36. Laine
36
LAINE
I stand, sit, and stand again. “What are you talking about?” My voice sounds distant, like I’m hearing it through a closed door.
Frankie takes three heavy breaths, and they feel like an eternity too long. “He and Wells went out today to check the trails. There was a flash flood. Nothing major, but Sutton’s—Duke’s—horse got scared. He took off, and Sutton was thrown from the saddle.”
“But—but how is he doing? He’s okay, right? I mean, he has to be okay,” I say, trying to convince myself that if Sutton wasn’t okay, if he was…gone, I would feel it.
“I think he’ll be okay,” she says, choking on her words. “He doesn’t look great.”
Thoughts whirl, ticking by so impossibly fast I can’t register any individual one. “Is he seeing a doctor? How is he hurt? Did he hit his head? Where is he now?”
My panic seeps into Frankie, and her breathing shudders. “They’re taking him to a hospital in Missloula. We won’t know how bad it is until they run some tests. ”
“He’ll be fine,” I say, equally for Frankie’s benefit and for mine. “He will be fine.”
Frankie’s dry swallow is loud enough for me to hear over the phone. “I hope so.”
We turn into a chorus of “It’ll be okay” and “He’ll be fine” until a hush falls. It’s clear neither of us is quite sure what else to say, so we mumble out our goodbyes. Then, in true Laine fashion, I open Uber without a second thought.
Just like the first time I flew to Missoula, there aren’t any direct flights from New York City. But as a small sliver of grace, the ticketing agent at the airport finds me a route with only one layover. After I get through security, I barely have enough time to tell my parents about the accident—and my subsequent decision to check on Sutton myself—before boarding the first flight.
I only have my purse with me. Inside, I have my wallet, phone, loose change, single bills, and a scratched pair of sunglasses, the protective case for which I lost ages ago. I spend the entire first flight staring at the screen mounted in front of me. Even if I had headphones, I wouldn’t want to watch a movie. Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on the live flight map, watching our little cartoon airplane make its painfully slow trek to Minneapolis.
My hope of getting an update from Frankie by the time I land is in vain. No word, no call or text from anyone in the Davis family. By the time I’m off the first plane and to my next gate, I have just enough time to grab a random armful of snacks. However, on my second three-hour flight, I don’t eat any of them. I just sit, writhing, willing the plane to move faster.
It doesn’t.
The Missoula airport is eerily quiet as I disembark from my final flight. That stillness I craved when I went back to New York feels haunting now. With it being just past midnight, the dimly lit terminal is nearly empty. The lights overhead cast long shadows, and for a moment, it feels like I'm the only person left in the world.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I snatch it out, my heart leaping into my throat. But it’s not a message from Frankie, just a notification from the airline, letting me know my flight has landed. I stare at the screen, willing it to light up again with some news, anything that might give me a clue about what’s happening with Sutton. When nothing happens, I shove the phone back into my pocket, fighting the urge to scream.
I head toward the exit, the automatic doors swishing open to a blast of cold air. The night is quiet—the kind of quiet that presses in, reminding me of just how alone I am.
The ride to the hospital is a blur. Before I can fully process it, my Uber parks outside the main doors. My stomach flips as I struggle with my seatbelt, my hands shaking so badly it takes me three tries to unbuckle it. Finally, I stumble out, glaring up at the building overhead, and let out a curse at the sight of it. How can a hospital this small possibly provide everything Sutton needs? If only we were at New York Presbyterian or Mount Sinai, where thousands of employees would be right within reach.
The hospital doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and I’m greeted by the smell of antiseptic and the harsh brightness of fluorescent lights. The receptionist looks up as I approach the desk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in my disheveled appearance.
“I’m here to see Sutton Davis,” I say, my voice hushed in the quiet space as if I’m in a church.
She nods understandingly, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. “Family?”
My answer is immediate. “Girlfriend.”
The woman’s brows crinkle. She grabs the guest check-in sheet and reads it over. Then again. “ You’re dating Sutton Davis?”
“Yes?” I raise an eyebrow, wondering at the suspicious tone of her voice.
She raises an eyebrow right back. “Maybe it’s best if you come back another time.”
“Is he—is he in surgery or something? I can wait. I’ll wait here.”
“It’s not that. It’s… He already has a visitor right now.”
I shake my head in question, because it seems nicer than shouting, And your point is?
“A girl is seeing him right now.”
I shrug. “Probably his sister.”
The woman clicks her tongue, looking like she’s about ready to crawl out of her skin. “I’m sorry. But the girl said she was dating Sutton Davis.”
“That must be a mistake.” I twist the pendant on my necklace around on its chain, just to have something to do with my hands while this woman wastes my time. “What’s her name?”
She holds the sign-in sheet’s clipboard to her chest, as if afraid I would snatch it right from her hands. “Only one visitor at a time. We don’t want to overwhelm him.”
“I’m sure it’s his sister.” My voice is tight, patience waning.
The woman checks the sheet again. “She has a different last name.”
Okay, now I get why the woman is shielding the clipboard from me. I’m about three seconds from reaching over the table and wrestling her for it. I huff, close my eyes, and allow all my feelings to flow, unbridled.
Almost immediately, I feel a stinging behind my eyelids. My nose crinkles. My heart lurches against my ribs. The mere thought of Sutton lying somewhere in this hospital, connected to monitors, enduring any amount of pain, sends tears streaming down my face. I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back, but they keep falling, unchecked.
“Please,” I choke out, vaguely aware that I’m exploiting my own emotions to get what I need.
The receptionist’s brows knit while she studies me. “Alright, but don’t make a scene. He needs rest.” She hands me a visitor's pass, and I follow her directions to Sutton's room, my steps quick and purposeful, nearly at a run.
The hospital corridor is eerily quiet, the only sound from hushed conversations between nurses, beeping machinery, and my hurried footsteps echoing against the sterile walls. The closer I get to Sutton’s room, the shorter my breaths come. I can't shake the image of him being thrown from the saddle, my imagination playing out like a horror film.
I pause just outside the door, taking a moment to compose myself. The woman’s words about another visitor linger in my mind, but I push them aside, too worried about Sutton to wonder who the girl might be. After a deep breath to steady my nerves, I open the door.
The room is dimly lit. In the shadows, I see Sutton lying motionless on the hospital bed. Everything in my body tenses, threatening to shatter. Machines surrounding him sound off, providing a steady beat to the stillness. Dead asleep, he doesn’t move at the opening click of the door, but someone else does. Her brilliant red hair shines, even in near darkness.
“Hi, Laine,” Cassidy whispers, those doe eyes glistening with tears. She’s seated at Sutton’s side, her hands wrapped around his.
Even in the shadows, I can see the blush rise to Cassidy’s cheeks as she stands up. She beckons me out of the room and leads me down the hall to a sitting area. Aside from a couple of nurses meandering by the front desk, it’s just us. Cassidy perches her tall, narrow frame on one of the stiff chairs and stares down at her wedding ring, a rock of a diamond atop a thin silver band.
She’s upset, clearly. And I should probably be patient. Compassionate. But every second with Cassidy is a second spent away from Sutton, so I break the silence, ready to get whatever this is over with. “I was wondering who would have checked in as Sutton’s girlfriend.” My voice is lifeless.
Cassidy’s chuckle has no trace of humor. “She asked if I was family. I said no. She said no friends were allowed in this late. So, I said I was Sutton’s girlfriend. Well,”—she holds up her left hand, her diamond flashing at me—“I said I was his fiancée, actually.”
Much like I have a habit of doing, Cassidy spins her ring around her finger. Her bottom lip pouts out while a stray tear streaks down her mascara-stained cheek.
I take a hesitant seat across from Cassidy, my eyes never leaving her face. A cocktail of emotions swirls within me—concern for Sutton, frustration at Cassidy's timing, and a prick of awkwardness. Why is she here, anyway?
“Wells is waiting for me in the parking lot,” Cassidy says, as though she can read my mind. “He wanted to come visit Sutton, but…he didn’t have the stomach for it. He asked me to come alone and report back.”
“Is Sutton okay?” My voice is gentler this time, my concern for Sutton eclipsing my impatience. “How bad is he hurt?”
Cassidy looks up, her gaze meeting mine. “When he was thrown off his horse, he landed in the creek bed. And his collarbone…” She pauses, shuddering. “It was awful. It went right through the skin.”
I close my eyes against the mental image that pops into my mind. My stomach heaves, ready to empty if I would allow it. But as sickening as the thought of his injury is, relief sits idly by, waiting for reassurance so it can wash over me fully. A break, even one that bad, couldn’t be life threatening. “Was it just the broken collarbone?”
“Some broken ribs too. And he hit his head pretty hard. He was unconscious for a while. The doctors say there’s some minor swelling. They said he should be fine, but…” She trails off.
"But what?" I press.
Cassidy sniffles loudly. “But I’m still scared.” Then, she erupts into a sob so loud it startles me.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Instead of relief washing over me, there’s more nausea, a distinct feeling that I’m intruding here. After another ragged whimper, I reach across the small table between us, patting her knee gently. “I’m sorry, Cassidy.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she heaves. “It’s all my fault.”
The nurses look over at us, eyebrows raised.
“It was an accident,” I reassure Cassidy, hoping my quiet tone will prompt her to follow suit. We don’t need to make any more of a scene than we already have. “You can’t blame yourself.”
Cassidy’s eyes darken. “I’m like a curse to the Davis family. All I do is make life hell for them.”
“That’s not true,” I insist. “Look how happy you make Wells.”
A sour laugh slips between her clenched teeth. “And only at the expense of Sutton. The moment I realized I liked Wells, their entire family started this downward spiral. As if cheating on Sutton with his brother wasn’t enough, Sutton also had to find out himself. Find us. And just after Duke died?” Cassidy brushes her trembling hands through her long copper hair. “What is wrong with me? Who does that?”
Because my mind is still caught up thinking about Sutton’s current state, I don’t have the mental capacity to formulate any response to Cassidy.
“Sutton and Wells were never close,” she continues, “but I tore them clear apart. Wells wouldn’t even talk about him for the longest time, and Sutton stopped coming home for holidays. But then you…” Another tear falls past her lashes. “Frankie told me about you months ago. She said that from the first time Sutton spoke about you, she knew he had feelings for you. And when I found out you were coming to the wedding with him, I finally felt relief, relief I was craving for six years.”
“You shouldn’t feel so guilty,” I say, still only half-listening. I peek down the hall longingly, as if I might see Sutton standing there.
Cassidy looks at me with self-condemnation. “I just wanted him to be happy. I thought maybe if he fell in love with you, he could move on. But now that I know you two were never really in love…”
“Well, it was my idea to fake the relationship, so you can just blame me. Deal?” I don’t bother waiting for an answer before standing. “I need to go see him,” I mumble, mostly to myself.
Thankfully, Cassidy doesn’t follow.
The sterile smell of Sutton’s hospital room makes my stomach turn again. Sutton lies in the bed, still and vulnerable, surrounded by the low light of monitors. My steps toward him are cautious. Every inch I near closer, I see something I wish I hadn’t. His split lip, still not healed. The old bruise around his eye now dappled with yellow and maroon. His once tan face pale, lifeless. A raised bump on his forehead, like a golf ball shoved under the skin, marred by a line of stitches. Bandages and wrappings line the base of his neck, extending down below the line of his hospital gown. And on his arms, countless nicks and scratches broken up by splotches of purple.
Silently, I pull the chair Cassidy was in closer and sit down at Sutton’s side, my gaze never leaving his face. I reach for his hand, taking it in mine with as much gentleness as I can muster. The contrast between his once warm, firm hand and the cold, lifeless feeling of it now sends a shock down my spine.
My throat is dry as I try to hold back tears. The reality of the situation crashes over me, making the room spin. I lean closer to him, as if my presence alone could bring him back to consciousness. “Sutton,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I’m here. I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm here. Laine’s here. Can you squeeze my hand if you hear me?”
No response, of course.
“I missed you,” I croak.
The monitors continue their rhythmic dance, and I'm left with nothing but them and the darkness. My fingers trace over Sutton’s hand, desperately wishing for any sign that he's okay.
The weight of an uncertain future presses down on me, and I speak again, more to myself than to Sutton. “I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm not leaving you.”
The sleepless nights and hours of travel pile up, and it takes too much effort to even lift my head. Folding myself in half, I lay my face down on the side of Sutton’s bed.
Just before I close my eyes, relenting to my body’s begs for rest, I see something familiar on the table at Sutton’s other side.
A tube of red lipstick.
The sound of lapping water and the vision of moonlight dancing on the edge of a lake fills my dreams. The lake.
Laine . Sutton’s voice calls to me, but I can’t see him anywhere around me. I spin in the rough sand along the shore, studying the tree line for any sign of him.
Sutton says my name again and again. Then, a steady tone accompanies his warm, soothing voice. In my dream, I look up at the sky, searching for the source. The moon becomes hazy, slipping away like water through cupped hands. I try to hold on to the dream, craving the sanctuary of the lake, but it fades.
The steady beeping of the hospital room fills the space as I stir, my cheek pressed against the itchy sheets of Sutton's hospital bed. The fog of sleep clings to me, and for a moment, I’m caught between the dream and reality. But then, a gentle pressure squeezes my hand, pulling me fully awake.
I blink, trying to clear the haze from my mind, and lift my head. Sutton’s eyes are half-open, his gaze unfocused but undeniably aware. Relief floods through me so intensely that it almost knocks the breath out of my lungs.
“Sutton,” I whisper, my voice cracking. I sit up straighter, my heart racing with a mix of joy and concern. His grip on my hand tightens slightly, the smallest gesture, but it feels like the most significant one in the world.
“Hey,” says, his voice rough and weak, barely more than a whisper. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “You cut your hair.”
I almost laugh, giddy to see him awake. “I did.”
He nods slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at me. “You’re here,” he says, his voice a mix of surprise and something else—something that makes my heart skip. “I was scared I wouldn't see you again,” he admits, his voice hoarse.
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “You're not getting rid of me that easily.” I lean in, unable to resist the urge to be closer to him. “I’m not going anywhere, Sutton. Not unless you tell me to. And maybe not even then.”
He chuckles then winces, clutching at his side, his broken ribs. “Laine,” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth pinching. “I have to apologize. I have to be honest.” Closing his eyes, as if to preserve what energy he has left, Sutton says, “I’ve hated being away from you, even just for a few days. Everything feels dull when you’re not around. I wanted you to go for a reason. Just not the reasons I said.”
I brush the curls away from Sutton’s face, hating the pain in his expression. “Shh. Just rest for now.”
Sutton opens his eyes again, determination hardening his gaze. “After that night at the lake, I figured we could make it work. I wanted to do whatever I could to make you happy.”
I lean in closer. It takes everything in me to not brush my lips against his.
“When I found out about my father’s diagnosis, I didn’t want to burden you with it. I asked you to leave, but only because I hate the thought of seeing you suffer with us. That’s why I wanted you to go, not because of anything you did. Not because of anything you are.”
He closes his eyes again, exhaustion overtaking him. We’re quiet for a few moments, long enough that I question whether or not he has fallen asleep.
When I speak, I whisper, just in case he really has slipped into a dream. “Sutton, you can’t push me away like that. If I want to suffer with you, let me.” I trace circles along the back of his hand. “I don’t want you to face everything alone. You’ve been doing that for too long.”
Just as I think Sutton is about to fall asleep, he whispers, “Can I kiss you?” He tries to sit up but falls right back down, grimacing with pain. “On second thought, can you kiss me?”
I stand, hover over Sutton, and his mouth lifts into a drowsy grin as mine melts against it .
“Feeling better already?” someone asks from behind me.
Jolting up, I turn to see a woman in a white coat walking in, a sideways smile tipping her mouth. “I figured it had been too long since a Davis kid was here.” At my confused look, she says, “Those three kids had their fair share of emergency room visits growing up. All ranching kids do.”
After the doctor checks Sutton’s healing, jots some notes down, and gives him a few words of encouragement, I interrupt her departure. She patiently sits through my dozens of questions.
Yes, Sutton will make a full recovery. He will be in a sling for a while. He can go home later today.
“So, bottom line, he’s okay?” I ask, no more worries left to express.
She smirks and gestures between me and Sutton. “Better than okay, by the looks of it.”
Soon after Sutton falls back asleep, for real this time, the nurse comes in and tells me he won’t be awake for a while, thanks to the pain medicine he’s on. I take that as my sign to call yet another Uber—this one to Target. There, I load a basket with travel-size toiletries, two new shirts, a pair of stretchy pants, and a phone charger.
Even being away from Sutton for less than an hour has my anxiety spiking, so I don’t waste any time before hurrying back to the hospital. In the hall bathroom, my own reflection startles me. I forgot about my last-minute decision to chop my hair off.
I wash up as best as I can with wet paper towels and apply a thick layer of deodorant. After dressing in fresh clothes, brushing my teeth, fixing my hair, and lathering my face in a much-needed moisturizer, I assess. I smell fine, but one night of unsteady sleep wasn’t enough to fade the shadows under my eyes. This isn’t exactly the way I would have wanted to show up when seeing Sutton again .
I’m almost back to Sutton’s room when someone calls my name, halting me. Finally, it’s exactly the person I want to see.
Frankie runs down the hallway, barreling into me so hard she nearly knocks me over. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
“Of course I’m here.”
As soon as Frankie releases me, I’m pulled into another nearly identical hug. I hadn’t even noticed Magnolia and Hank behind Frankie. Magnolia sniffles as she holds me, her emotions overflowing. “We missed you,” she says as she lets me go.
Thoroughly not a hugger, Hank extends a trembling hand to me, and I shake it happily. Then, he leads us into Sutton’s room.
Inside, Sutton is still sound asleep, a deep crease between his eyebrows. Even while bandaged and bruised, he looks painfully handsome. We all line up on the far side of the room, watching his every unconscious movement.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Magnolia whispers, holding me by my elbows as if I’ll make a run for it.
“Frankie told me about the accident, so,”—I shrug—“here I am.”
“And back for good, I hope,” Frankie whispers, beaming.
It takes all my will to not groan. “Sutton still doesn’t want to put me through,”—I pause, flicking my eyes to Hank as I clear my throat—“the hardships ahead.”
“Fool,” Hank grumbles under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly at Sutton. “He’ll never be happy in West River if he has to sacrifice you to be there.”
“Not to mention his dream job,” I add, hoping Sutton’s family realizes the gravity of his choice.
Magnolia laces her fingers between Hank’s. “It wasn’t a straightforward decision for him. ”
“Do you think he should stay in Montana?” Hank asks me, his jaw clenched.
I exhale slowly. “These next years are going to be hard on everyone. And for Sutton, giving up his career would make that all the more difficult. I think he should at least ask if there’s a possibility of getting the best of both worlds.”
Hank nods to himself. Then, his pale-blue eyes are on mine, cold and unreadable. “And you?”
It feels like I’m staring into the eyes of a wolf. “What about me?”
“He’ll be miserable without you.” Hank says it the same way he says everything else, matter-of-fact.
“Hell, I’d move to West River tomorrow if Sutton asked me to,” I whisper with a smirk, not entirely joking.
Hank ruminates on that for a moment. “Then do. Move here.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Good luck pitching that idea to Sutton.”
Frankie waves a dismissive hand. “Why does he need to be the one to approve? I do.”
I roll my eyes playfully, trying to not read too much into their words.