Page 72 of Ride the Sky

The message lights a fire in me. Fuck whoever thinks they can scare me. I’m going to heal like a motherfucker. Train harder. I’ll be back. I’ll ride again.

A soft tap, a rumble at the door. “Fallon.”

I jump, dropping my phone in the twisted sheets. “Shit.”

“You okay?” Wyatt’s soft, southern drawl lights a burn in my chest.

“I’m fine,” I shout, willing my voice to be less shaky. Less weak. “Go away.”

Footsteps in the hall. Like he’s pacing.

I glare at my closed door. How is it that he’s up? Doesn’t he have better things to do than incessantly hover?

Wyatt’s here to take care of you. Let him.My sister’s words as she left me today ring in my ears.

I don’t want him to take care of me. He’s done enough already.

I should be planning my next ride, training with Vic. Not fighting an endless struggle to put my pants on or walk up the stairs.

My muscles tremble as I lower myself back down into bed. My leg is smooth butane flame. The pain is unreal.

Breathe, breathe.

My fingers drift up the hem of my tank top, playing over the scar winding over my ribs and stomach. It’s still raised, still rough. Maybe it will never fade. But it will always be a reminder I survived.

But what? Not that night, and especially not myself. Not the way I still have nightmares. Not the way I still think of Aiden. The way I was so weak. The way I let everyone down.

Scar. Everything about me is a scar. Even my heart.

If I can survive Aiden, I can survive anything. I can get back on a horse, back to myself.

My hand drifts lower on its own hunt for relief.

Wyatt. Moody. Sexy. Irritating.

Future ex-husband.

Divorce. He wants it as much as I do, right? He has to. I don’t deserve him. Especially after Aiden. There’s no way around it. I mean, sure we have sparks between us. The kind that detonates. Divorce is the only way this ends. Even if the thought of him getting married in the future sinks heavy in my gut like a stone.

We’re like the sunset and a cowboy. We’re not meant to last.

Through the window, white moonlight glances off the metal legs of my walker.

I turn my face away, wanting to forget.

My hand slips under the waist of my underwear. Between my legs.

If Wyatt wants to be useful, he can be useful here.

My eyes flutter shut as my fingers find that delicate bundle of nerves and circle slowly.

Wyatt. The only man who’s ever fucked me like I needed him to. Fast. Hard. Ruthless.

“Oh god,” I rasp, my fingers picking up speed.

Wyatt. His dirty T-shirt. I’d like to smell it, maybe put it in my mouth. Bite down. Suck the sweat out of it and—

Fuck me.

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