Chapter 16 Lucy
Lucy
Consciousness crawls back in layers, like surfacing from deep water.
First comes the smell. That sharp antiseptic stench that screams hospital louder than any alarm.
Then pain hits, everywhere at once, like someone put me through a meat grinder and forgot to turn it off.
Finally, voices filter through the fog. Low, masculine, achingly familiar.
I keep my eyes closed. Head feels like it's been used for batting practice. Ribs scream with every breath. Left wrist weighs a ton, probably casted. But I'm breathing, which is more than I expected when I was tumbling down that ravine like a broken doll.
"She's stirring." Colt's voice, rough as gravel, so close I can feel his breath against my cheek.
"Lucy? Come on, Shortie, open those eyes for me."
I force my eyelids up, blinking against fluorescent lights that stab straight through my skull into my brain.
The room swims into focus slowly. Colt sits beside my bed looking like he's been through his own personal hell.
Dark circles under those green eyes, stubble way past his usual devil-may-care scruff, flannel shirt wrinkled and stained with what might be my blood.
Movement by the window catches my attention. Beau stands with his back to the room, shoulders rigid as fence posts, staring out at something only he can see. Even from here, I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat waves.
And by the door, Gabriel leans against the wall in full uniform, arms crossed, watching everything with those sharp blue eyes that miss absolutely nothing.
All three of them. Here. Together.
"Darcy?" The word scrapes out like I've been gargling sand, but it's the only thing that matters right now. If I failed to get those antibiotics through, if that sweet little calf died...
Colt's face does something complicated. Disbelief mixed with the kind of affection that makes my chest tight. His hand finds mine, careful of the IV line snaking into my arm. "Of course that's your first damn question. Not 'how long was I out' or 'what's broken.' You're worried about a calf."
"She's fine." Beau turns from the window, and the relief painted across his features makes my ribs hurt for reasons that have nothing to do with the bruising. His eyes find Colt's briefly. "Already on her feet, nursing strong."
"Good." I try to sit up, immediately regretting every life choice that led to this moment as the room tilts and my ribs protest with white-hot fire. "That's... that's really good."
"Easy there, tiger." Colt's hands are gentle but firm, steadying me against the pillows. "You've been through hell and back. How're you feeling?"
"I'm okay. Sore as hell, but okay."
Gabriel pushes off from the wall, approaching with that measured stride that means serious business. "Lucy, I need to know exactly what happened out there. Can you walk me through it?"
"Jesus Christ, Gabriel." Colt's voice sharpens to a razor's edge. "She just woke up. Can't your interrogation wait five goddamn minutes?"
"Every hour we wait, the trail gets colder—"
"It's fine." I shift, hunting for a position that doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed by invisible knives. Spoiler alert: there isn't one. "Better to get it over with while the details are fresh."
Gabriel pulls out a small notebook, all sheriff now. "Start from the beginning."
"I was driving to Beau's ranch." The memory of that peace, those few minutes of hope right before everything went to shit, makes my throat close up. "Then this beat-up white truck came out of nowhere. Slammed into me from behind."
Colt's hand tightens on mine like he's trying to anchor me to the present. I squeeze back, drawing strength from the contact.
"I tried to lose them, but they rammed me again. Harder. Forced me off the main road onto some side trail." My voice stays steady, clinical, like I'm describing something that happened to someone else. "When I hit that tree, they were on me before I could even shake off the airbag."
"They?" Gabriel's pen hovers over the notebook like a vulture.
"Two men. The one who grabbed me looked skinny, twitchy, teeth broken. Smelled like cigarettes…" I touch my face without thinking, feeling the tender spots where his fists connected. "He kept screaming about where 'it' was. Said someone told them it would be in the vet's van."
"Fucking Cutter brothers." Colt spits the name like it tastes rotten.
Gabriel nods, unsurprised. "What else?"
"They wanted drugs. When I asked if they meant antibiotics, the skinny guy punched me.
" The memory hits visceral and immediate.
Knuckles cracking against my cheekbone, stars exploding behind my eyes, the metallic flood of blood in my mouth.
"Called me a stupid bitch. Said you can't get high off antibiotics. "
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees. All three men go statue-still in that dangerous way that speaks of barely leashed violence.
"They tore the van apart looking for whatever they thought was hidden there.
Got so focused on the destruction, I managed to slip away.
" The rest comes in jagged pieces. Terror.
Pain. The sickening sensation of falling through empty air.
"Didn't know about the ravine. Just ran blind.
Then I was flying, and then... lights out until I woke up here. "
"Ketamine." Colt's voice is flat as roadkill. "They were hunting for ketamine. Vets carry it for surgeries, junkies cook it down into Special K. Fucking hell, I should've known. Should've warned you this could happen."
"This isn't your fault, Colt."
But Beau rounds on him anyway, fear transmuting into anger the way it does when men don't know how to handle feeling helpless.
"Except it is, isn't it? You know that van's a target. You should've delivered the drugs yourself instead of sending her into the line of fire."
"I was elbow-deep in a difficult birth! Lucy was closer, and Darcy was dying—"
"You put her at risk!" Beau's voice rises like a thunderclap, and I can see the terror underneath his fury. "She nearly died because you couldn't be bothered to—"
"Enough." Gabriel's command cuts through the brewing storm, but his own anger simmers just underneath that sheriff's control. "You want to play the blame game? Those Cutter shits should've been locked up months ago. If I'd done my job better, pushed harder for evidence—"
"Stop." I try to shout it, but my voice comes out more like a broken whisper. "All of you, just stop. Please."
They freeze like I've fired a warning shot. Three alpha males suddenly looking sheepish as scolded children. It would be funny if everything didn't hurt so much.
The door swings open, saving us from more testosterone-fueled guilt spirals. A woman in scrubs bustles in, tablet in hand, radiating the kind of no-nonsense competence that comes from years of dealing with difficult patients and their even more difficult families.
"Good, you're awake." She smiles at me before shooting a look at the men that clearly translates to 'behave yourselves or get out.' "I'm Dr. Chen. How are we feeling?"
"Like I went twelve rounds with a mountain and the mountain won by knockout."
"That's not far from accurate." She taps through screens on her tablet with practiced efficiency. "You're very lucky, Ms. Reid. Bruised ribs, grade two concussion, sprained wrist, mild hypothermia. Could've been significantly worse."
"When can I get out of here?" Panic edges my voice because hospitals mean paperwork, insurance verification, background checks. The longer I stay, the more questions they'll ask.
Questions lead to phone calls to next of kin and legal guardians.
Questions lead straight back to uncle Richard's clutches.
"Eager to leave?" She gives me a look that says she's seen this dance before.
"You'll need observation for seventy-two hours minimum.
No screens, no driving, no strenuous activity.
Someone will need to wake you every few hours to monitor for concussion symptoms. Do you have someone at home who can provide that level of care? "
The question hangs in the air like a live grenade with the pin pulled. I feel all three men go tense, waiting for my answer.
The truth sits heavy on my tongue. That home is a fifteen-year-old van with a broken heater and a leaky roof, but I can't. Not here. Not like this.
"I'll figure something out."
Dr. Chen frowns, all business now. "This isn't a suggestion, Ms. Reid. You need proper supervision or I can't discharge you in good conscience." She heads for the door. "I'll be back later to discuss options."
The moment the door clicks shut, Colt and Beau start talking over each other like competing auctioneers.
"She'll stay with me," Colt says, voice brooking no argument. "The clinic apartment has everything she needs, and I can monitor her medically—"
"Like hell she will." Beau cuts him off with razor precision. "My ranch is better equipped for recovery. Quiet, private, proper guest room instead of some cramped apartment above a clinic."
"Since when do you know what's best for her?" Colt stands, squaring off like they're about to throw down right here in the ICU.
"She deserves better than your whiskey-soaked idea of caregiving."
"I haven't had a drink in over a—"
"Both of you shut the hell up." Gabriel's voice cuts through their pissing contest, cold and controlled as mountain air.
"If either of you actually knew Lucy, actually paid attention instead of just wanting her, you'd realize she doesn't have a proper address to begin with. She's been living in her van."
The silence that follows could stop a freight train. All eyes swivel to me, and I want to melt into this hospital bed and disappear forever.
"Lucy?" Colt's voice goes soft, confused, like I've just told him the sky is purple. "What's he talking about?"
Tears burn behind my eyes like acid. Of all the ways for them to find out, this is the absolute worst.
Gabriel knowing is one thing, he's the sheriff, probably figured it out day one. But Colt and Beau learning like this, in front of each other, when I'm too busted up to run...
"I live in my van." The words come out small and broken as old glass. "Parked behind the clinic most nights."
The expressions that cross their faces destroy something inside me. Shock. Hurt. Something that might be pity, which is infinitely worse than all the rest combined.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Beau asks, voice barely above a whisper.
"Lucy, sweetheart, we didn't mean to—" Colt starts.
"I know." I swipe at my face with my good hand, wincing when the movement pulls at my ribs. "It's fine. I'm used to taking care of myself."
"You're not fine." Colt moves closer, and I can see the war raging behind those green eyes. "You're hurt, and you need help whether you want to admit it or not."
"She can stay at the ranch," Beau says with quiet determination. "Plenty of space, peaceful environment for healing—"
"The clinic apartment puts her closer to medical help if something goes wrong," Colt counters. "And I've got veterinary training, know how to spot complications—"
"Will you both just stop?" I press my palms against my temples, their arguing making my head pound like a bass drum. "You're doing it again. Fighting over me like I'm some prize heifer at auction instead of a person who can make her own goddamn decisions."
They both go silent, shame coloring their faces red.
"Lucy," Colt starts again, gentler this time, "where do you want to stay? Who do you want to take care of you?"
Beau nods, though it clearly costs him everything. "Your choice, Sunshine. Whatever makes you feel safest."
They all stare at me expectantly. Colt with those wounded green eyes full of guilt and desperate hope. Beau with his careful control barely masking the concern eating him alive. And Gabriel, steady as granite, watching me with something I can't quite name but feels like understanding.
The choice should be impossible. These three men who've turned my carefully controlled life upside down, who make me want things I have no business wanting, who've shown me pieces of myself I thought were lost forever in the wreckage of the last two years.
I can't bear the thought of being the reason Colt and Beau start their Cold War all over again, not when they just started talking after two years of stubborn silence.
"Gabriel." His name falls from my lips before I can second-guess myself into paralysis. "I'll stay with Gabriel."
The silence that follows is loaded with enough unspoken emotion to power a small city. Colt's face falls before he catches himself, forcing a smile that doesn't come close to reaching his eyes.
Beau just nods once, jaw tight as a steel trap, accepting my choice with stoic grace.
"Okay." Gabriel's voice is carefully neutral, but surprise flickers behind those blue eyes. "I'll handle the arrangements."
"We should let you rest." Beau touches my hand briefly, the contact electric even through the pain medication fog. "But Lucy? This conversation about you living in a van? We're having it when you're better."
"All of us," Colt adds, pressing a kiss to my forehead that makes my heart stutter and skip. It feels more like a promise than a goodbye. "You don't have to do any of this alone anymore."
They file out like a parade of wounded soldiers, leaving me alone with Gabriel. He stays by the door, watching me with those intense eyes that see too much.
"Why me?" he asks quietly.
"Because you already knew my secret and didn't immediately try to rescue me."
The admission costs me, but the pain meds make me honest in ways I can't afford to be.
"Because right now I need someone who sees me as I am and doesn't start planning how to fix me."
He nods once, accepting this without argument. "I'll get the discharge paperwork started. My place is quiet, private. You'll have your own room, your own space. No pressure, no expectations. Just somewhere safe to heal."
"Gabriel?" I call as he turns to leave. "Thank you. For finding me. For not giving up."
"We all found you," he corrects, and something in his voice makes my chest go tight in ways that have nothing to do with bruised ribs.
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steady beep of monitors counting out my heartbeat.
I close my eyes and let exhaustion drag me under like a riptide, dreaming of strong hands pulling me from cold water, of three voices calling my name through the darkness, of being found when I was certain I'd be lost forever.
I'm in deep trouble with these three men.
And for the first time in my life, I'm not sure I want to find a way out.