15
“F allon, Fallon, you’re dreaming. Wake up.”
Fallon tosses and turns restlessly in the hospital bed, jerking tubes and wires. Brow full of sweat, she moans and then whimpers. Her mouth opens. “No,” she gasps, fear in her voice. “No, please.”
Hovering at the edge of her bed, I cup her cheek, holding her pale face still. “Trouble, wake up.”
She does.
Her hazel eyes flash open. They’re glassy and foggy with drugs. My stomach cartwheels. She’s in so much pain, and I’m helpless to do anything about it.
She licks her lips. “Wyatt?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” I smooth her hair back as she leans her face into my palm. “You were shoutin’ and hollerin’.”
She smirks. “Probably yelling at you.”
I grin. “You were dreaming.”
“Not dreaming.” Her face clouds. “A nightmare. Aiden.”
I flinch. Thinking of Fallon with that motherfucker will never not sting.
I scan her face, the fear, the sadness there. “When did those start?”
“Ever…” Her throat works. “Ever since the Edens. He’s always there, waiting.
Sometimes he hurts me. Sometimes Dakota.
I always fight…but…” I wonder if she realizes it or not, but her hand’s gone to her stomach, rubbing at where she was stabbed.
Exhaling, she squares her shoulders, shakes her head.
“I can’t escape that night. It’s always in me. And I fucking hate it.”
Fuck. My stomach churns. She hasn’t said it in so many words, but it’s another reason why she left Resurrection.
“I don’t sleep,” I admit hoarsely, and her gaze goes to me. “Not since you left. Maybe four hours a night, if I’m lucky.”
She smiles wanly. “What about here?” Her eyes move across the room. “That chair can’t be comfortable.”
“Ain’t so bad.” Dakota and I have been switching off staying with Fallon. And even that’s been a feat when my brothers tried to make me go back to the motel. Leaving her side is damn near torture.
Gritting her teeth, she leans back and scoots to one side of the bed. I see the question in her eyes, unasked. My gaze goes to her leg.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Just get in here, idiot.”
I roll my eyes at the way her heart of stone snaps back into place. Fallon giving it up for longer than five seconds ain’t never happening. Then I curl up in bed with her, wrapping the blanket around us both.
“Bed hog,” she grumbles.
“Pretend we’re in a motel.” I brush my fingers against her cheek. “You can deal with it.”
She makes a huffy sound of protest.
We lie there, saying nothing, staring at each other. Goddamn, she’s gorgeous. Those fathomless hazel eyes that burn like stars.
I can’t help it. The need to touch her chases away common sense. I lean in, pressing a kiss to her warm brow.
“That’s a kiss,” she says softly.
“It’s on your forehead,” I grunt, irritated at her rules even when she’s in the hospital. “It doesn’t count.”
“Pretend we’re in a motel,” she parrots. “You can deal with it.”
I chuckle. Even high on pain meds, she’s a pain in my ass.
As I lie with her, the only sound our breathing between us, I realize what I came down to Arizona for.
To tell her I love her.
But now, with everything that’s happened, how do I tell her that?
Hey, I was a selfish prick asshole, and you deserve better than some goddamn cowboy, but I love you. I love you more than I can fucking stand.
She can’t deal with that. Not on top of everything she’s just been handed.
My priority is Fallon. Her health. Her sanity. Not my fucking feelings. Because I know she’s holding on by one thin thread. Her leg and her rodeo career are fucked. That’s a lot for any cowboy to take. No matter how good Fallon masks it, she’s scared.
And I’ll be there. Every step of the way. No way in hell she’s going through this alone like after what happened with Aiden.
No fucking way.
“I have one life left.” Fallon’s grim voice breaks the silence.
My blood chills. She’s told me about all her lives, about her fortune teller prediction.
Cowboys are superstitious creatures— never lend your gear, never let someone wear your hat —so it makes sense Fallon would believe it.
Makes sense why she plays fast and loose with that one gorgeous life of hers. Still, I don’t fucking like it.
“Don’t say that.” I frown, pulling her closer. “Who am I gonna yell at, something happens to you?”
“You’d find someone,” Fallon says sleepily. She nuzzles closer. Her wild heartbeat shudders through her chest to mine.
No, I wouldn’t .
I sweep my lips over her brow. “There’s no one like you, Trouble.”
She hums and closes her eyes, knotting her slender fingers in my T-shirt. She holds on to me, and I do the same to her.
My cowgirl.
My trouble.
When I’m sure she’s asleep, I reach out, resting a hand against that wild, hammering heartbeat.
I almost lost her once; I won’t lose her again.