Page 81 of Untruly With You

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 becloser 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.”

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