Page 80 of Untruly With You

“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, reliefsits 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 iswrongwith me? Who does that?”

Because my mind is still caught up thinking aboutSutton’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 onhis 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 tubeof red lipstick.

The soundof lapping water and the vision of moonlight dancing on the edge of a lake fills my dreams.Thelake.

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