Page 61 of Lost and Lassoed

“He’s okay.”

“Why didn’t they call me?” she asked, but then swore. “My phone is on the couch.”

“They got ahold of my dad. He called a few minutes ago,” I said. “Wes is coming to stay here with Riley, and then we’ll go.” She tried to move again, and this time I let her, even though all I wanted to do was hold her and comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

I stood up with her. She’d put her Dolly Parton shirt back on before we fell asleep. “I’m going to change,” she said—her voice hollow. I didn’t like the sound of it one bit.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” She nodded, then opened my bedroom door and was gone.

This all felt wrong. I should know what to do—I should be doing more for Teddy right now.Be gentle, August.My dad’s words echoed in my head, and I couldn’t help but think I’d let him down.

Ten minutes later, after I’d changed, put my contacts in, and run upstairs to make sure Riley was still sleeping, I met Teddy in the living room. She had changed into a pair of leggings, a hoodie, and a shearling-lined denim jacket.

I’d never seen the expression on Teddy’s face at that moment. I wanted to reach for her, to wrap her in my arms, butfor some reason I didn’t. Of all the new versions of Teddy that I’d been getting to know, this one, the one that was so…blank,was the most jarring.

“You ready?” I asked. She just nodded when there was a soft knock on my front door. I opened it to find my brother, Wes, still in his pajamas, his hair sticking out in every direction. He nodded at me, but his eyes sought Teddy.

Once he saw her in the entryway, he pushed past me and pulled her into a hug. Teddy wrapped her arms around his waist, and jealousy prodded at me—jealousy toward Wes and Teddy’s friendship, that he instinctively knew how to comfort her, that she let him.

I wanted to do that for her. And more.

“He’s going to be fine, Ted,” Wes said, and Teddy just nodded as she pulled back. Still, there were no tears, no signs of distress, just her blank expression.

“Yeah, he’s going to be fine,” she said quietly.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s go,” I said. Wes shot me a look, but Teddy didn’t seem to notice. She just walked out the front door. I had to fight the urge to put my hand on the small of her back as she walked by.

“Hey,” Wes whisper-yelled, and I rolled my eyes as I turned back to him. “Be nice,” he said.

Jesus Christ.Did everyone think I was truly incapable of being nice to Teddy? “Thanks for watching Riley.”

“No problem.” Wes nodded. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“Will do,” I said, and headed out after Teddy. She walked toward her Ranger, but I gently took her elbow and shifted her toward my truck. She didn’t fight me. I opened the passenger door for her and made sure she was settled inside before I shut it.

Once I was in, I started her up, and we were on our way. It was reassuring that Hank was at Meadowlark General Hospital. If things were really bad, they would’ve taken him to Jackson or another larger hospital. I wanted to tell Teddy that, but I didn’t.

I wanted to grab her hand and hold it, but I didn’t.

It was like this was the last part of the wall between us. We’d gotten closer: We’d broken the no-kissing rule, we’d had sex tonight, for Christ’s sake—the type of sex that makes you understand all the books, paintings, and songs about it, by the way—but comforting her in a moment that was so intense and so incredibly vulnerable felt…different. Like once we crossed that line, we wouldn’t be able to take it back.

So we sat in my truck and drove in silence.

When we rolled in to the hospital parking lot, Teddy unbuckled her seatbelt and was out of the truck before I’d even put it in Park and cut the engine. I’d barely set foot on the pavement when she walked through the automatic doors.

When I walked in, the woman at the reception desk was looking up Hank’s room number. “It looks like he’s in 108, honey,” she said. “Just down the hall and to the right.”

Teddy took off again, and I followed her. The fluorescent lights beat down on us as we walked. They made her hair look lighter than it was. The hospital was quiet—the only noises were our footsteps, the beeping of machines around us, and the occasional whisper.

I hated hospitals. I hated the way they smelled—like disinfectant and despair—and I hated the way they made me feel—helpless.

When we got close to Hank’s room, I caught up to Teddy and grabbed her by the elbow. She tried to shake me off, but I held on.

“What are you doing?” she asked coldly.

“Take a breath, Teddy,” I said. We kept walking, but I kept the pace slower. Teddy rolled her eyes and didn’t respond. “Please, baby.” I let the term of endearment slip without thinking. “Just one deep breath before you go in there. For his sake.”

Teddy’s blue eyes met mine, and even though she didn’t say anything, she made a show of taking a big breath in, and then out.

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