Page 158 of Ride the Sky

No one will hurt Fallon.

I’ll make damn sure of it.

ONE YEAR AGO

“You’re an idiot.”

I look up at Fallon slinking her way into my hospital room. “I take it you stayed around for the show?”

Fallon’s eyes flash as she stomps her way to the edge of my hospital bed. “Oh, the part where you scared everyone half to death? Yeah. I saw it.”

I ease myself out of bed. My shoulders burn with bruises, and my head hurts like hell. “Careful. You almost sound worried.”

She scoffs. “Don’t hold your breath.”

I grab my gym bag from the chair and toss it on the bed. Turn toward it and tug on my jeans. “I already feel like shit. No need to rub it in.” I can’t get much lower. Ford’s words ring in my head. To give up the rodeo. To let Fallon go. To brace myself for when—not if—she’s hurt. My entire fucking world feels decimated.

“What hurts?” The softness of Fallon’s voice is strange.

“Everything,” I rasp. The truth.

I tense when she lays a hand on my back. Close my eyes. Never used to it. Not her fingers at my brow, in my hair. Gentle.

A shudder runs through me. “Fallon. Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs.

We stand together at the hospital bed, Fallon rubbing my back for a few seconds. Then she leans in, hot against me. Her slender arms slip around my waist. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” She kisses the middle of my back. My heart squeezes painfully. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Clearing my throat, I untangle from her. I pull a clean T-shirt out of my gym bag and finish dressing.

Behind me, Fallon sucks in a breath. “Wyatt. What are these?”

Shit.

I follow her eyes to my duffel bag. To the pair of gold bands looped around a ribbon that’s tied to the canvas handle. “Our rings. From Vegas.”

She makes a face. That pretty flush I’m used to stains her cheeks. “I said I didn’t want ’em.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted ’em.”

The words surprise us both.

The space around me grows cold as she moves away from me. “You shouldn’t have kept those. They don’t mean anything.”

They do to me. I hate myself for it. Hate that wherever she is, I have to be.

She swallows, looks at me. “Have you told anyone?”

“No.” A muscle jerks in my jaw. “You?”

“No.” Her lashes lower, and when she glances up, her expression is hard. “Get rid of the rings, Wyatt.”

And then she walks out the door.

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