Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
brOCK
The drive from the fairgrounds passed in a blur. I kept my hand on the small of Sienna’s back through the lobby and didn’t drop it until the hotel room door clicked shut behind the four of us.
The adrenaline finally crashed, leaving a deep burn in my left shoulder. The roar of twenty thousand screaming fans still rang in my ears, but inside the cramped hotel room, the only sound was the rattling air conditioner.
At least, until Wren threw her purse onto the desk and rounded on me.
"You are such an idiot," she said. "A stupid, reckless, lucky damn idiot."
"For once, I'm with her." Colt dropped the truck keys on the dresser with a sharp smack. "You took ten years off my life, man."
"Oh, come on."
"No." She jabbed a finger at me. "You don't get to 'oh, come on' this one. The doctor said stay, and what do you do? Sign that damn paper and walk right out."
She turned on Sienna before I could answer.
"And you—sit down. You wouldn't even let the medics check you."
Sienna sank onto the edge of the bed, wincing. "I'm okay. Brock took most of the impact."
Wren's eyes narrowed. "Honestly, what is wrong with you two? Move your hand and let me see."
She crouched in front of her and lifted the hem of Sienna's T-shirt a few inches. A purple bruise spread across her skin, stamped perfectly with the curved shape of my belt buckle.
Guilt hit me like a kick to the ribs.
That bruise was on me. I’d known how fast that alley could turn ugly, but I’d still let her stay. Selfish. I’d wanted her close, and now she was flying home with my buckle branded into her.
Colt scrubbed the back of his neck. He looked between us and clapped his hands.
"Alright. You two look like hell, so you're staying put right here." He glanced at Wren. "Come on, sis. We're making a pharmacy run, and we'll grab some pizzas while we're out."
Wren stood, squeezed Sienna's shoulder, and followed Colt to the door. "Wow. You had a decent idea for once. I'm shocked your brain didn't explode from the effort."
He snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Keep runnin’ your mouth and I’ll tell Dad who really backed his truck into the fence post.”
I pushed off the wall. "Hold on. That was you?"
My sister didn't even glance back. The door clicked shut behind them, and the room went quiet.
I turned toward Sienna. She stared back, her arms wrapped tight around herself, dirt streaking her jaw.
"You should lie down," I said.
"I'm fine." She waved a hand. "You're the one bleeding through your shirt. Get over here."
I didn't want to sit. I wanted to pull her against my good side, to feel her breathing. But my left shoulder throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, so I lowered myself onto the edge of the mattress.
Blood soaked the fabric over my shoulder, drying stiff and sticking to my skin. I unbuttoned the shirt one-handed to check the damage. Three buttons in, I rolled my arm to shrug the fabric off. Pain shot down my back, forcing a sharp hiss through my teeth.
"Stop," she said. "You're gonna rip the stitches."
She stood up from the mattress, stepped into the space between my knees, and batted my hand away. Her warm fingers took over the buttons. Reaching the left side, she leaned close.
Her fingertips brushed my chest as she eased the sleeve off my arm. I clenched my jaw and stared over her shoulder at the ugly floral wallpaper, fighting the urge to pull her against me.
She peeled the ruined shirt off completely and tossed it onto the floor.
"Oh, Brock," she whispered.
"It looks worse than it is."
“It looks like a horror movie.”
Her fingertips pressed near the edge of the thick gauze the medics had slapped on. The bandage was soaked through, pulling at my skin with every breath.
She hesitated. “If we wait for Colt and Wren to get back, this will dry and stick. It could tear the stitches when we peel it off. I should remove the top layer… but only if you want me to.”
I let out a slow breath. “Do it.”
“Tell me if I hurt you.”
I didn’t answer. My right hand locked around the edge of the mattress.
“Stay still,” she said.
I already was. She peeled the edge of the tape back a fraction of an inch at a time. Her touch was so light it was almost worse than if she’d just ripped it off. But the sting didn’t even come close to the torture of her hands moving slowly over me.
Worse, her soft breath fanned my collarbone as she leaned closer.
"Brock?"
“Mm.” I didn’t trust my voice.
Any words right now would be the wrong ones. Ask her to come back to the ranch. Tell her that perfume has been driving me crazy for weeks. Just say—
“Almost got it.”
The last strip of tape gave with a soft tear.
“Okay,” she said. “That’s… better. We’ll deal with the rest when we have proper supplies.”
I looked up. Her dark hair was a tangled mess. My gaze slid to her shirt, to the bruise I knew was blooming under it. I'd have taken that pain myself if I could.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I shook my head. “Don’t be. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
The air conditioner rattled in the corner, and the bed creaked as she settled onto the mattress next to me. She turned to face me. Her hands hovered a second, then settled at my hips, her fingers curling tight into my jeans. She was close enough that I could feel her warm breath on my skin.
One stray lock of hair stuck to her cheek. I quit fighting it, reached up, and tucked it gently behind her ear.
"You're an idiot," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
I slid my hand to the back of her neck and pulled her in. She leaned her weight into my good side, like she'd already mapped out how to hold me without hurting me. Her palms slid up my bare chest and settled over it. I felt every heartbeat thumping against her hands.
I dropped my gaze to her mouth, then raised it again. Her pupils had gone wide as she stared back at me.
I tilted my head. She met me halfway, her lips parting. The taste of dust and heat lingered between us, so close our breathing blurred together—
BZZZZ. BZZZZ. BZZZZ.
My phone rattled against the wooden nightstand.
She jerked back, her eyes snapping open. A flush flooded her cheeks.
I swore under my breath, reached over to snatch the device, and swiped the screen. "What."
"Hey, pharmacy question." Colt practically yelled through the speaker. "You got any allergies to pain meds?"
"No, I don't. Don't call me for this crap."
"Alright, jeez. You sound like you're in a great mood. Wren’s grabbing the pizza now. Five minutes."
I hung up without saying goodbye.
Sienna stood up quickly, wrapping her arms around herself, and put a few steps between us, staring a hole into the carpet.
"That was Colt." I kept my voice flat. "Checking if I had any allergies to meds."
She let out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "That's... responsible of him."
"I'm going to kill him."
That pulled a real laugh out of her. "Don't. He's bringing pizza."
I wanted to lock that door, hook my finger in her belt loop, and tug her right back to the mattress so we could finish what we’d started. One damn kiss without interruptions.
Silence stretched between us. She stayed halfway across the room while I sat frozen on the edge of the bed, watching her reflection in the full-length mirror. The moment slipped further away with every tick of the clock.
Ten minutes later, the door swung open and Colt and Wren shoved their way inside. He dangled a pharmacy bag from one hand while she balanced four large pizza boxes, grease spotting the cardboard.
Wren glanced sideways at me. "You're shirtless."
"Sienna took the outer bandage off. Was gonna dry stuck."
She raised her eyebrows a little, but all she said was, "There were so many people waiting. Eat first, then I'll patch you up properly."
She set the pizza boxes on the narrow desk and flipped open the top one. "Double bacon for Brock, plain cheese for Sienna. Dig in before Colt eats it all."
“I’m starving,” Colt said, grabbing a slice from the open box.
Space was tight. Colt and Wren sat cross-legged near the door, balancing boxes on their knees. Sienna bypassed the desk chair, sliding to the carpet and leaning against the mattress. I dropped to the floor too.
Nobody had the energy for anything except eating. Sienna devoured half her slice, pausing only to steal the piece closest to Colt’s elbow.
"Hey," he protested. "You have your own."
"I'm billing you for emotional damages," she retorted. "You promised barbecue stands, live music, and funnel cakes. Nobody mentioned death as a possible outcome.”
Wren laughed. “You held up better than Brock did his first time. A loose bull charged the county fair. He scrambled onto a truck hood and refused to come off long after they penned it.”
"I was twelve," I muttered, taking a bite of my slice. Salty bacon and melted cheese hit my tongue.
"You cried," Colt added around a mouthful of crust.
Sienna laughed, the sound bright in the cramped room. She reached for a napkin, wiped her fingers, and rested her head back against the mattress. "I'm going to miss you guys. When I board that plane tomorrow, I'll probably think I hallucinated this entire month."
Wren stopped mid-bite. Her eyes snapped from Sienna's face to the clock on the nightstand, then narrowed.
"Hold on," Wren said. "I almost forgot you were leaving tomorrow."
She looked at Colt. He looked at her—a terrifying, silent communication they’d perfected over twenty years.
"Alright," my sister announced. "We have a situation."
"What situation?" I asked.
"The situation is that tonight is Sienna's last night in Wyoming." Her green eyes gleamed. "And we just walked past The Slack down the street. The official rodeo after-party is kicking off. There’s a live band."
"No," I said. "Look at us. We got trampled. We're eating, and then we're going to sleep."
"You're a buzzkill, is what you are," Colt said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Besides, you kind of have to make an appearance. Look at this."
He tossed the phone onto the bed. The paused video showed me shielding Sienna in the dirt of the alley.
"Someone filmed the whole thing," he said, grinning. "Already got a hundred thousand views. Figure if I walk in that bar and tell them I'm the Cheyenne Superman's brother, I'm drinkin’ for free all night."
"Great point," Wren chimed in.
Colt scowled. "Please. You don't need his name to get anything. Cowboys buy you drinks just for breathing. Which reminds me, if that bull rider from Texas so much as looks at you tonight, I'm throwing hands."
"You’re so dramatic." Wren rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to me. "Brock, seriously. You just won Cheyenne."
I stared at the cardboard box. Wren was right. Winning this rodeo secured a huge step toward the NFR. But instead of relief, a hollow ache crushed my chest. The empty chair at the dinner table loomed over me.
"I don't want to celebrate in a bar full of drunk people," I said.
"It's not about you," Wren shot back. "It's about Sienna. She flew out here, put up with your grumpy ass for a whole month, and basically saved you. We're not spending her last night stuck in a Best Western while you sit there scowling."
"Wren, he's injured…" Sienna said softly.
But her voice had a sad little edge to it. I glanced over at her.
"He's got one good arm," Colt said with a grin. "He can hold a beer just fine. You deserve a real send-off, Sienna."
Sienna looked at my brother, then at my sister, who was giving her the ultimate puppy-dog eyes. Finally, her gaze landed on me.
The heat from ten minutes ago was still there. I could still feel her hands on my chest. Still taste the almost-kiss.
She didn't want to let it go either.
I held her eyes. "Okay."
Wren traded a grin with Colt.
I didn't say another word as the room exploded into motion. Colt had ruined it here in the hotel room, but I wasn't going to let it end like this. I had one night left. One night to finish that kiss.
And one night to figure out how to stop her from getting on that damn plane.