Page 112 of Reckless Hearts

She shivers, a soft sound breaking through her lips, and lightning bolts of pain travel down my side as I attempt to lift the blanket to cover her, the fabric falling from my too weak fingers.

It’s humiliating in a way nothing else has been.

Maverick notices, stepping in without a word to adjust the covers for me, moving slow like he’s afraid I’ll shatter.

And maybe I already have.

I grit my teeth, too broken to hide the pain anymore.

“You should’ve told me it was this bad,” he says, immediately getting up and calling the nurse. Their muffled voices come from the doorway as he asks for more meds.

I hate morphine. It makes me itchy and nauseous, but right now, I’ll take anything that provides any sort of relief.

“Don’t,” I croak when the nurse walks in, eying Callie, and it’s clear that she’s going to intervene.

“It’s against hospital policy.”

I try to give her my signature-winning smile, but all I manage is a slight curl of my lips. “Please, I need her.”

She softens, exhaling a long sigh. “Fine. I’m the only one here right now, but she’ll have to move before my shift is over.”

The machine attached to my IV beeps as she pushes a series of buttons, the coolness of the medicine crawling up my vein.

“Next time, don’t wait so long to call me,” she chastises, but there’s no heat to it. “You let me know if he wakes up again.”

Maverick nods, a seriousness taking over.

She flicks the overhead light off on her way out.

My eyes grow heavy, and I sink into my pillow, waiting for it to kick in. Flashes of being dragged, crushed under hooves, play behind my eyelids. As the reality that I was going to die fully sank in, all I thought about was them, not bull riding, not winning…them.

The pain dulls.

My body grows heavier, looser, my vision blurring at the edges.

I want to say something. God, I want to, but the words claw at my throat and die there.

I’m too fucking tired, and it hurts too much.

I tighten my grip on Callie first, her heartbeat steady against my ribs. Proof that I’m still here. Still breathing. Still not too late.

Then blindly, desperately, I reach out again and find Maverick’s hand.

His fingers jerk in shock, but only for a second before he laces them through mine, clinging so tight it almost hurts.

I force my eyes open, fighting through the haze.

His face swims into view, blurred but still achingly familiar.

His throat works as he leans closer, rough knuckles brushing my jaw.

“Rest, Colt,” Maverick breathes, voice hoarse.

He says something else, words breaking apart in his throat, but I’m already slipping under, too far gone to catch them.

Too far gone to answer.

I fall under with her heartbeat against my ribs, with his hand wrapped around mine, and the weight of everything I should’ve said dragging me down with it.

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