14
O h god. Ribs. Hips. Fingertips. Everything hurts.
In my ears, the gentle beep of a machine. Steady. Constant. Like a single heartbeat. My body and my head feel distant, foggy. Like I’m waking from the densest fog in the darkest hole.
Slowly, so slowly, I blink open my eyes and look around. An unfamiliar dim space. A figure rises from a chair.
Aiden.
I squirm, panicked, desperate for an escape.
A cool hand on my brow. “Fallon? Can you hear me?”
I calm.
I know that voice. Deep. Rough. Infuriatingly familiar.
“Fallon? Can you wake up for me, baby?”
Baby?
I moan, uncertain if this is another dream. If I’m in hell and my sole tormentor is Wyatt Montgomery.
I crack an eye, quickly scanning the face that comes into focus. His left cheek is bruised. His golden-brown hair is disheveled. He looks haggard, exhausted, but still unfairly, ruggedly handsome.
“Wyatt?” I rasp. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt.”
The bed— bed? —shifts as he sits beside me.
“Then who is?” I lift a hand to his face, gesturing at his silver-lined eyes, but he clasps it, stilling me. My brain is foggy, but even I know a cowboy crying when I see one.
“Fallon.” He bows his head, grips my fingers with his own calloused fingertips. “You are.” His throat works over the words. “You’re hurt.”
“Liar.” I try to remember what happened before this—just before these strange shadows—but can’t.
His throat works. “You’re in the hospital.”
“What happened?” My words are garbled, thick.
His face falls, full of raw emotion. “You don’t remember?”
Fear buzzes through my body, but I quip, “I’m asking, aren’t I?”
It feels like a thousand years before he says, “You fell off your bull.”
“Bullshit.” I grab the side rails of my bed, try to pull myself upright. Cords and tubes tangle, an alarm sounds, and I swear.
I don’t believe it. Won’t.
“Fallon,” Wyatt says with force. His large hands come out to lean me back against the pillow. I thrash, but I’m weak at the moment, and he’s too strong. “Listen to me. You did.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but nothing comes out.
His haunted eyes, the look on his face, scare me worse than the night he found me in the cabin at the Edens.
Memory zips through me, screaming, tearing down the walls of my brain. The thunder of the arena. The snort of the bull. The dizzying of my mind. That rope, that tether, loose in my hands, and then I—
“I fell,” I whisper.
More sensation now. My left leg feels padded, thick, uncomfortable.
My stomach twists. I bring my hand down and feel bandages wrapped around my thigh.
This isn’t happening. It’s not real.
It can’t be.
“Wyatt. What’s wrong with my leg?”
He swallows, his rugged features cut with worry. Fear.
“Wyatt,” I say again. Louder this time.
He touches my face. Cups it in those big rough hands. Forces my gaze to his. “Fallon. Baby. Listen to me.” The seriousness of his tone makes my heart speed up.
Panic rises in me. I squeeze my eyes shut, shake my head. “No. No . I don’t want to hear it. Unless you have something good to say, I don’t want to fucking hear it.”
Because I already recognize the look on his face. The awful silence. In rodeo, I know it all too well.
I’m hurt.
Bad.
“No, no, no…” I thrash my head, I feel wild, out of control. A heavy pressure rises behind my eyes. I can’t cry, though. Instead I gasp for air, for a way to go back in time, to change everything.
“Breathe.” His hands are in mine now, squeezing. “Fucking breathe.”
“I can’t,” I gasp. “I can’t.” My hands shoot out and twist in the hem of his white T-shirt. His muscles stiffen, but he grips my shoulders and pulls me into his arms.
The weight in my chest vanishes when I’m against his.
“I’ve got you, okay?” he says, his voice hoarse and broken. “I’ve got you, and I won’t let go.” Cool lips sweep over my brow. “Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.”
His heart thuds against mine as I close my eyes.
And I breathe.
At least, I think I do.
My hospital room is a flurry of chaos. I’m a flurry of drugs that make me loopy. Dark fog, busted body. That’s me, Fallon McGraw.
“You want water?”
“Stop fussing, Koty.”
A tremulous smile spreads across Dakota’s face. “I am going to fuss until the cows come home. It’s your punishment for scaring us to death.”
My sister, in a seat next to my bed, looks tired and sad, which makes me feel like I’m a harbinger of doom. Hell, maybe I am.
Davis paces back and forth in front of the door, arms crossed. A bossy bodyguard until the end.
And Wyatt—he looks exhausted, leaning back against the window. He hasn’t left the room, my side, since he arrived. Probably because he’s waiting to say I told you so.
The windows reveal a bright sunny morning, but it does nothing to lighten the mood. Neither does the doctor—Dr. Joy—who checks me over. Dakota, Davis, and Wyatt have all told me what happened, but I want to hear it from him.
He goes over a long litany of bumps and bruises. Broken ribs. Splenectomy.
“But the worst of it is your leg,” Dr. Joy says. “You landed hard, awkward, and the femur snapped. We performed a femur fracture open reduction and internal fixation.”
His big, fancy words don’t scare me. I’ve been in rough shape before and survived. I can do it again.
My eyes drift to the bandage on my leg. “Which means?”
“Which means no cast. Which means we’ll get you up and walking by tomorrow.”
Davis runs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “That soon?”
Dr. Joy nods. “These days, moving as soon as possible is crucial. Once you master your walker and pain levels, we’ll send you home.
However, you’ll need extensive physical and occupational therapy.
Help with the normal activities of daily living.
Someone needs to be there to monitor your medication and any post-surgery complications. ”
“She’ll have all the help she needs,” Dakota says.
“You’ll need to use a walker and attend outpatient PT for about twelve weeks,” the doctor advises. “We want that fracture to heal properly so you don’t need a repeat surgery.”
My mind spins out. Twelve weeks of sitting around doing nothing. Relying on a piece of metal to get me around. God, it’ll be torture. How will I feed my horses? Shower? I can’t do it alone, but I don’t want to burden Dakota and Davis. They have two babies. A ranch and a bakery.
I steel myself, shaking off my panic. “When can I get back to riding?”
Dr. Joy quiets. I don’t miss the way Dakota and Davis’s eyes lock.
I suck in air through my teeth. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”
“You misunderstand, Fallon.” Dr. Joy sounds apologetic. “I’ll be blunt. Because of the way the femur fracture affects your hip joint, you likely won’t be able to ride at all.”
What? I turn to Wyatt with wide eyes, but he’s already looking at me.
I can’t breathe. “Can’t ride bulls, right?”
“Can’t ride anything. Bulls, horses. Ever.”
I close my eyes.
The entire room quiets. Except my heart. It thunders and then splinters.
I want to scream my fucking head off.
Panic. Everything in me is a whirlwind of panic. It’s worse than I imagined.
I have nothing if I can’t ride. Not even myself.
Denial kicks in my head like a bucking bull. I can’t bear it. I refuse it. Inhaling a deep breath, I open my eyes then flinch. The pain—the pity—on Dakota’s face as she stares at me like she knows what I’ve just lost.
I let out a low laugh. “I’m gonna ride again.”
A sob erupts from Dakota.
“It’s the pain meds talking,” Davis says, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“No, it’s not the pain meds.” My voice trembles even as I will it to be steel. I look up at Wyatt and his clenched jaw. “Tell them. Tell them, Wyatt.”
He may be a cocky cowboy, but he’ll give it to me straight. I have always been able to rely on him for the truth.
Wyatt’s pause is long, then he says, his words like hope filling me up, “You’ll ride again.”
I sag back against the bed. Try not to notice how Wyatt’s hand has found mine, his protective stance, or the husky growl of his voice. I blame the pills. The drugs being pumped through my system.
I need someone to hold on to, even if it is Wyatt Montgomery.
“Wyatt,” Dakota says sharply as she takes my other hand. I watch them glare at each other, a strange development, since they usually get along. She looks at me. “That fact that you’re alive is a miracle, Fallon. Let’s try to keep the recklessness to a minimum the next few weeks, okay?”
Dakota sits with what seems like a million teardrops on her face. She clasps my hand. Wyatt has my other. I’m handless. Helpless.
Is this what I wanted? Did I get what I deserved? I took the risks. I made my choice.
Petulance and pity take over. “I shouldn’t have fallen. Nothing makes sense. I know how to ride a fucking bull.”
Dr. Joy looks down at me. “The symptoms you describe just before your fall—dizziness, blurred vision—you had a migraine.”
Davis pushes off the wall, crossing his arms. “It was too soon for you to ride.”
I glare at him and his asshole words. “I already hate almost all men. Don’t make me add you to the list, Davis.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Wyatt snarls. “You ain’t helpin’, D.”
“I’ve been fine at El Toro,” I insist to the entire room. “I haven’t had a migraine in…in almost a year. My hand wouldn’t just slip on the rope.” Desperately, I look at Wyatt. “You believe me, don’t you? I had that bull.”
“Yeah.” His eyes are sad. “I believe you.”
I sit there, gasping for air, thinking it can’t get worse, when Dr. Joy looks at Wyatt. “I’ll let you and your wife talk.”
Fuck.
I wait for the doctor to exit, and then I turn to Wyatt and glare. “Wife?”
Wyatt runs his free hand through his hair then down his jaw. “I told them,” he says. He doesn’t look apologetic, the bastard.
Dakota’s lips thin. “I’m upset you didn’t tell anyone, but considering the circumstances, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.”
The brick wall that is Davis’s body, the crossed arms and scowl he keeps giving Wyatt, tell me he’s pissed.
I push myself up, wanting to say something to intercept their pissy macho stare-down. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, it was a mistake.”
Wyatt flinches.
Dakota arches a brow. “I am curious. What did you plan to do? Go your entire life without anyone knowing?”
“No one needed to know.” I look up at Wyatt, at the way he has my hand cradled to his chest. “I figured we’d just play along until one of us wanted a divorce.”
Wyatt’s face darkens, like he hates my words. Like I’ve just stuck a blade somewhere soft.
But why would he be upset? Marriage was never for either of us.
Davis snorts softly. “What about your father?”
“What about him?” I ask casually, even as regret curdles my stomach. Because Stede, a by-the-book, old school cowboy, will be furious.
“That’s enough,” Wyatt barks at Davis. “She doesn’t need this right now.”
At the hard, protective tone in his voice, warmth spreads through me.
A knock rattles the hospital room door. “Hey,” Reese says, her eyes filling the instant she sees me. “Can we say hi?”
Wyatt looks unhappy, but he nods and lets loose of my hand.
I swallow as our friends and family crowd the room. God. The pity. The sad looks. I can barely stand it.
I’m engulfed in soft hugs and perfume. Ruby. Reese.
“We were so worried,” Ruby whispers, setting no less than four bouquets of flowers on the windowsill.
Charlie leans down to kiss my brow. “Sure gave us a scare,” he gruffs.
Ford squeezes my hand. “Gotta throw a couple prayers up to the man upstairs, cowgirl.”
I flinch at the nickname. I don’t feel like a cowgirl one bit. I feel like an undeserving imposter who can’t even giddy-up her way out of this damn hospital bed.
Eyes bright with tears, Reese asks, “How do you feel?”
I shift, mustering a smile. “Like my spinal cord’s draining out of my asshole.”
Boots scuff over the tile. My stomach turns over when I see Vic.
I raise a brow at his approach. “Come to gloat?”
“Nah.” He offers a tight smile. “You rode it to the end. I respect that.”
Words stall in my throat. I feel undeserving of his grace, his training.
Everyone crowds around, forcing smiles and making small talk. But I stay silent. I can’t think around the roaring in my head. The pain that drills through my leg. My heart.
“You hurtin’?” Wyatt’s deep drawl in my ear.
I grit my teeth and give a curt nod. I’ve been through a lot of painful things. Anesthesia wearing off too soon, losing fingernails in accidents, broken bones. But the pain radiating through my leg and hip is the only one that makes me feel like my soul is leaving my body.
“She’s tired. Everyone out,” Wyatt orders, and I feel warmth on my brow before the world goes dark again.
The next time I wake, my pain is gone and Wyatt’s in the chair beside my bed. It’s night. Moonlight cuts a white line across the flowers on my windowsill.
I roll my head across the pillow. “I thought you said everyone out.”
“Yeah, well…” A muscle works in that sharp jaw as he rises to stand. “I’m not everyone.”
A scoff pops out of my mouth. “Husband privileges?”
Husband . The word is as annoying as Wyatt.
He smiles and turns on the bedside lamp. “Something like that.”
“Think we pissed off our entire family.”
“They’ll get over it. I’m not worried about them.”
A hand slides into mine. There it is again. That warm feeling in my stomach. Like everything will be okay as long as he’s here.
“Do you need anything?” Wyatt asks. “Water? Food?”
Emotions rising in my chest, I turn my face away, breaking our connection. “You’re being too nice to me. Like one of your hurt horses.”
He pauses. “How do you want me to be?”
“Mean. How we used to be. Honest.”
“I’m always honest with you, Fallon.”
“Then how’d I look? Up there on that bull?”
He sighs, eyes pained and glassy.
“Fine. Fuck. Don’t tell me.” I grit my teeth in frustration and cover my face in the crook of my elbow.
Don’t cry. Not in front of Wyatt Montgomery. He’s waiting for that moment. Crying is for little girls. Tears are for things like mother’s leaving and horses dying.
A hand on my shoulder.
“You stayed on that bull for seven seconds.” Wyatt’s soft, soothing drawl rolls through me better than any pain pill. “Nobody could believe it. They couldn’t breathe. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. You were the wind. You rode the fucking sky.”
I lower my arm to look at him. “I did?”
He smiles. “Yeah, Trouble. You did.”