39. Colt
Chapter 39
Colt
The beep of machines cuts through the fog first, slow, steady, too calm for how my chest aches like it’s been torn open.
I blink, the scratch of the hospital sheets rough against my fingers, and for a second, I’m not sure if I’m still dreaming.
There’s a weight against my side. Warm. Familiar.
When I turn my head, sharp pain slices down my neck, and I find Callie curled against me, clinging like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. Her hand fists my side like she’s anchoring me to the earth
Maverick’s here too, slouched low in a chair, elbows on his knees, his head bowed like the weight of the whole goddamn world is pressing him down.
He’s watching me like he never once looked away. His sharp gaze softens on mine, his shoulders slumping inward as he takes a deep breath.
“What time is it?” I ask, voice rough.
“Around 3:00 a.m.” He looks down at his clenched fist in his lap. “Jesus, man. You scared the shit out of us.”
“Callie.” I can only manage one word, but he knows what I’m asking.
“She didn’t calm down until she could hear your heart,” Maverick says, voice low and gutted.
I glance down at Callie, at the pale cast to her face, at the way her knuckles are white from holding on to me in her sleep.
“She looks worse than me,” I manage to rasp, trying for a joke that lands somewhere short of funny.
Maverick doesn’t laugh. The red rims of his eyes tell me he doesn’t find any of this funny either.
“What’s the damage?” A part of me doesn’t want to know, well aware this could end my season.
“Dislocated shoulder. Shattered collarbone. Several broken ribs. Bruised tibia,” Maverick says flatly.
“Hey, at least my leg isn’t broken.”
“Yeah… you’re totally fine…”
Sarcasm drips out, and then he’s just… broken.
“Fuck, Colt…”
He can’t look at me. His fingers tear through his hair, like he’s trying to rip out whatever’s eating him alive.
“I thought…” His voice splinters. He fists his hands in his lap, shoulders shaking under the strain. “I thought we were gonna lose you.”
“Nah, I’m not that breakable,” I joke, but the pure anguish carved into his face has a gnawing guilt ripping into my chest that has nothing to do with being trampled. I can’t keep doing this and expect them to stay whole.
Heavy seconds stretch between us, his gaze devouring me like he’s trying to hold me here with sheer fucking will. I want to break the tension, joke around and wash that look from his face, but the pain is catching up to me fully now.
The throbbing in my shoulder has spread up my neck, until it pulses in my temple. The simple act of breathing feels wrong, too shallow, like my ribs are cracking all over again, an echo of every individual fracture as if they’re yelling at me for what I did to them.
Exhaustion’s heavy in my bones, but I can’t stop looking at them, taking in every detail. Callie is crushed against my side. Even in her sleep, she’s holding me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. Maverick shifts closer, close enough I could reach out and touch him if I tried.
She shivers, a soft sound breaking through her lips, and lightning bolts of pain travel down my side as I attempt to lift the blanket to cover her, the fabric falling from my too weak fingers.
It’s humiliating in a way nothing else has been.
Maverick notices, stepping in without a word to adjust the covers for me, moving slow like he’s afraid I’ll shatter.
And maybe I already have.
I grit my teeth, too broken to hide the pain anymore.
“You should’ve told me it was this bad,” he says, immediately getting up and calling the nurse. Their muffled voices come from the doorway as he asks for more meds.
I hate morphine. It makes me itchy and nauseous, but right now, I’ll take anything that provides any sort of relief.
“Don’t,” I croak when the nurse walks in, eying Callie, and it’s clear that she’s going to intervene.
“It’s against hospital policy.”
I try to give her my signature-winning smile, but all I manage is a slight curl of my lips. “Please, I need her.”
She softens, exhaling a long sigh. “Fine. I’m the only one here right now, but she’ll have to move before my shift is over.”
The machine attached to my IV beeps as she pushes a series of buttons, the coolness of the medicine crawling up my vein.
“Next time, don’t wait so long to call me,” she chastises, but there’s no heat to it. “You let me know if he wakes up again.”
Maverick nods, a seriousness taking over.
She flicks the overhead light off on her way out.
My eyes grow heavy, and I sink into my pillow, waiting for it to kick in. Flashes of being dragged, crushed under hooves, play behind my eyelids. As the reality that I was going to die fully sank in, all I thought about was them, not bull riding, not winning… them.
The pain dulls.
My body grows heavier, looser, my vision blurring at the edges.
I want to say something. God, I want to, but the words claw at my throat and die there.
I’m too fucking tired, and it hurts too much.
I tighten my grip on Callie first, her heartbeat steady against my ribs. Proof that I’m still here. Still breathing. Still not too late.
Then blindly, desperately, I reach out again and find Maverick’s hand.
His fingers jerk in shock, but only for a second before he laces them through mine, clinging so tight it almost hurts.
I force my eyes open, fighting through the haze.
His face swims into view, blurred but still achingly familiar.
His throat works as he leans closer, rough knuckles brushing my jaw.
“Rest, Colt,” Maverick breathes, voice hoarse.
He says something else, words breaking apart in his throat, but I’m already slipping under, too far gone to catch them.
Too far gone to answer.
I fall under with her heartbeat against my ribs, with his hand wrapped around mine, and the weight of everything I should’ve said dragging me down with it.