Page 113 of Reckless Hearts

Chapter 40

Maverick

Colt’s breathingis steady now. Slow and shallow but steady.

It’s the only goddamn thing keeping me sitting in this chair instead of losing my mind.

He looks rough, bruised all over and bandages peppering his skin.

I shift forward in the chair, elbows on my knees, fists clenched so tight they’re going numb, but I can’t look away. Every shallow rise and fall of his chest feels like a goddamn miracle.

And every pause between those beeps on the heart monitor?

Like a knife sliding in slowly.

It’s mid-morning, and I finally convinced Callie to leave.

Not because I wanted her gone, but because she needed to take care of herself.

She’d been curled up in that bed for hours, head tilted at a brutal angle, barely sleeping.

When she woke up, her eyes locked on Colt like she could keep him alive through sheer stubbornness.

She was furious when I told her he’d woken up during the night.

Furious I hadn’t shaken her awake.

But she needed the rest.

And when she finally went still beside him, her hand tucked into his hospital gown like it was the only thing tethering her to earth, and I couldn’t bring myself to break that.

I couldn’t touch the way Colt seemed to breathe easier with her there.

I rub my thumb along Colt’s forehead, brushing back a strand of sweat-damp hair.

The cut near his temple is red and angry, a thin line of stitches holding him together by a thread.

Too damn close to where that hoof could’ve stomped straight into his skull.

The thought makes my stomach lurch. I don’t know if it’s relief or fear rattling in my chest, but I’ve never hated a hospital bed more.

Colt grumbles softly in his sleep, shifting toward my hand.

He blinks, groggy and confused, fighting through the fog. His eyes slowly find mine, brows knitting like he’s not sure how he got here.

He tries to sit up.

“Hey. Easy, Colt.” I press a steady hand to his good shoulder, keeping him grounded. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

He makes a sound, half groan, half laugh, and winces through a crooked smile. “You look like shit.”

It comes out strained, like he’s aiming for cocky but can’t quite hold the weight of it.

I choke on a laugh, relief crashing through me. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly winning beauty contests.”

Talking to him last night felt too much like a dream to offer real comfort today. I need to see it with my own eyes, need tofeelthat he’s really here.

Without thinking, I brush my knuckles along his jaw, then down the bruises on his neck, careful not to hurt him.

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