42. Holden
HOLDEN
The scent of disinfectant and stale coffee lingers in the corridors. No matter how many hospital visits I’ve had during my career, I’ll always hate that smell.
I barely remember parking. By the time I reach the fourth floor, my pulse is hammering so hard I can barely hear anything else.
The elevator doors glide open, and I’m already moving before they fully part.
I’ve spent the past forty-five minutes clinging to Dad’s words that Sage is okay. But every horrible possibility is still alive in my head—concussion, brain bleed, surgery, death.
I shove it all down.
A nurse steps into my path near the station desk. “Sir—”
“I’m looking for Sage Emerson. Room 417.”
River texted me the number because I’d forgotten to ask before I raced out of there.
Maybe it’s my expression or the urgency in my voice that makes her face soften. “Are you a family member?”
I’m not risking being turned away, so without blinking, I answer. “Fiancé. How is she?”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “She’s stable.”
The breath leaves my lungs so fast it hurts.
Stable.
The word should make me feel a hell of a lot better than it does. But all I can think about is Sage lying at the bottom of that ditch while I was hours away.
The nurse points down the corridor. “Her family’s with her now. You can go in.”
I nod once and get moving. The closer I get to the room, the harder it is to breathe.
Now that I’m here, and under false pretenses, another fear sets in. What if she doesn’t want to see me? Hell, I’d deserve it for leaving. But I think I’ll lose my mind if she asks me to go.
I stop outside room 417, and with my hand braced against the doorframe, I take a deep breath. Then I push the door open.
The first thing I notice is Sage, lying in bed, her eyes closed, lashes dark against her pale cheeks. Her hair spills messily across the pillow beneath the thick bandage wrapped around her head, while an IV line runs from a pole into the top of her hand.
The monitor beside her beeps softly, the sound hitting deep inside my chest.
For one awful, disorienting second, I’m sixteen again. Another room. Another hallway. A doctor explaining injuries to Dad while blood roared in my ears, drowning out half the words.
The room tilts a little beneath my feet before I force myself to breathe again.
That’s when I notice everybody else.
Sage’s mom sits in a chair by the window, wearing an immaculate cream power suit that probably costs more than my truck payment. Her posture is perfect, her expression composed, as if she’s in court arguing a case rather than sitting in a dim hospital room.
Beside her, Sage’s dad stands with his arms crossed, wearing a crisp suit jacket. The resemblance around the eyes is unmistakable, even if the look he’s giving me could freeze water.
Graham is here as well. Leaning against the wall, looking just like he did the last time I saw him—expensive, polished, and entirely too comfortable in Sage’s orbit. He’s watching me, his expression dark.
Ignoring him, I take a step toward the bed, but he shifts to block my path.
Sage’s dad moves forward as well. “And you are?” The question is dismissive. Like they’ve already assessed me and decided I’m beneath consideration. Or maybe Graham’s been talking.
“Holden McBride.”
Sage’s mom’s expression cools another degree. “The cowboy.”
Her dad straightens. “There’s no reason for you to be here. This situation is stressful enough without unnecessary distractions.”
Stressful enough? Their daughter hit her head hard enough to end up in the hospital, yet he sounds more inconvenienced than scared.
Graham lets out a sharp breath. “Victoria, Richard, and I have been discussing arrangements.”
My shoulders tense. “What arrangements?”
“To take her home.”
“Home?”
“New York,” Victoria clarifies. “She needs proper recovery support.”
Graham steps closer and nods toward the hospital bed. “This place is obviously dangerous.”
My jaw locks. “She was injured saving a calf,” I say flatly. “Not cliff-diving.”
Richard snorts. “Do you hear yourself? She’s a photographer. What the hell was she doing anywhere near a farm animal?”
“The point is she has a concussion.” Victoria crosses her legs. “She should be back home, not worrying about any of this.”
“I don’t think it’s up to you what Sage does. She can decide for herself.”
Graham glowers. “I wasn’t aware anybody asked for your opinion.”
“You seem happy enough to give yours without being asked.” I pin him with my stare. “Why are you even here?”
His expression hardens. “The hospital called me. I’m still her emergency contact.”
I grit my teeth. “Being her emergency contact doesn’t give you the right to tell her how to live her life.”
Victoria puts one hand up. “Now isn’t the time.”
“Actually,” Graham says without looking away from me, “now seems like exactly the right time.”
I do my best to keep my voice down, though my blood pressure is rising. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for her.”
He laughs. “And you do?”
“I’ve learned better. Sage should be the only one making decisions about what she wants.”
“That’s funny,” a hoarse voice says from behind me.
We all turn.
Sage’s eyes are heavy-lidded but open.
For a second, nobody moves. Then her mom rises and makes her way to the side of the bed. “Are you okay? Should we call a nurse?”
“I’m fine,” Sage rasps.
She doesn’t sound fine. She sounds tired.
But Victoria lets out a quiet breath, and her shoulders relax a little.
Sage shifts slightly, and when she winces, I fight the urge to move, to help, but I stay where I am.
Her gaze sweeps the room, from her parents to Graham, finally settling on me. For one long, painful heartbeat, she stares, a small line forming between her brows. Then she wets her lips and looks back at Graham.
“You know what none of you have asked me?” Her voice is thin, but certain. “What I want.”
“Sage—” Richard cuts in.
“My head hurts, and right now I want you to leave.”
Graham takes a step toward her, but Sage holds up her hand. “Don’t make me call a nurse to kick you out.”
Victoria presses her lips together before heading for the door. “We’ll get something to eat. We can talk later.”
As they file out, I consider not leaving. But as much as I want to demand to stay, to make sure she’s all right, to look after her, I can’t be that guy, once again overriding her decisions.
I’ve taken one reluctant step when she speaks. “Please stay, Holden.”
She winces, adjusting again, and my protective instincts take over. I move toward the bed before I can stop myself. “Do you need anything?”
Her eyes lift to mine, the exhaustion there nearly gutting me.
“I’m okay.”
She isn’t. Not even close. But she says it the same way I always do. The way she did when she was all tangled up about choosing the residency. Something painful twists through me at the realization.
Her hair is tangled, with dried blood matted in it near the bandage.
The sight makes nausea roll hard through my stomach.
I’ve seen blood in dark hair before.
My fingers curl automatically into fists. God, I should’ve been here. If I hadn’t left—if I’d stayed—if I’d made better damn decisions—
“How are you feeling?” I ask, cutting off my spiraling thoughts.
She exhales carefully. “Like I lost another fight with a ditch.”
Relief loosens my muscles so abruptly that I almost laugh.
I pull a chair close and sit. I want to touch her, to take her hand, feel the warmth of her skin against mine, but I don’t. I haven’t earned the right.
She watches me silently, her eyes guarded.
A breath gusts out of me. “I might’ve told the nurse I was your fiancé.”
She blinks slowly. “What?”
“It was the only way they’d let me in. I’m sorry.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she says with a sigh, though she doesn’t sound angry. Her fingers smooth over the sheet covering her. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were back at the rodeo.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I was wrong.”
Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “About what?”
“Everything.”
A corner of her mouth twitches. “That’s a broad statement.”
“For leaving,” I rasp.
The glimmer of humor disappears instantly.
“I thought…” I stop, then start again. “I thought if I left first, it’d hurt less.”
“And did it?” she asks.
“No.” My ribs hollow. “No, it didn’t.”
She glances away toward the dark hospital window. “You hurt me, Holden.”
The words hit harder than getting stepped on by a bull ever did. Because they’re true. And because she says them so quietly. Not angry, just tired.
I don’t look away from her. “I know.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks, then I force myself to continue. “I don’t know what you’re going to decide.”
She blinks at me. “About what?”
I gesture vaguely. “Everything. Milan. New York. Wild Ember.”
Brows rising, she searches my face.
“I came back because I needed to talk to you before you make your choice.”
Something flickers in her eyes. Hope, fear, maybe both. “What?” she whispers.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and inch forward, wanting to get closer.
“I love you. Looking back, I think I was screwed from the minute you stepped out of your car in the rain and mud and smiled at me like there was nothing strange about it.” Her lips part, pink staining her cheeks.
I keep going before I lose my nerve. “You never asked me to be anybody other than who I was. And I got scared and ran.”
I let myself take her hand, turning it over and brushing my thumb across her soft palm. “I spent the last week trying to convince myself I could go back to my old life.” I shake my head. “Turns out every road led back to you.” I gently tighten my grip. “And there’s no running from that.”
Emotion flashes across her face, though she hides it quickly.
I lean forward slightly. “If Milan is what you want, I’ll go with you.”
Her eyes widen.
“I mean it.”
She sucks in a breath. “Holden—”
“Or if New York is what you want, I’ll go there too.” I hold her gaze. “If Wild Ember is where you want to stay…” My voice roughens. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life grateful that I finally smartened up and came back home.”
For a long moment, she looks at me. I can’t read her expression. There’s too much emotion there. Too much exhaustion.
Her mouth trembles, and she lets out a shaky breath. “You really mean that?”
“Yeah. Every part of it.” And I do. There’s not a place in this world I wouldn’t follow her if that’s what she wants.
Her gaze drops to where I’m still holding her hand. When she looks up at me again, her eyes are glossy, and there’s something fragile in her expression. “You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to know what to do with them. Not when my head hurts and I can’t think straight.”
The rawness in her voice tears at my heart. “I know.”
Her lashes drift shut for a second before opening again.
“Sage—”
“I’m trying really hard not to cry,” she admits.
I have to swallow before I can speak. “You don’t have to try so hard, sweetheart.”
A faint smile touches her lips before fading again. “I’m really tired.”
Worry washes over me. “Concussions will do that to you.”
“Thank you for coming,” she says, her fingers curling weakly around mine.
It’s not forgiveness, and it’s not an answer, not yet. But it’s enough to keep me breathing.
I rise slowly. “You should rest. I’ll be around, okay?”
She nods.
I’m almost at the door when she speaks again. “Holden?”
I turn back.
Her eyes have almost drifted shut again. “I love you too.”
For a second, all the air is stolen from my lungs.
She swallows. “That was never the problem.”
I close my eyes. God, she’s killing me. “I know.”
“You broke my heart,” she whispers.
I didn’t know words could cut so damn deep. “I’m sorry, Sage. If I could take it all back, I would.”
She nods carefully, and this time when her eyes slide shut, they don’t open again.
When I step out of the room, her parents are sitting together, obviously uncomfortable on the plastic seats beneath the fluorescent lights. Graham stands by the window, arms crossed.
All three look at me, but I keep walking.
“McBride.”
I stop and turn.
Richard’s expression is measured. The kind of look some men get when they’re trying to control their temper. “How is she?”
The question surprises me enough that I answer honestly. “Sleeping.”
Relief flashes across Victoria’s face, though it’s quickly replaced by a guarded expression.
Graham drops his arms. “She’s vulnerable right now.”
The irritation I’ve been holding back since seeing him again finally surfaces. “What is it you’re hoping for here?”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“You tracked her down at the ranch. You show up here. You cheated on her.” I gesture toward Sage’s room. “So why are you here?”
For a moment, no one speaks.
Then Graham’s jaw tightens. “Because she’s making a mistake.”
There it is. Not because he misses her. Not because he loves her. Because she’s making a mistake.
Richard’s mouth thins. “He’s not wrong.”
“A residency like this could make her career,” Victoria adds.
I shrug. “If it’s what she wants, she should take it.”
“And if it isn’t?” Graham interjects.
I hold his gaze. “Then she shouldn’t.”
It’s as simple as that. At least, it seems simple to me now.
Victoria shakes her head. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
It’s the certainty in her voice that grates the most. “What’s at stake?”
“The future she’s worked for.”
I stare back at the three of them. “What if the future she wants isn’t the one you want for her?”
Nobody answers. Maybe because the possibility has never occurred to them.
It shouldn’t surprise me. This isn’t new. The pressure. The perfectionism. The way Sage believes her worth depends on what she achieves.
They taught her that.
Richard rubs a hand across his jaw. “You really think a ranch in Colorado is enough for her?”
The question isn’t cruel. That’s what makes it worse. He genuinely doesn’t understand.
“Yeah.” The word comes easily. “I do.”
Victoria lets out an exasperated breath. “Because you’re in love with her.”
I nod. No point denying it.
Richard studies me. “And what happens when she realizes she’s throwing her career away?”
I meet his gaze steadily. “Then that’ll be her mistake to make.”
There’s silence again. Because that’s the part they don’t understand. Sage gets to choose. Even if they don’t like the decision she makes.
Especially then.
I glance toward her room, toward the closed door and the woman sleeping inside.
As much as I’d love for them to finally understand, I don’t think they will. I’m not sure they even can.
“I’m getting a coffee,” I say.
Then I leave them standing there with nothing resolved at all.