18. Chapter 18 #2
So Ghost told me.
"He wasn't defending himself right."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he could've blocked shots and didn't."
My hands went cold.
"He could've moved and didn't. Guy caught him in the ribs. Colt went down, got back up. Took another hit. Then another."
"Why didn't anyone stop it?"
"We tried."
The words cracked out of him.
Ghost looked away.
"You think I didn't fucking try? He wouldn't listen. And by the time I got close enough, the other guy had him down."
My stomach turned.
"The opponent kept hitting him?"
Ghost nodded.
"After Colt was unconscious?"
"I don't know when he lost consciousness."
His voice went rough.
"I just know he stopped protecting his head."
The waiting room blurred.
I reached for the back of a chair.
"He was letting them hurt him," Ghost said. "Just standing there, taking shots he could've avoided. Like he wanted it to happen."
My hands started shaking.
A doctor came through the secured doors a few minutes later and gave us the clinical version.
Multiple rib fractures. Severe concussion. Contusions. A shoulder injury.
Monitoring for complications.
Each word was precise. Contained.
I hated every one of them.
"Can I see him?" I asked.
Ditch stepped between me and the doors. Not aggressively. That would have been easier.
"Before you go in there, we're talking."
"Move."
"No."
"Ditch."
"Three weeks ago, you disappeared."
My eyes burned. "This is not the time."
"It's exactly the fucking time."
Ghost shifted away from us. Ditch didn't.
"You stopped responding. Stopped being his support system. Wouldn't even tell him why."
"I know."
"Do you?"
His voice rose.
"Because from where I'm standing, you decided your fear mattered more than giving him a conversation."
"I was trying to protect him."
"From what?"
"Me!"
The word tore out of me.
The waiting room went silent.
I lowered my voice.
"From me. From what I felt. From the fact that I had already crossed a line and didn't trust myself not to cross another one."
Ditch stared at me.
I forced myself to continue.
"I thought distance was safer."
"For who?"
I had no answer.
That was the answer.
His expression hardened.
"Your need to maintain professional ethics just nearly killed someone who was genuinely trying to heal."
I flinched. Then something inside me pushed back. "No."
Ditch's eyes narrowed.
"I handled this catastrophically," I said. "I abandoned him. I made a unilateral decision because I was scared, and I hurt him. I will carry responsibility for that."
My voice shook.
"But I did not make Colt get into that ring. I did not make him drink. I did not make him stop defending himself."
Ditch's jaw flexed.
"If we turn what happened tonight into proof that I'm responsible for whether Colt lives or dies, then we haven't helped him. We've just given him another way to avoid facing what he's doing to himself."
The silence between us changed.
Not softer.
More honest.
I wiped at my face and realized I was crying.
"I failed him," I whispered. "But I will not love him by lying about that."
Ditch stared at me for a long moment.
Then he stepped aside.
"Go."
I pushed through the doors.
Nothing prepared me for seeing Colt.
Nothing.
He looked destroyed.
Bandaged from ribs to shoulder. His face a landscape of bruises. One eye swollen. His lip split. Monitors surrounded him, every machine producing a sound I understood too well.
I stopped in the doorway.
My body refused to move.
This was Colt.
The man who filled every room he entered. The man who used anger like armor. The man who had sat in my office shaking and still worried more about protecting everyone else than himself.
He looked small in the bed.
Not physically.
Never physically.
But vulnerable in a way I had never seen.
"Oh, Colt."
I crossed the room.
Pulled the chair close.
Sat down.
For several seconds, I stared at his hand.
Then I took it.
All my carefully maintained walls crumbled.
The fiction that I had everything together.
The belief that I was the stable one.
The conviction that maintaining professional distance was more important than showing up for someone I cared about.
I'd built my entire therapeutic practice on the principle of never abandoning people.
Then I'd done exactly that to the person who mattered most to me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
My thumb moved over his knuckles.
"I'm so sorry."
Colt didn't respond.
Couldn't respond.
The monitor continued its steady rhythm.
"I should have told you."
My voice broke.
"I should have sat across from you and admitted that I was scared. I should have given you a choice in what happened next."
Tears slipped down my face.
"I kissed you back, and then I punished you for the fact that I wanted it."
Saying it aloud made me feel sick.
"You didn't deserve that."
I bowed my head over his hand.
"But you don't get to do this either."
The words came out as a whisper.
"You don't get to make me responsible for keeping you alive. You don't get to punish yourself until someone else saves you."
My grip tightened.
"And if you wake up, I swear to God, we're going to fight about that."
A sob escaped me.
"Just wake up so I can fight with you."
The nurse came in sometime later.
I straightened automatically, wiping my face.
"Any change?"
"Not yet."
"How long?"
She checked one of the monitors.
"Could be hours. With a severe concussion, his brain needs time. Right now, we're monitoring him closely."
"Could be days?"
"It's possible."
The room went cold.
I looked back at Colt.
"Okay."
I stayed.
One hour.
Then two.
Then four.
At some point, Ditch appeared in the doorway.
I didn't release Colt's hand. "I was wrong," I said.
Ditch leaned against the frame.
"About all of it. About how to handle this situation. About what would protect him."
"Yeah."
No comfort. I appreciated that. "But you were wrong too."
His eyebrows lifted.
"You can't tell me my leaving nearly killed him and then expect me to come back believing my presence is the only thing keeping him alive."
Ditch's expression changed.
"That's not what I meant."
"It is what you said."
He looked toward Colt.
For the first time since I'd arrived, some of his anger cracked.
"I was scared."
"So was I."
"Yeah."
I nodded.
"What do I do now?"
Ditch pulled up a chair.
"You stay."
"For tonight."
"For as long as you decide you can stay honestly."
I looked at him.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
"And when he wakes up, you tell him the truth. All of it. You let him be pissed. You don't disappear because the conversation gets hard."
My throat tightened.