40. Maverick
Chapter 40
Maverick
Colt’s breathing is steady now. Slow and shallow but steady.
It’s the only goddamn thing keeping me sitting in this chair instead of losing my mind.
He looks rough, bruised all over and bandages peppering his skin.
I shift forward in the chair, elbows on my knees, fists clenched so tight they’re going numb, but I can’t look away. Every shallow rise and fall of his chest feels like a goddamn miracle.
And every pause between those beeps on the heart monitor?
Like a knife sliding in slowly.
It’s mid-morning, and I finally convinced Callie to leave.
Not because I wanted her gone, but because she needed to take care of herself.
She’d been curled up in that bed for hours, head tilted at a brutal angle, barely sleeping.
When she woke up, her eyes locked on Colt like she could keep him alive through sheer stubbornness.
She was furious when I told her he’d woken up during the night.
Furious I hadn’t shaken her awake.
But she needed the rest.
And when she finally went still beside him, her hand tucked into his hospital gown like it was the only thing tethering her to earth, and I couldn’t bring myself to break that.
I couldn’t touch the way Colt seemed to breathe easier with her there.
I rub my thumb along Colt’s forehead, brushing back a strand of sweat-damp hair.
The cut near his temple is red and angry, a thin line of stitches holding him together by a thread.
Too damn close to where that hoof could’ve stomped straight into his skull.
The thought makes my stomach lurch. I don’t know if it’s relief or fear rattling in my chest, but I’ve never hated a hospital bed more.
Colt grumbles softly in his sleep, shifting toward my hand.
He blinks, groggy and confused, fighting through the fog. His eyes slowly find mine, brows knitting like he’s not sure how he got here.
He tries to sit up.
“Hey. Easy, Colt.” I press a steady hand to his good shoulder, keeping him grounded. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”
He makes a sound, half groan, half laugh, and winces through a crooked smile. “You look like shit.”
It comes out strained, like he’s aiming for cocky but can’t quite hold the weight of it.
I choke on a laugh, relief crashing through me. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly winning beauty contests.”
Talking to him last night felt too much like a dream to offer real comfort today. I need to see it with my own eyes, need to feel that he’s really here.
Without thinking, I brush my knuckles along his jaw, then down the bruises on his neck, careful not to hurt him.
His skin’s warm, solid, real . And I don’t realize I’m shaking until I feel it in my hand.
Colt closes his eyes for a beat, then opens them again.
His gaze sharpens and lands right on me.
“Mav…” His voice is barely a whisper, torn and raw. “I’m sorry.”
Hell no.
I shake my head. “No. You don’t get to say that first. You don’t get to fucking apologize to me.”
The words crack something open inside me. A tremor builds in my chest, crawling out to my fingers, until I’m gripping the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing holding me up.
“I should’ve grabbed you by the collar and forced the truth out of you. Should’ve made you yell, cry, hit me. Whatever it fucking took. Anything but silence.”
I drag a hand down my face, hard, like I can wipe the guilt off with my skin. My chest’s too tight. My throat burns.
“I should’ve known better.” It hits me then just how much I failed him. “You disappearing like that? Shutting down? I should’ve seen it for what it was. Not anger. Not jealousy. It was pain. And I missed it.”
I swallow hard, my throat thick. “Should’ve followed you to the hospital back then. Screw the ride, screw the rookie buckle.”
I look at him, really look.
“Because if I’d followed you… maybe we wouldn’t have lost all that time. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to carry all that shit alone.”
My throat tightens, but I force it out anyway.
“I chose wrong, Colt. And I’ve regretted it every damn day since.”
Colt’s mouth parts slightly, but no sound comes out.
Shock, disbelief, a hundred different emotions flicker across his bruised face.
“I bailed on my ride last night,” I say quietly. “When you went down… I didn’t even think. They called my name, but I was already running after you.”
I rake a shaking hand through my hair. “And I’d do it again. Every damn time.”
I lean in, close enough that he can’t look away.
“I should’ve done it back then,” I whisper. “Should’ve chased you the second you fell. Followed you to the hospital. Who the fuck cares about the championship when it cost me you ?”
My voice breaks.
I swipe at my eyes, rough and useless, because the tears are already falling.
“I’ve been dying on should-haves , Colt,” I breathe. “For years. I let you believe that winning mattered more to me than you did.”
I shake my head. “Points. Titles. None of it fucking matters if you’re not here.”
My chest caves as I force myself to meet his eyes.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
Colt shifts weakly, reaching out.
I catch his hand without thinking, lacing our fingers together.
His grip is weak, but it’s there. Solid. Fierce, in its own way.
Like he’s holding on to more than just me.
His brow pulls, eyes flicking away, then back again like he’s not sure he heard me right.
“Mav…”
“I needed to be the best,” I confess. “Because if I was the best, you’d want to stay by my side. You’d be right there with me. Like always.”
The truth tears out of me, ugly, cracked wide open.
“And when you pulled away… I didn’t know how to fix it.”
Colt’s hand flexes weakly in mine, and for a second, I think he might let go.
But then he holds on tighter.
The shell he’s protected himself with cracks, revealing something raw and vulnerable underneath.
“I thought you left me behind,” he whispers.
The words gut me, sharp and brutal. No armor between us now.
Just blood, bone, and everything we never said.
A tear overruns his lashes, and I catch it, wiping it away with shaking fingers.
“I thought… you didn’t think I was good enough to stand next to you.”
He might as well have punched through my ribs and squeezed my heart bare.
“ Fuck .”
I choke back a sound and bury my forehead against our joined hands, squeezing his fingers tight.
I don’t care if it hurts him.
I don’t care if it hurts me.
I just need him to feel it. To know it. To believe it.
“You were always enough,” I whisper against his skin. “You are enough.”
Slowly, carefully, I lift my head. My grip tightens around his hand. I bring it between us and press a kiss to his knuckles.
He gasps, chest heaving, but he doesn’t look away.
“You’re the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me, Colt Lawson,” I rasp, my voice torn to shreds. “You’ve always been enough,” I repeat, driving it into the space between us like a stake in the ground. “I was just too fucking stupid to tell you.”
Colt’s breath hitches, his lashes fluttering like he’s trying to blink back the sting in his eyes.
“I hated you,” he says, voice splintering in half. “And I hated myself more.”
I don’t say anything, just give him space.
My thumb traces soft crescents against his wrist, the only comfort I can offer.
“I watched you win everything,” he grits out, a tear escaping down his cheek, “and I was proud. I was so fucking proud, but I hated you for not needing me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
“I always needed you.”
The silence stretches heavy between us, thick with all the things we never said when it might have made a difference.
And now… now, it’s bleeding out of both of us, slow and messy and unavoidable.
“You’re my best friend… you’re more than that,” I say fiercely, squeezing his hand. “I would’ve been lucky to have you by my side all these years. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re the best damn rider out there. Your instincts are unreal. You move with the bull like you belong up there. Like you’re reading its mind.”
Colt exhales a jagged, shaky breath.
“And I never wanted to beat you,” I admit. “I always wanted to be next to you. Sharing every moment of it. Because what’s the fucking point if you aren’t there with me?”
“Maverick.”
His lip wobbles, the first crack of hope breaking through all that hurt.
“If you want my spot, you can have it,” I say, leaning closer, my voice steady now. “I’ll give it up. I’ll throw rides. I’ll step back, and you can have the goddamn buckle.”
“No,” Colt breathes, fierce, even in his brokenness. “I don’t want you to give it to me. I want to earn it.”
Pride stirs hot and raw in my chest, the kind that threatens to undo me all over again.
Because that’s Colt. That’s the boy who used to race me across pastures, laughing like the whole damn world was ours.
That’s the man he became while I wasn’t looking.
A weight lifts in my chest like sunlight cutting through the goddamn clouds.
I give him a small, crooked smile, wiping my face and then his with the edge of my sleeve.
“Then I’ll help you. You already have everything you need.”
Colt rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint behind them now.
A grin spreads, crooked and cocky, all too familiar, like he knows he’s just won something.
“What are you so smug about?” I mutter, narrowing my eyes.
“Would you really give up the championship for me?” he asks, half-joking, half-serious.
I don’t even hesitate.
“Yes.”
Colt’s throat bobs. A flush crawls up his neck, spreading over his jaw, painting his cheeks in pink.
He shifts awkwardly, mumbling under his breath, “Never mind.”
Humming, I lean back, giving us both some space to breathe.
Colt watches me with something new in his eyes, careful, tentative… hopeful.
I don’t push. I don’t tease.
Because I mean it.
Every damn word.
He slumps deeper into the bed, exhausted but faintly smiling.
I rest my head against the edge of his mattress, feeling lighter than I have in years.
Warmth curls in my stomach, and I have to bite back a whimper when his fingers stroke gently through my hair, so soft, so careful, it undoes me completely.
We stay like that, wrapped in a bubble of silence broken only by the slow, steady beep of the monitor.
There’s a soft giggle from the doorway.
A small voice cuts through the quiet. “You two are idiots, you know that, right?”
Both of us whip our heads around, startled.
Colt blinks at her like she’s a hallucination.
I gape at her.
Callie’s standing there, beaming, a tray of coffees balanced in her hands, her copper hair tousled and wild, cheeks still flushed from crying earlier.
“Have you been here this whole time? When did you get back?” Colt croaks, hesitantly hopeful that she didn’t hear everything. It’s embarrassing enough between just the two of us.
Callie grins mischievously. “Maybe,” she teases. “Maybe not.”
“Did you hear everything?” Dropping my head, I grumble into Colt’s arm, my voice muffled.
Callie shrugs, taking a slow sip of her coffee.
“Define everything ,” she says innocently.
Colt groans, dragging his good hand over his face.
“I hate you,” he mutters weakly.
“No you don’t,” she chirps.
Colt lets out a choked sound, half a wheeze, half a laugh, and clumsily pats my shoulder like I’m the idiot here.
Callie crosses the room, setting the coffee tray on the little table with a soft clatter.
She’s a mess.
Her hair’s pulled up in a lopsided bun, her sweatshirt stretched off one shoulder, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying.
And she’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
Colt’s hand tightens on mine briefly.
When I glance up at him, he’s staring at her too, the same awestruck look written all over his battered face.
Yeah.
We’re both so fucking gone for her it’s not even funny anymore.