19. Chapter 19
Colt
By the next morning, Caroline had been beside my bed for almost a full day.
That should have made everything better.
It didn't.
Every time I woke, I looked for her before I was fully conscious. Sometimes she was in the chair with her eyes closed and her hand still wrapped around mine. Sometimes she was standing near the window talking quietly on the phone.
Once, I woke to an empty chair and nearly ripped the monitor leads off my chest trying to sit up.
She'd only gone for coffee. The relief when she walked back through the door made me hate myself.
Made me hate her a little too. Because she'd come back. Because she could leave again.
Because apparently, somewhere during the three weeks she'd been gone, my brain had learned to treat her absence like another threat.
I didn't tell her that. I didn't tell her much of anything. The club arrived before eight. Sweet tried to fight me before the doctors even finished their morning rounds.
He came through the door, took one look at me, and said, "You stupid motherfucker."
Then he lunged.
Ditch caught him around the chest.
"Not in the ICU."
"Let me go."
"No."
"I just want one hit."
"You hit him, you're paying the hospital bill when they have to put his ribs back together."
Sweet strained against him.
I lay there and watched. Honestly, I probably deserved it.
"You nearly fucking died," Sweet snapped.
"I noticed."
Wrong answer.
He surged forward again. Ditch shoved him back. "Colt," Ditch warned.
"What?"
"Shut up."
Doc stood near the foot of my bed.
He wasn't yelling. That was worse. His expression wasn't angry. Just deeply, thoroughly disappointed.
"You nearly died," he said quietly.
The humor disappeared from me.
I looked away.
"The opponent kept hitting you after you went down. Ghost stopped him or you'd be in worse condition than this."
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
Doc stepped closer.
"Do you remember losing consciousness?"
I searched my memory.
Lights.
Blood in my mouth. Someone shouting. Then nothing.
"No."
"Do you remember aspirating?"
My gaze snapped to his.
"No."
"Do you remember the ambulance?"
I didn't answer.
"That's my point."
The room went quiet.
Sweet had stopped fighting Ditch. Doc looked at me with an expression I couldn't stand.
"You didn't just get hurt."
His voice stayed calm.
"You surrendered your ability to decide whether you lived."
Something in my chest tightened. I stared at the blanket.
Ditch released Sweet.
"This is going to be a conversation you're going to have," he said. "With the club. About your fitness for duty. About whether you're actually capable of being here or if you need to go back to inpatient care."
My head came up.
"No."
"Not your decision."
"Like hell it isn't."
"You want to talk about decisions?"
Ditch stepped toward the bed.
"Let's talk about the decision to get into an underground ring drunk."
"I wasn't drunk."
"You'd been drinking."
"Not the same thing."
"Jesus Christ."
Sweet turned away.
Ditch planted both hands on the footboard.
"Let's talk about the decision to stop defending yourself."
My jaw locked.
"Or the decision to ignore every person who tried to help you for three fucking weeks."
"I didn't ask for help."
"Exactly."
The word cracked through the room.
I felt Caroline before I looked at her.
She stood near the window.
Silent.
Pale.
She had offered to leave when the club arrived.
I had told her to stay.
Now I wasn't sure why.
Maybe because I needed her there. Maybe because I wanted her to hear what she'd missed.
That thought was ugly.
I let myself have it anyway.
Ditch followed my gaze. His expression changed.
"We're done for now."
"No, we're not," Sweet said.
"Yes."
Ditch looked at me.
"You rest. Then we deal with this."
The club filed out slowly.
Doc last. He paused beside the bed. "I'm glad you're alive."
I couldn't answer.
His hand closed briefly around my shoulder. Then he left.
The door clicked shut. Silence settled over the room. Caroline didn't move. Neither did I.
The monitor beeped. Someone pushed a cart down the hallway. Finally, she said, "Do you want me to go?"
I laughed. Pain tore through my ribs. "Fuck."
"Don't do that."
"What? Laugh?"
"Apparently."
She moved automatically toward me.
I held up a hand. "Don't."
Caroline stopped.
There it was. The first crack.
Not the kiss. Not her leaving. Not waking up and finding her beside me.
This.
The moment both of us realized that her return hadn't fixed a goddamn thing.
Her face changed. "Okay."
I hated how quickly she respected the boundary. Hated that too.
"You're good at that."
"At what?"
"Leaving space."
Her shoulders went rigid.
I looked toward the window.
"Colt."
"Don't."
"You brought it up."
"Yeah. My mistake."
"No."
Her voice sharpened.
"You don't get to do that."
My gaze snapped back to her.
"Do what?"
"Say something designed to hurt me and then retreat before I can respond."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"That's rich."
Pain flashed across her face.
Good.
I hated that I thought it.
Hated that part of me wanted her to hurt.
"You want to respond?" I asked. "Go ahead."
Caroline folded her arms.
"I already told you I was wrong."
"Yeah."
"I apologized."
"Yeah."
"I told you why I left."
"Right."
My voice hardened.
"You kissed me, decided you regretted wanting me, and disappeared."
"That is not what happened."
"Felt like it."
The words landed.
Caroline went still. I could see her trying to choose the right response.
That made my anger spike.
"Don't."
Her brow furrowed. "Don't what?"
"Do that thing where you think before you talk."
She stared at me.
"I would prefer to think before I speak when we're both angry."
"Of course you would."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you get to stand there and be controlled and careful while I look fucking crazy."
Her mouth parted.
I kept going.
Three weeks of silence had apparently been waiting behind my teeth.
"You want the truth? Fine. I called you."
"I know."
"I texted."
"I know."
"You canceled my session with no explanation."
"I know."
"Stop saying that."
Her eyes flashed.
"Then stop listing things I have already admitted I did."
The room went silent.
There she was. Not my therapist. Not the composed woman with endless patience.
Caroline.
Angry. Scared.
I wanted more of it.
"Why?"
Her expression shifted. "Why what?"
"Why didn't you answer?"
"I told you."
"No. You told me you panicked."
"I did."
"That's not enough."
Her jaw tightened. "It has to be."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know how else to explain it!"
The words burst out of her. I stared.
Caroline pressed both hands against her forehead. "I kissed you, Colt."
"I remember."
"Would you stop?"
"No."
She glared at me.
Despite everything, some damaged part of me wanted to smile.
I didn't.
Caroline dropped her hands.
"I kissed you, and I wanted to keep kissing you."
My entire body went still.
She looked away.
"I went home and realized that if you had stayed another five minutes, I don't know if I would have stopped."
The monitor betrayed me.
My pulse jumped.
Caroline heard it.
Her eyes closed briefly.
"That's why."
My mouth went dry.
"I had spent months telling myself I was managing this. That I understood the transference. That I understood my own countertransference. That I could maintain boundaries."
She looked at me again.
"Then you touched me, and I didn't want boundaries."
The anger inside me shifted.
Didn't disappear.
That would have been easier.
It tangled with want.
With relief.
With three weeks of pain.
"So you left."
"Yes."
"You punished me."
Her face crumpled.
"I know."
"Because you wanted me."
"I know."
"Stop fucking saying you know."
"What do you want me to say?"
Her voice rose.
"I want you to tell me why I wasn't worth a conversation."
The words came out before I could stop them.
Caroline froze.
So did I.
There it was.
The real thing.
Not anger.
Not ethics.
Not the fight.
The wound.
My throat tightened.
"I sat there like an idiot trying to figure out what I'd done."
"Colt—"
"I replayed the whole night."
Her eyes filled.
"I thought maybe I pushed you."
"You didn't."
"Maybe you froze."
"I didn't."
"Maybe you only kissed me because I showed up fucked in the head and made you feel responsible for me."
"No."
"Then I thought maybe you woke up the next morning and realized I was exactly what everyone thinks I am."
Her face went white.
"Don't."
"The violent guy."
"Stop."
"The fucked-up patient."
"Colt."
"The mistake."
"You were not a mistake!"
Her shout echoed through the room.
My chest heaved.
Pain shot through my ribs.
I didn't care.
Caroline crossed the room.
Then stopped herself before reaching the bed.
"You were not a mistake."
Her voice broke.
"The way I handled it was a mistake. Leaving was a mistake. Ignoring you was a mistake."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"But wanting you?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Something inside me cracked.
"Then why was it so easy to leave?"
Caroline stared at me.
"It wasn't."
"Looked pretty fucking easy from where I was sitting."
"You think I was fine?"
"I had no idea."
"Exactly."
The word came sharp.
"Because you didn't ask."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Then laughed once.
It sounded broken.
"No. That's not fair."
"What isn't?"
"I disappeared and made it impossible for you to ask."
The anger drained from her face.
She looked exhausted.
"I keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Making decisions before anyone can hurt me."
I didn't speak.
Caroline pulled the chair closer but didn't sit.
"I told myself I was protecting you."
"From you."
"Yes."
"That's fucked up."
"I know."
I glared.
Her mouth twitched.
Barely.
"Sorry."
For half a second, the pressure in my chest eased.
Then I remembered the empty weeks.
The ring.
Waking up to her hand in mine.
The way I'd nearly ripped out my IV when I thought she'd left for coffee.
My anger returned.
Different now.
More frightening.
"Do you know what the worst part is?"
Caroline shook her head.
"I still needed you."
Her eyes filled again.
"Colt."
"I fucking hated you, and I needed you."
The words scraped me raw.