Page 54 of Ride the Sky

Davis runs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “That soon?”

Dr. Joy nods. “These days, moving as soon as possible is crucial. Once you master your walker and pain levels, we’ll send you home. However, you’ll need extensive physical and occupational therapy. Help with the normal activities of daily living. Someone needs to be there to monitor your medication and any post-surgery complications.”

“She’ll have all the help she needs,” Dakota says.

“You’ll need to use a walker and attend outpatient PT for about twelve weeks,” the doctor advises. “We want that fracture to heal properly so you don’t need a repeat surgery.”

My mind spins out. Twelve weeks of sitting around doing nothing. Relying on a piece of metal to get me around. God, it’ll be torture. How will I feed my horses? Shower? I can’t do it alone, but I don’t want to burden Dakota and Davis. They have two babies. A ranch and a bakery.

I steel myself, shaking off my panic. “When can I get back to riding?”

Dr. Joy quiets. I don’t miss the way Dakota and Davis’s eyes lock.

I suck in air through my teeth. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“You misunderstand, Fallon.” Dr. Joy sounds apologetic. “I’ll be blunt. Because of the way the femur fracture affects your hip joint, you likely won’t be able to ride at all.”

What?I turn to Wyatt with wide eyes, but he’s already looking at me.

I can’t breathe. “Can’t ride bulls, right?”

“Can’t ride anything. Bulls, horses. Ever.”

I close my eyes.

The entire room quiets. Except my heart. It thunders and then splinters.

I want to scream my fucking head off.

Panic.Everything in me is a whirlwind of panic. It’s worse than I imagined.

I have nothing if I can’t ride. Not even myself.

Denial kicks in my head like a bucking bull. I can’t bear it. I refuse it. Inhaling a deep breath, I open my eyes then flinch. The pain—the pity—on Dakota’s face as she stares at me like she knows what I’ve just lost.

I let out a low laugh. “I’m gonna ride again.”

A sob erupts from Dakota.

“It’s the pain meds talking,” Davis says, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“No, it’s not the pain meds.” My voice trembles even as I will it to be steel. I look up at Wyatt and his clenched jaw. “Tell them. Tell them, Wyatt.”

He may be a cocky cowboy, but he’ll give it to me straight. I have always been able to rely on him for the truth.

Wyatt’s pause is long, then he says, his words like hope filling me up, “You’ll ride again.”

I sag back against the bed. Try not to notice how Wyatt’s hand has found mine, his protective stance, or the husky growl of his voice. I blame the pills. The drugs being pumped through my system.

I need someone to hold on to, even if it is Wyatt Montgomery.

“Wyatt,” Dakota says sharply as she takes my other hand. I watch them glare at each other, a strange development, since they usually get along. She looks at me. “That fact that you’re alive is a miracle, Fallon. Let’s try to keep the recklessness to a minimum the next few weeks, okay?”

Dakota sits with what seems like a million teardrops on her face. She clasps my hand. Wyatt has my other. I’m handless. Helpless.

Is this what I wanted? Did I get what I deserved? I took the risks. I made my choice.

Petulance and pity take over. “I shouldn’t have fallen. Nothing makes sense. I know how to ride a fucking bull.”

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