Page 36 of Before You Can Blink
“My head,” I rasped.
“Oh, did I forget to mention the concussion? You really did a number on yourself this time, kid.”
“We’re here to take Mr. Sullivan to surgery. You’ll have to move to the waiting room, where we can have someone update you on his condition post-op,” a female voice spoke from nearby.
That sparked something in my hazy memory.
“Daisy.”
Fingers gripped mine, and Murphy said, “Layla went to get her. She’ll be here when you wake up.”
The last thing she told me was to be safe tonight. And like the cocky asshole I was, I’d promised that I would.
My heart twisted, imagining how scared she would be when Layla told her I’d not only fallen but landed myself in the hospital with serious injuries. This went far beyond the bumps and bruises she was used to seeing as a result of my dangerous profession.
A terrifying thought flashed through my mind.
What if this was all too much for her and she decided to leave me?
We didn’t talk about it around the circuit, but we all knew we risked our lives every time we hopped on one of those wild horses. This accident would put that reality front and center for my wife.
I couldn’t live without her; I knew that. But riding was all I knew, what I’d poured my heart and soul into for the past eight years.
If she asked me to give it all up . . .
Fuck. I wasn’t sure what I would do.
How did you choose between the two loves of your life?
The simple answer was that you couldn’t, so I had to find a way to keep them both. That was the only option so far as I was concerned.
“Mr. Sullivan?” the female voice spoke again. “We’ve put a nerve block in your shoulder, and I just added a sedative to your IV. Do you have any questions about the surgery?”
“How long?” I asked.
“Usually, three or four hours. Could be longer with the severity of your break.”
“No.” I winced when I tried to move my head from side to side. “Before I can ride again?”
A disbelieving laugh sounded. “Lord, save me from foolish cowboys with no sense of self-preservation.”
My brain was so sluggish that it took until the anesthesiologist put the mask over my mouth to realize the nurse, doctor, whoever she was, had never given me an answer.
An incessant beeping grated on my nerves. Daisy must’ve slipped out to fetch breakfast before the alarm went off.
I grunted in annoyance, being nowhere near ready to face the day. As I extended my arm to hit snooze, a pain sliced through my upper chest, causing an unfiltered scream to roll up my raw throat.
What the actual fuck?
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to breathe through the waves of agony until they slowed enough to become more of a steady ripple.
Licking my dry, chapped lips, I attempted a swallow, my nose wrinkling when my mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. My head ached; the pressure mounted behind my sealed eyelids enough to make me groan.
Did I get drunk last night? If so, this was hands down the worst hangover I’d ever experienced.
Inhaling through my nose, I cracked one eye open to find I was not in my motel room. My surroundings were stark white—well, kinda; the walls were in definite need of a fresh coat of paint—and when I scanned the space, I found the source of the beeping. A screen set to my right measured the steady rhythm of my heart. Then, my gaze dipped down to find I was lying flat on a narrow gurney, bare-chested, with a sling keeping my left arm immobile.
That’s when it clicked, and bits and pieces of the night before filtered back to my memory.
