Chapter 3 #2
Billie’s face is as white as a sheet. When I grab her hand, it feels cold and clammy. My stomach churns.
She swallows audibly as she turns her head toward Dr. Mansfield. “Is it going to hurt?”
“We’re very good at keeping you comfortable, but if you experience any breakthrough pain, please let us know.”
“Okay.”
Only, Billie doesn’t look okay after the doctor leaves and a team of nurses comes in to prep her for surgery. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when a nurse wheels in a tray bearing multiple needles.
I strain my neck to look out the door. “I can ask if your parents are here—”
“No.” Billie squeezes my hand. “I want you. I mean, I’m sure they’ll come in when they arrive, but—”
“There’s a traffic jam on Highway 21,” a nurse says. “Some stray cows in the road. Just waiting on the cowboys to round ’em up.”
I groan. “Of course.” Of course. If there’s ever traffic in Hartsville, chances are livestock is involved. You just hope it’s not your livestock that’s causing the trouble.
Although the idea of leaving Billie right now, even if her parents were here, doesn’t sit right. She’s clinging to my hand like her life depends on it.
Also, I can’t stop thinking about the way her voice sounded when she said, “I want you.”
Raw. Real. A little wild. She’s in her feelings, but she’s not trying to run away from them.
Danger.
A nurse wheels the tray over. “I’m going to get an IV started, all right, honey?”
Billie is shaking now. “If I pass out, will you please let this gentleman here administer CPR? He’s very good at it.”
“If you want me to kiss you again, Billie, you just gotta ask.”
Before tonight, I would’ve never made that joke. But when Billie cracks a smile, I know it’s the right call. It’s my turn to make her laugh.
At the very least, it’s my turn to keep her conscious so these nurses can do their job.
The nurse smiles too as she preps the IV. “Y’all make a cute couple.”
“Don’t we?” Billie manages thinly. “All right, lover boy, your services might be required sooner rather than later. I’m feeling woozy.”
My chest lurches when I look down and see Billie’s eyes well with tears before she quickly squeezes them shut.
I think I’ve seen her cry all of three times in the fifteen years I’ve known her. Woman is tough as nails.
But I know what it’s like to be scared shitless over something that, rationally, shouldn’t be a big deal. I was on a super bumpy flight years ago, and I’ve hated flying ever since. I get full-on heart palpitations just thinking about getting on a plane again.
Duke is horrified by my reluctance to travel. He lives for it. But me? I’d rather you pull out my fingernails than get on another flight. I’m a homebody through and through, and I like being on the ranch more than anywhere else on earth.
Bet Billie here would probably prefer to have a limb sawed off without anesthesia than get this IV inserted.
“Keep breathing, honey.” The nurse pats Billie’s free hand. “You’re only going to feel a quick pinch.”
Billie nods, keeping her eyes closed. But her brow is all scrunched up, and I notice sweat beading along her top lip. She’s trying very hard not to fall apart.
Now I’m the one who needs the reminder to breathe. I fucking hate seeing her like this.
You can fall apart with me, I want to tell her.
“Let’s play a game,” I say instead, the idea hitting me out of nowhere.
Billie opens an eye. “A game?”
“Remember when you hummed that song for me? The Taylor Swift one about Romeo and Juliet and her dad or whatever? And I played the guitar while you sang?”
Now both her eyes are open. “You remember that?”
“Well, yeah.” I squeeze her hand again. “Your voice was prettier than I thought it would be.”
“Shut up.”
“So I’ll hum a song for you, and you try to guess what it is.”
The look of terror on her face fades. “If you’re trying to distract me, taking off your shirt will do the trick a heck of a lot faster.”
“I’d prefer not to get arrested tonight, thanks. Pretty sure it’s a crime to strip down in an emergency room.”
“I’d let it slide,” the nurse says with a grin. “Just this once.”
Billie heaves out an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll play your stupid game.”
“Eyes on mine.” I use my first two fingers to direct her line of vision away from the nurse. “All right, song number one.” Clearing my throat, I start to hum. I feel ridiculous, a little embarrassed even, but I do my best to keep my voice steady and strong.
Billie gasps, and my stomach drops. But then she smiles, and I realize she made the sound not because she’s in pain, but because she’s delighted.
“Shut up!” she says.
“You keep saying that.”
“Since when do you know another Taylor Swift song?”
Now I’m really blushing. “Since you introduced me. Her stuff was fun to play on the guitar, so…”
“And ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ is your favorite because it clearly makes you think of—ouch!”
The nurse smiles. “IV is in.”
Billie’s eyelashes flutter. “Seriously?”
“Yep. All done for now.”
Billie turns her head to stare at me. “Keep humming.”
“Right. On it. Song number two.”
She bursts out laughing after I hum for all of three seconds. “‘Chattahoochee’ by Alan Jackson. I hope you know that you’re the one who’s hotter than a—”
“Don’t finish that thought. Okay, song number three.”
This one takes her a little longer, but she finally gets it when I hit the chorus. “Nirvana. ‘Come As You Are,’ I think?”
I let out a chuckle. “Since when do you know your nineties grunge?”
“Since you and Colt played it nonstop growing up. You forget his room was right next to mine. I swear I heard Eddie Vedder singing in my sleep.”
“I’m impressed.” And if you weren’t my best friend’s kid sister, I’d be a little turned on by the fact you know your Pearl Jam.
Billie kicks her feet. “I like this game. Your voice is better than I thought.”
“Ha.”
We keep playing as we wait for Billie to be wheeled into surgery. By the time we leave the room, she looks…not relaxed, but not like she’s about to pass out either.
Is it wrong that my chest swells a little knowing I have that kind of power?
Only when the nurses tell me that I have to let her go do I realize I’m still holding Billie’s hand. It’s not cold or clammy anymore, but she does hold my palm in a grip I can only describe as fierce.
A little afraid.
Without thinking, I lift our joined hands and brush my lips over her knuckles. “You’re gonna be just fine, Billie.”
“How do you know that?” The words are threadbare. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I don’t know who’s more nervous about Billie’s surgery, her or me.
“You said it yourself. I put this healing hand on you.”
She scoffs. “Will you put it on me again if I need it? And the other hand too? All over?”
“Put what all over you?”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I look up and see Colt jogging toward us, his parents on his heels.
No sign of the rodeo dickhead. Good.
“Nothing.” I drop Billie’s hand and shove my own inside my back pocket. “The Lord’s blessing.”
Billie outright laughs. “That’s exactly what I want put all over me. I need some Jesus in my life. Thank you, Ryder.”
Colt draws to a stop beside Billie’s bed in the hallway. He’s out of breath as he leans in to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry we’re so late.”
“You helped clear the cattle from the road, didn’t you?” Billie wrinkles her nose. She looks really fucking cute when she does that. “You stink.”
“You’re welcome for busting my ass to get here!” He laughs. “And yeah, we all lent a hand. Still took an age. Are you feeling okay? They told us you were being brought into surgery.”
“I’m…okay, actually.” Billie glances at me. “Ryder kept me distracted while they did the needle stuff.”
Colt sends an appreciative look my way. “Thank you, brother.”
“Welcome.” The word comes out more gruffly than I intended. Maybe because I’m suddenly gripped by an awful sense of guilt even though I know that, logically, I didn’t do anything wrong.
I still can’t kick the sense that I crossed a line tonight. Many lines. I’ve done a good job of keeping Billie at arm’s length, but tonight I let her in—I let myself get close to her—and now I feel funky. Or maybe I’m in a funk thinking about how I’ll have to put up my guard again in the morning.
Before I lost my parents, I wasn’t afraid to open up to Billie. I even played my guitar for her, both of us getting deep in our feels as I strummed her favorite Taylor Swift song.
But after my parents died, I stopped playing guitar, and I stopped opening up too. And maybe it’s hitting me that I’ve missed out on some really excellent things by keeping my distance.
Shit like Billie’s wry sense of humor and her bravery and the way she lights up a room. I want to witness it all again, because…well, because it made me feel fully and completely alive for the first time in ages.
What am I supposed to do, though? If I keep letting her get close, I might do something stupid. Like cross even more lines, blow up my friendship with Colt, and risk complete and total annihilation.
Not to be dramatic. But I’ve already been through so much loss. Losing people you love—it wrecks you, and I’m not sure I can survive that kind of loss again.
Mr. Wallace claps my shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of our little girl.”
“I’m not little anymore, Dad.” But Billie’s eyes still well when he kisses her cheek. “Love you. I’ll be okay.”
I step back, giving Billie’s family space to get closer to her.
“You hurting?” There’s a deep groove between Mrs. Wallace’s brows.
I know that groove well; as the mother of six children whom she raised on the ranch, Mrs. Wallace has experienced dozens of injuries over the years.
I’ve been there to witness the appearance of that groove more times than I can count.
“Mostly my pride, Mom.”
Mrs. Wallace grins. “You did so great tonight, Billie. We’re proud of you.”
“We also hope you’ll be hanging up your spurs soon.” Mr. Wallace puts a hand on his chest. “My nerves can’t take this kind of scare anymore.”
The life in Billie’s eyes dissolves almost immediately. She looks down at her hands, which are now clasped in her lap. “You’ve been saying that forever, Daddy.”
“I mean it this time, sweetheart.”
“But it was my first real race—”
“All right, y’all, the OR is ready.” A nurse releases the brake on Billie’s bed. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”
Mrs. Wallace grabs her daughter’s hand. Colt kisses Billie’s cheek again, and Mr. Wallace kisses the top of her head. For a full heartbeat they stay in this pose, a slightly awkward but entirely heartfelt group hug.
Sister, brother.
Mom and Dad.
Seeing the four of them together, a hand grips my windpipe and squeezes.
I learned a long time ago that feeling sorry for myself is a useless exercise.
I miss my parents. I miss Garrett. I’ll always love them.
But I can’t dwell on the fact that I lost them, or the grief will swallow me whole.
I can’t walk along the edge of that complete and utter destruction I was talking about.
Goddamn it, though. I’d give anything to be able to hug them one more time.
I’d give anything to be held by them one last time.
The Wallaces step back. Billie turns her head on the pillow, looking up toward me. For a split second, our gazes lock.
A palpable, heavy beat of…something passes between us. Understanding? Shared grief? Delayed shock at the things we said and did tonight? Whatever it is that moves in the small space between her body and mine, it arrows right through my heart.
It hurts.
“Thanks again, Ry,” Billie says.
I blink, struggling for breath. Instinctively my hand goes to my front pocket, my fingertips tracing the outline of Dad’s knife. “Good luck.”
Looking away, I turn and stalk out of the emergency room.