21. Nash
Chapter 21
Nash
T he heat of the stage clung to me even now, hours after we had left it behind. Sweat, beer, and the faint electric tang of the spotlight—all reminders of the life I had once dreamed of.
The benefit concert had gone better than I could have hoped; our harmonies were sharp, and the crowd was loud and hungry for more.
Rebel Rose was back. At least, that’s what Richard Hayes kept saying as he slapped us on our backs and made his typical exit, talking on the phone and already discussing contracts and opportunities for Easton and me.
We did it. I did it. I couldn’t believe the amount of money raised in this single event was enough to cover the fees for the ranch and some of the repairs. I played for them—the residents, and Dawn’s family. I played for her. She was the one who had motivated me through it all. She anchored me on that stage, even though I had felt as if I was drowning in the cheers and the sounds of the crowd.
Dawn’s shoulders looked a little less weighed down for the first time in weeks, and her smile was more real. But all of that felt distant now as I stood at the arena’s edge, my heart thundering in my chest.
After the last encore and the endless congratulations, I searched for her in the sea of faces and laughter, hoping to share even a fragment of this moment with her. But she was nowhere to be found. Her absence tugged at something in my chest—a hollow feeling that only grew stronger as the crowd buzzed around me.
So, I resorted to waiting for her after her race. People streamed past, clapping me on the shoulder and congratulating me for this afternoon’s show, their faces glowing with excitement.
Some asked for pictures, their phones already poised. Others thrust scraps of paper and Sharpies at me for autographs. I obliged, plastering on a smile that I hoped seemed genuine. It struck me how quickly people forget—the headlines, the scandals, the fall from grace—all wiped clean because I had hit the right notes tonight. We were back in the public’s good graces.
The distant hum of conversation and applause faded as Dawn rode into the arena. The floodlights bathed her and her horse in a stark, almost ethereal glow, their silhouettes sharp against the night. Her back was impossibly straight, her jaw set in an expression I couldn’t quite place. Determined? Guarded?
She urged her horse into a gallop, her movements mechanical, rehearsed. When she approached the timer and pivoted sharply into a U-turn, it struck me—the stiffness in her posture, the white-knuckled grip on the reins, the tension radiating from her every movement.
This wasn’t the Dawn I had watched in her home ring, the one who practiced with tireless precision and effortless grace. Her riding had always been poetry in motion—fluid, natural, like she was born in the saddle. But now, she seemed coiled too tight, like a thread pulled to the point of snapping.
My breath caught as she rounded the first barrel. She was fast—blisteringly fast—but it didn’t feel right. Her horse moved with power and precision, but her body didn’t match its rhythm. She was riding hard, but not free, not the way I was used to seeing.
Something was wrong. I could feel it as clearly as the cold metal of the fence in my palms. The crowd might not notice—they cheered as she sped through the second turn—but I knew her too well to miss it.
My hands gripped the metal fence in front of me, my eyes glued to her. “Come on, princess,” I murmured under my breath, willing her to push through whatever was weighing her down.
She rounded the third barrel, the turn sharp and clean, but then something shifted. Her horse stumbled, just a fraction, but enough to throw off her rhythm. She pressed on, her jaw tightening as she headed for the finish line. I could see the effort in every movement, the way she fought to hold everything together.
Then it happened.
It was quick. A misstep. A skid in the dirt. Dawn slid off the saddle, but her left foot got stuck. Her horse continued to run, but she was still attached to it.
The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath that made my stomach drop. She hit a mat-clad concrete block hard, her body crumpling like a marionette whose strings had been cut as she finally got unstuck from the saddle.
“Dawn!”
I don’t remember making the decision to move. One second, I was frozen; the next, I was vaulting over the fence, shoving past anyone in my way. My boots hit the dirt, and I was running, my pulse roaring in my ears like the echo of the crowd’s shock.
She lay still, too still, and when I dropped to my knees beside her, my hands shook so badly I could barely touch her.
“Dawn,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “Hey, hey, come on, talk to me.”
Her face was pale beneath the dust, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Relief and terror warred in me all at once. She was breathing, but she wasn’t waking up.
“Someone call the medics!” someone yelled behind me. I didn’t look up. Couldn’t. My whole world had narrowed to her, to how her hand felt in mine as I held it tight, desperate to keep her with me.
“You can’t do this,” I whispered, my throat tight. “You can’t scare me like this, princess. Not after everything. Not now.”
The truth burned in my chest, raw and aching, and I couldn’t hold it back at this moment.
“I love you,” I said, the words tumbling out in a broken rush. “I love you, and I need you to wake up, okay, princess? Please.”
She didn’t stir, and my vision blurred with tears I didn’t bother to hide. Commotion was happening all around us, but I couldn’t move, stuck in a nightmare as I held her body. I prayed—not to any god in particular, just to whatever might be listening.
Don’t take her from me. Please, don’t take her from me.
A hand clapped my shoulder, someone from the medical team telling me to move back, but I couldn’t let go of her. Not until I knew she was okay. Not until I knew she’d come back to me.
“Sir, you need to step aside,” the medic said firmly, but there was a kindness in his voice that broke through my haze of panic.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and let her go. Watching them work on her, checking for injuries, calling out orders, was torture. The seconds stretched into eternities. Every moment she stayed unconscious chipped away at me.
Finally, after what felt like forever, she groaned softly, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. My breath caught, and I sank to my knees again, relief crashing over me like a tidal wave.
“Dawn,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You’re okay, baby. You’re going to be okay.”
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, but then they found me.
“Nash,” she murmured, her voice weak but steady.
I laughed, a broken sound, and pressed her hand to my lips. “Yeah, it’s me. You scared the hell out of me, princess, you know that?”
Her eyes closed again, and she softened, her head hitting the dirt behind her.
“Dawn? Dawn, wake up!”
“You need to move, sir,” the medic shouted at me.
I stayed kneeling on the arena’s ground as they rushed her body on a stretcher. Her limp body swung from side to side as the paramedics ran toward the ambulance.
The ground beneath me felt too solid, too real, as if I were anchored to the dust while the world spun on without me. People moved like shadows at the edge of my vision, their voices muffled and distant, swallowed by the ringing in my ears. All I could focus on was the sight of her—so still, so fragile—and the ache in my chest that screamed I had to go after her, even as my legs refused to move.
I didn’t know how much time passed when I felt a hand on my shoulder: “Nash, man, you need to move.”
I looked up to meet Willow’s eyes. She held out her hand for me, but I couldn’t take it. Leaving the arena meant that everything happening was real. I turned my head slowly and noticed Billie and the residents waiting at the ring’s entrance.
“We’re leaving with or without you,” she said firmly, her voice breaking through the fog clouding my mind.
Willow’s tone softened, her gaze steady. “Dawn would want you by her side, Nash. Right now, more than anything. She wouldn’t admit it, but she needs you.”
Her words hit me like a jolt, snapping the tether holding me to the ground. My breath hitched as I finally reached for her hand and let her pull me up. My legs wobbled beneath me, but I forced them to move, following Willow toward the ambulance where Dawn had already disappeared. The sight of Billie leading the residents to the waiting cars grounded me. They were counting on me. She was counting on me.
Without another word, I broke into a run, my heart pounding as I reached one of the cars and followed the path to the hospital, desperate not to lose sight of her.