton muttered, his brows pinched.
Silence stretched between us as we sat there.
It was fucked up.
Dalton cleared his throat, shifting on the couch. “So, what’s the doc say? You out for the season?”
I exhaled, running my good hand through my hair. “Major concussion. Fractured radius, a couple cracked ribs, and a minor contusion on my hip. They said I was lucky I didn’t need surgery on my arm.”
Dalton winced. “Damn.”
Dad leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Doctor said no riding. No physical activity for at least a couple months. Your season’s over, son.”
I nodded, biting back my frustration. I already knew. I heard the doctor loud and clear. Didn’t make it easier to stomach.
Dalton leaned back, crossing his arms. “There’s always next season.”
“Nah.”
“What? Why?” His brows furrowed.
“Because I’m done.”
Dad exhaled through his nose. “I thought with Fable not in the pic—”
“No.” I shook my head so hard it sent a sharp pain slicing through my temples. “I am done.”
Dalton let out a low whistle. “Done with riding?”
“I want the ranch. I want to raise bulls.” I hesitated, exhaling sharply. “What I really want is Fable.”
Silence.
I wasn’t sure what reaction I expected, but neither of them spoke. Not for a long while.
Dalton finally broke the tension. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Me either,” I admitted. The words felt hollow, meaningless. “ I can see her car every goddamn day at her house, and it tortures me.”
Dad rubbed his jaw. Dalton shifted in his seat, looking between us.
“You should go there,” he said finally.
I looked down at the floor. “I did.”
“What?” my dad shouted from his seat, and I held up a hand.
“Calm down, old man. I went over there the other night to see her. I couldn’t handle the fact that the only contact any of you had was with Harleigh.”
“And?” Dalton asked.
I exhaled through my nose, jaw tight. “I went to Fable’s. She wasn’t the one who answered the door. It was Harleigh.”
Dad tensed, his brow knitting. “What the hell was Harleigh doing there?”
“Protecting her,” I said simply. “She wouldn’t let me in.”
I paused, and they waited.
“She said Fable couldn’t see me. That she wasn’t okay. The way she said it . . . like it was final, like she was doing me a favor by not slamming the door in my face.”
Dalton shifted forward. “Was she hurt?”
“I asked that,” I murmured. “I asked if she was sick, if something happened. Harleigh, she stood there with her arms crossed.”
Dad shook his head. “Jesus.”
“I told her I almost died. That Fable didn’t even show up. I wanted to know why.”
Dalton didn’t speak. Neither did Dad.
“She said maybe Fable broke in ways I didn’t see. That I wasn’t the only one who got hurt.”
I swallowed hard, that porch light still burned into my memory. “She said Fable’s not well. That she wasn’t going to tell me why, because it wasn’t her place to say.”
Dad muttered something under his breath. I ignored it.
“I told her Fable was my business. That she loved me.” My voice dropped. “I know she does.”
There was a pause, then I added, “She told me not to call. Not to text. Said when Fable was ready, she’d come to me.
” I pressed a hand to the back of my neck.
“I stood there like a fucking idiot, trying to find some reason to believe it wasn’t happening.
” I looked between them. “I’m going to respect that.
As much as it fucking kills me, I’m giving her space. ”
Dad started to say something, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.
“No. I mean it. She’s not okay, and I’m not gonna be the guy banging down her door when she’s trying to breathe. If this is what she needs right now, then fine. I’ll wait. I’m not chasing her.”
Dalton nodded slowly, like he understood. “You still love her?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do. Sometimes loving someone means stepping back, not barging in.”
Every bone in my body screamed to do the opposite, but I wasn’t going to. Not this time. Not when she’d already told me without telling me: she wasn’t ready.
“She’s got to come back when she wants to. Not because I showed up again.”
“Why the hell not?”
Because if she didn’t open that door—if she looked at me like I was nothing—I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.
“I used to think space fixed it too, but it doesn’t,” Dad muttered. “Sometimes space just gives people time to convince themselves they’re better off without you.”
That hit deeper than I wanted it to.
“I’m not saying you should push her,” he added quickly. “But don’t disappear completely. If she means something to you, make sure she knows you’re still there.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat was too tight, so I nodded once.
“I hope she figures that shit out.” Dad stood up, stretching his back with a grunt. “I’m heading back to my place. You two don’t do anything too damn stupid.”
I gave a lazy wave, and he walked out, leaving Dalton and me in silence.
Dalton leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright, man, how do you really feel?”
I exhaled, running a hand over my face. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I tried everything.”
The first thing I’d registered when I came to wasn’t her voice. It wasn’t her hand in mine. It was the quiet beep of monitors and the weight of someone sitting watch.
My dad.
“Why are you being so stubborn about not seeing her again?” Dalton pushed. “Trying harder?”
I let out a dry chuckle with no humor in it. “Because maybe I was right all along. Maybe I never should’ve dated.”
Dalton raised an eyebrow, waiting.
I stared at the floor, my fingers pressing into my thighs.
“My mom . . . when she got sick, Dad was never around. He was always out on the circuit. She was alone. I was the one who sat with her, took care of her.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“And maybe that’s what happens when you love someone who does what I do. You get left behind.”
Dalton’s jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit, man.”
“Is it?” I scoffed. “Because look at what I did the second things got rough—I ran. I threw myself into practice, into workouts, like my dad did. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was too late.
” I clenched my jaw, shaking my head. “Maybe I am him. Maybe she saw that, and she left before I could do the same to her.”
“Look, man. You’re not your dad. And Fable ain’t your mom. You gotta stop punishing yourself for something that ain’t even happened. You love her? Then fight for her.”
I scoffed. “I did fight for her. I’m giving her space. I don’t know what the fuck else to do.”
Dalton let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re looking at this all wrong. Maybe she ain’t pushing you away because she sees your dad in you. Maybe she’s pushing you away because she’s scared.” He pointed at me. “Kinda like you were when all this started.”
I stiffened, but didn’t respond.
Dalton stood, grabbing his hat off the counter. “You can sit here and mope, or you can go get your girl.” He didn’t wait for my response—just tipped his hat and walked out the door.
I sat there, staring at the blank TV screen, Dalton’s words replaying in my head.
Fable wasn’t my mom. And I wasn’t my dad, no matter how much I feared I might be.
My mom had been fragile in her sickness, trapped in a body that failed her.
But Fable? She was strong, even when she didn’t realize it.
She had fought through everything—her anxiety, her past, her fears.
She had let me in when I knew it was hard for her.
She had let me love her in the quiet ways that mattered.
And she left because . . . what? She thought I was going to leave her first? She thought I’d be gone too much, like my dad?
But I wouldn’t be. I had already chosen to stay. I had already made the decision to build a life here, with her.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples, the dull ache in my skull reminding me that I was still healing. But the pain in my chest? The tightness in my ribs?
That was her.
That was missing her.
Fuck, maybe Dalton was right.
Maybe it was time to stop waiting for her to come to me.
Maybe it was time to fight.