41. Callie
Chapter 41
Callie
Colt’s grumbling under his breath, wrestling the blanket off his legs one-handed while the other stays strapped tight across his chest.
Maverick halts mid-pace like he’s physically pained just watching. “You stubborn—” He sighs, crossing the room. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is trying to keep your ass alive?”
Colt glares at him. “I can move a damn blanket.”
“Sure,” Maverick says, smoothing it into place anyway. “Right after you win a slap fight with gravity.”
I bite back a grin from my spot in the chair, watching them with a kind of fond exasperation. Honestly, they’re one forehead kiss away from starring in their own slow-burn romance novel.
Maverick even flattens the corner of the blanket like Colt’s a fussy toddler instead of a grumpy six-foot-two man.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty, Lawson,” Maverick mutters.
“Didn’t hear you complaining the other night,” Colt fires back, but his voice cracks halfway through it, and his face goes beet red.
It’s so fast and so fierce that I snort before I can stop myself.
Colt sinks lower in the bed, looking betrayed at both of us like we’re the ones embarrassing him.
Maverick just grins, all lazy menace. “Aw, is someone blushing?”
“Shut up,” Colt growls, turning his head to the side so we can’t see how red his ears have gotten.
Maverick’s grin only widens. He leans down close, deliberately ruffling Colt’s hair until it’s sticking up wildly.
“Goddamn, you’re cute when you’re cranky,” he says, voice low and shamelessly fond.
Colt groans, dragging the blanket up over his face like he’s hoping it’ll swallow him whole.
Maverick just chuckles and pulls it gently back down, uncovering Colt’s furious, burning cheeks.
“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” Maverick says, smoothing his palm across Colt’s hairline with a ridiculous amount of tenderness. “You’re my favorite thing to look at.”
Colt makes a noise that can only be described as a strangled whimper , his hand flailing half-heartedly like he wants to shove Maverick away but can’t work up the strength.
I am not helping because I’ve pulled my hoodie up over my face like that’ll stop the full-body giggles threatening to escape.
Colt stares at the ceiling like he’s praying for divine intervention. His whole face is fire-engine red.
“You’re not gonna survive being loved properly, are you?” Maverick teases, voice soft and smug.
Colt mumbles something about “ inhumane treatment ” and “ filing a complaint .”
Maverick just leans back with a pleased little hum.
I swear to God, this man is thriving. Absolutely thriving. On Colt’s suffering.
And honestly? I’ve never loved him more.
Thankfully, the universe must take pity on Colt because the door swings open, and in walks the doctor, chart in hand, radiating the exact energy of a man preparing for battle.
“How’s the pain?” the doctor asks, raising an eyebrow like he already knows the answer.
“Manageable,” Colt lies through his damn teeth.
The doctor doesn’t even blink. “Sure. And I’m a ballerina.”
Maverick chokes back a laugh. I don’t.
“Right,” the doctor says, flipping the page like it personally offended him. “Dislocated shoulder’s back in place. Tibia’s just bruised. But that collarbone? That’s shattered. If you want a clean heal, you’re looking at surgery.”
Colt stiffens. Maverick goes still.
“Time frame?” Colt asks, too casually.
“Six months. You’d miss the rest of the season.”
The temperature in the room drops five degrees.
“No surgery,” Colt says flatly.
The doctor exhales, visibly unimpressed. “You’ll lose mobility. You’ll be in pain. It might rebreak.”
Colt doesn’t flinch. “Still ridin’.”
A quiet pressure builds in my chest. Not anger just that familiar ache that comes when I remember exactly what this life costs. The risk. The hurt. The fact that even now, he wouldn’t choose differently.
Maverick scrubs a hand down his face.
The doctor mutters “idiot riders” like a prayer and leaves, the chart snapping shut in his hands like a gavel on his way out.
I don’t blame him. I kind of want to shake Colt myself.
A knock sounds on the half-open door.
Luke’s shaggy head pops in, grinning. “Hope you’re not naked. I brought company.”
Maverick groans. Colt smirks. “No promises.”
Luke saunters in like he owns the place, taking in the room with an exaggerated whistle. “Damn, you’re lookin’ halfway human already, Lawson.”
Colt grins at him, and it hits me how different he looks. How different they both look. Nothing like they did when I first rolled up at the start of the season, all cold shoulders and old grudges.
This… this feels like breathing fresh air after years underwater.
They joke. They laugh.
Colt rolls his eyes when Luke flops dramatically into the visitor chair, making it squeak. Maverick pretends to throw a pillow at him. Luke, unfazed, reaches for the tray of untouched hospital food and pokes at it with a plastic fork.
He recoils instantly. “What even is that?”
Colt looks at the mush like it personally offended him. “Torture.”
Luke nods solemnly. “Can confirm. I’m getting sympathy hunger pains just being in the same room.”
Maverick, who’s been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, hasn’t said much, just watches. But the second Colt shifts a little too fast and flinches, his whole expression changes.
His arms drop. His jaw tightens. He clocks everything. Colt’s wince, the tension in his shoulders, the way his smile falters when he thinks no one’s looking.
Without a word, Maverick pushes off the wall and steps toward Luke.
“Out.”
Luke startles. “Wait, what? I just got here.”
“You’re gonna rile him up,” Maverick says, already steering him toward the door. There’s no heat in his voice, but there’s no budging either. His tone is all quiet command and simmering worry.
“I haven’t even insulted anyone yet!”
Maverick gives him a look that could peel paint.
Luke throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave. Want fries?”
Colt perks up like a kid. Maverick groans. “Stop encouraging him.”
Luke vanishes into the hallway, still laughing, and Maverick sighs, dragging a hand through his hair before grabbing his keys from the counter.
Colt watches him, amused but glassy-eyed with exhaustion. “You don’t have to?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Maverick mutters. “You’re pale, you’re hurting, and you haven’t eaten more than three bites. I’m getting you something you’ll actually eat.”
He doesn’t say it with softness. But he doesn’t have to.
He’s already halfway out the door before Colt can argue.
And I’m left here blinking back this rush of affection like it might knock me flat.
Because Maverick notices everything —the pain, the cracks, the wear Colt tries to pretend isn’t there. He sees the wince, the fatigue, and that’s it. That’s all it takes. One look, and he’s already moving like protecting Colt is the only thing that’s ever made sense.
The door clicks shut behind him, and the ache in my chest lingers as Colt turns to me with that quiet look I’ll never recover from.
He shifts, wincing, then pats the narrow space beside him with his good hand.
“C’mere, sweetheart.” He pats again, one brow lifted. His eyes soften, silently pleading.
Carefully, I toe off my shoes and climb in, mindful of the IV and his bandages. I settle on my side, facing him, close but careful.
His hand finds my hip under the blanket, gentle but insistent. Steady. Like he needs the contact as much as I do.
I don’t mean to cry, but the tears come anyway. Silent and sudden. Relief and terror tangled so tight I can’t tell which is which anymore.
I press my forehead to his chest, breathing him in. The scent of antiseptic can’t quite cover the familiar warm skin beneath it. I try to memorize this— him alive, breathing, smiling at me.
Colt kisses me first.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Desperate.
And I kiss him back, fingers curling into his hospital gown like I can anchor myself to him.
There’s no plan to it. No soft build. Just this overwhelming need to feel him, hold him, breathe with him.
Like maybe if I stay close enough, the rest of the world will stay quiet a little longer.
At some point, he pulls me fully against his good side. I stretch out beside him, tucked carefully into the curve of his body. My leg hooks gently over his.
We don’t speak.
We just breathe. Together.
His thumb strokes idly at my side, and the quiet stretches long and golden. We must stay like that for twenty minutes. Maybe more.
The hospital room buzzes low with machines. The hallway hums faintly with movement. But here, with him, the world feels still.
Colt shifts slightly, his hand tightening on my waist.
He looks at me like maybe, just maybe, we could have it all.
The door creaks open, and I jerk, cheeks going hot.
Maverick steps inside, a paper bag in one hand, a drink tucked under his arm.
He freezes when he sees us tangled up together.
His gaze lands on my flushed face, Colt’s possessive grip around my waist.
Then he looks at me. Really looks.
His eyes go dark with something deep and familiar. Something that makes my breath catch.
Then, without hesitation, he crosses the room, sets the bag down, and leans in.
His hand cradles my cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks I didn’t realize were still there.
And he kisses me too.
Slow.
Steady.
Grounding me.
Like telling me without words that he’s here too.
Colt’s hand never leaves my hip.
I kiss Maverick back, my fingers fisting his shirt.
And when he finally pulls away, breathing uneven, he presses his forehead against mine for a second longer, one heartbeat, two.
Colt watches us.
Doesn’t let go.
The three of us are knotted up in a tangle of bruised hearts and broken pieces trying to fit together.
And for one perfect second, it feels like we actually could.
I don’t realize I’m crying again until Colt brushes his thumb over my cheek.
“Sunshine,” he murmurs, soft and full of everything he doesn’t know how to say.
But beneath all of it. Under the sweetness, under the desperate hope. The dread is still there.
Buried deep but clawing up my throat.
Because Colt getting hurt cracked me wide open.
Brought every memory of my father’s accident roaring back.
The frantic medics.
The sound of my mother screaming.
The empty house afterward.
The wreckage my father left behind.
Colt telling the doctor he wouldn’t get surgery because it would cost him the season?
It confirms what I already know.
They love bull riding.
It’s stitched into their bones.
And I can’t ask them to stop.
I won’t be the girl who begs someone to give up the thing that makes them feel alive.
But I also can’t survive waiting for the call.
Can’t survive another casket.
Another funeral.
Another promise broken.
I love them.
God, I love them so much it hurts.
But I already know I won’t survive staying.
Not forever.
Maybe not even through the end of the season.
The thought splits something inside me so viciously I have to shove it down hard.
Swallow it.
Tonight is supposed to be happy.
Tonight, we’re supposed to breathe.
Colt shifts, brushing a kiss against my forehead, his fingers still curled tight around my waist like he can sense I’m slipping away inside.
Maverick nuzzles into the side of my neck, from his spot on the chair, his hand slipping over Colt’s.
Their weight. Their warmth. Their stubborn, reckless, perfect hearts.
I let myself drown in them.
Just for a little while longer.
I pretend this moment could last forever.
I love them both fiercely with everything I have left to give.
Even knowing I won’t stay.
Even knowing I wasn’t built to survive this kind of love.