Page 66 of Ride the Sky

God help us both.

I’d rather get my eyeballs plucked—nay,gouged—out thanlive with Wyatt Montgomery for an extended period of time. It’s not the rodeo. We can’t pretend we like each other, can’t have sex.

We’d both be better off with distance between us. Or better yet, a chasm.

Rules. We need rules.

“You look warm.” A big hand palms my face, jolting me out of my reverie. Wyatt stands over me, long fingers tangling in my hair. “Are you feelin’ okay?”

Rule number one. “Don’t touch me,” I snap, batting his hands away.

Wyatt’s expression hardens. “You need food.”

“I don’t want food.”

He sighs. “You know I’m not going to accept that.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.

Rule number two. Escape.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, trying to maintain my attitude even as pain ricochets through my body. My hip screams its protest as I roll my walker in the direction of the hallway. “Is that allowed?”

He scowls.

Finally free of Wyatt, I seclude myself inside the bathroom. Christ, I’m winded just trying to get around. Breathing heavily, I rest my brow on the door.

Stupid. Broken. Busted.

That’s me. Fallon McGraw.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Where is the darkness inside my head going to go if I can’t ride? If I can’t get out and away from myself?

I can’t resign myself to my fate. The thought that I’ve possibly had my last ride.

The buzz of my phone saves me from my tears.

I retrieve it from my back pocket and swipe it open.

There’s a DM on my Instagram account. I blink. In the chaos of everything that’s happened, I’ve forgotten all about those cryptic messages.

I open it.

My stomach plummets.

It’s a video of my ride.

Tears blur my eyes, but I fight past them. Ever a glutton for punishment, I watch it.

Won’t be weak. Won’t back down.

I rewatch it.

I see everything. Cowboys and Pappy and Tripp all crowded in the chute just waiting for my inevitable downfall. I see me. On that bull, losing my grip, only lasting seven-point-six seconds.

I growl low in my throat. I almost had it.

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