by Cora York
The devil and angel on my shoulders got on their knees, both begging me to do the right thing. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind about what the right thing was. No matter how shitty things were in my life, I wouldn’t go down the wrong road ever again.
“Take it. See if any of the ranch hands want it.” The angel praised Jesus while the devil threw a tantrum.
“I’ll use it to kill weeds.” Tricia recapped the bottle then picked it up. “Should I take your laptop and phone, too?”
“My phone’s at the bottom of an embankment. I just ordered a replacement. Thank God for backups. And I need my laptop if I’m going to start looking for a new place to live.”
“No, ma’am. Not going to happen.” She stood and slammed the bottle against the tabletop. “Whenever this all dies down, you can go wherever the hell you like, but for now, you’re staying put. Don’t you go digging up more snakes than you can kill, Montana.”
I buried my head in my hands. “Why do you care? You don’t even like me all that much.”
“Look at me,” she demanded.
I released my head and looked up.
“I’m gonna say this, and I’m never going to repeat it. I’m proud of you. If I had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like you. You have more guts than any man I know.”
“Tricia, I...” Tears filled my eyes, and I didn’t try to stop them from falling.
“Don’t you go getting all sappy on me, you hear?”
I stood and went around to her side of the table, where I threw my arms around her. “Thank you for being there for me. For not giving up.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” She patted my back then stepped away, holding me at arm’s length. “Promise me you’ll stay awhile longer.”
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “Promise.”
Later that night, sleep refused to come, so I did what brought me most comfort—I Googled the shit out of myself and then Dylan. The PBR had added his name to the roster. He was back in his world. A world that didn’t include paranoid singers or stalking paparazzi.
Sadness clutched my heart, and my tears came before I could stop them. I gripped my pillow and struggled to catch my breath.
If this was what love felt like, I wanted no part of it because it felt like I was shattering into a million little pieces.
Dylan
Two weeks had passed since I’d left the ranch. I hadn’t heard from Montana, and I hadn’t reached out to her. Hadn’t slept much and hadn’t felt much like eating either.
By the time I’d gotten to Tulsa, it was too late for me to ride. Rather than drive home or go back to the ranch, I’d shacked up with Tyler Fitzroy, an old riding buddy of mine. We’d trained every day from dusk till dawn to get me ready for the Music City Knockdown.
In less than thirty minutes, I’d mount Satan’s Little Helper. He was a bad-tempered son of a bitch known for causing trouble and using his horns as weapons. Just my luck to draw him on my first ride back, but I was determined to stay on all eight seconds without getting hurt.
I stood and twisted my hips. The mood in the changing rooms was light and buzzed with anticipation. The other riders on the tour bantered about booze and women. Last night, PBR had thrown a party, and the buckle bunnies were out in full force all looking for a hookup and more.
A twenty-something brunette had pushed Tyler onto an ottoman. She straddled him like he was a bull and flashed her tits while gyrating back and forth. There was a time when I would have gladly taken part in the debauchery, but that was before Montana.
During the course of the evening, some groupies had slipped their numbers into my back pocket. Maybe I’d give one of them a call. Arrange to meet at my motel room after the show. A faceless fuck might help me move on.
Who was I kidding? I wanted my cute and crazy agoraphobic country singer more than I wanted anything in my life. Perhaps even more than the gold buckle in Vegas, and that was saying something.
Thoughts of her filled my every waking moment, which meant my head wasn’t one hundred percent in the game. Over the past few weeks, I’d fallen more times than I cared to think about. I was beaten and bruised. My bones creaked, and my body ached.
My mom and aunt were on my case about taking more time off. That my dad wouldn’t have wanted me to compete so soon after a concussion. Perhaps. But I’d come this far, and I wouldn’t go back now.
Stubborn ran through my veins, and I wouldn’t give up till I got what I wanted.
Tricia and Jonah had come down from Shady Peaks along with my mom and two of my sisters. Mason had made the trip, too. I hadn’t asked any of them where Montana was because I didn’t want them to know how much I was hurting or pining after her.
I’d hoped she’d come. Part of me believed she would, but she hadn’t, and I hated how much that disappointed me.
The vacant way she looked at me the night she’d told me to go back to the rodeo spoke volumes. Not that I blamed her for not wanting me around. I’d pushed her too hard too fast. I would do anything to protect her, even if that meant staying away.
The noise of the full-capacity crowd rumbled through the hallways and into the locker room. Now wasn’t the time to wallow. Now was the time to get my head in the game and win.
Mason came into the changing room, concern filling his eyes. “What are you trying to prove, Dyl?”
I took several deep breaths and tightened the straps of my spurs. “Not trying to prove anything, Doc.”
His brow creased. “I’m here as your friend, not your doctor.”
I stood and stuck my riding gloves and the thong I used to tie them in place into my back pocket. “I don’t need another lecture,” I warned.
“No lecture, just concern.”
“Save your concern for someone who needs it,” I advised.
“She came to see me, y’know.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“We’re going to play that game, huh? Sexy, blond singer.”
I cast him a dark look and crossed my arms. “What did she want?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
Fear punched a hole in my gut. “She’s not drinking again, is she?”
“No.”
“If you’re not going to tell me why she came to see you, why’d you bring it up?”
“She was asking about you. She looked good. Wouldn’t mind tapping that ass for myself.”
I hefted my brows and filled my nostrils. “You touch her and I’ll fucking kill you.”
He held his hands up and grinned. “Chill.”
“Not funny,” I said through clenched teeth.
Tyler popped his head around the changing room door. “You ready, Dyl?”
I took one more deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Mason slapped my back. “Be careful out there.”
“Always am.”
I followed Tyler down the corridor and up to the platform behind the gated, steel chutes where Satan’s Little Helper waited, snorting and bristling. I climbed up the slats and set my foot on his back to let him know I was there so he wouldn’t get startled when I got on his back.
Taking my time, I climbed over him and placed my feet on either side of the chute. After that, I carefully lowered myself onto his back. He didn’t seem too pissed off by my presence.
Tyler helped me loop and hook my bull rope, and when it was all tied off, I climbed out of the chute and stretched. Nervous energy filled me, but I wouldn’t let it take over. The best thing I could do for myself was to stay relaxed.
“You’re up next, Willows,” the chute boss shouted.
Once again, I climbed up, taking my time, taking it nice and slow. I clutched the rope bound behind the bull’s front legs.
I tucked my chin down and nodded to the gate puller, letting him know I was ready. A second later, the gate banged open.
Satan’s Little Helper exploded out of the chute.
Six seconds after that, the world went dark.
Cha
pter Eight
Montana
The arena grew as quiet as a graveyard at dusk.
A cold fist gripped my heart, and my fingers flew to my mouth.
My knees gave way and I fell to the ground, staring at the TV.
Medics surrounded Dylan’s limp body, blocking him from sight.
Mason ran across the dirt, screaming his name.
A camera panned in on Tricia and the rest of her family. All of their faces wore the same look of shock and fear.
“Please don’t be dead,” I cried. “Please don’t be dead.” I looked upwards and clasped my hands together. “God, please, please make him be okay. I’ll do anything.”
The thought of never seeing him again, of losing him was so painful and so forceful that I couldn’t catch my breath and doubled over as pain pierced my body.
One second he was on the bull. The next second he was unconscious on the dirt.
The bull had thrown his head back and caught Dylan’s chest. After that, he spun around with a sharp speed before throwing Dylan over his head, shaking him off like he was an irritating barn fly. Their skulls collided. Luckily, the bull hadn’t gone after him when he’d landed in the dirt. Satan’s Little Helper got out of the way, seemingly wanting nothing more to do with the fallen cowboy.
Two seconds into the ride, Dylan’s hat had flown off. His head had zero protection when he fell, not that his hat would have been much help anyway.
I grabbed my phone and called Tricia. When she picked up, I couldn’t get any words out, only sobs. I finally managed to ask, “Is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” she said matter of factly. “They’re taking him to the general hospital. Meet us there. My truck is in the garage. The keys are in the glove box.” She hung up without saying goodbye. There was zero doubt in my mind about driving to Nashville to be with him. I had to be there when he regained consciousness—if he regained consciousness. I ran the entire way from my cabin to the garage in record time.
I jumped into the truck and typed the hospital address into Waze. The drive would take three hours.
If he died, part of me would die too. I would never forgive myself. I should have been there to support him. Should never have sent him away. Should never have blamed him for how fucked-up things got.
My career and life were in tatters, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine. Dylan had only wanted to take me to dinner to show how much he cared. He wasn’t to know someone would tip off the press, and he wasn’t to know they would trespass on the property.
The love I felt for him was nothing like I’d ever experienced in my life. Sure, I’d had crushes and affairs, but being with him was something completely different. It was raw and real, tender and terrifying.
And I’d sent him away.
My heartbreak was my own making, too. And now... now if he died, I’d never get to say sorry or let him know I was getting help.
While I wasn’t ready to move out of the cabin, I’d made some progress. Last week, I’d gone into town to see Dylan’s friend Dr. Mason.
I needed to talk to a professional about how messed-up I was. Not just about my drinking, but about my parents’ failures and my addictive personality. About my incessant need to continually read hate comments about myself and self-sabotage.
Mason referred me to someone local who specialized in addictions. I’d only had one session, but I was hopeful. Nora was calm and nonjudgmental, and I felt better after talking to her, but I had a long way to go.
She suggested writing what I was going through in song form. Part of me felt like saying, “No shit, Sherlock. You think I haven’t already tried that?” but I took her advice and had been pouring my heart out onto paper every day. She also had me download an app that locked all other apps after a certain amount of use each day. I’d cut down my scrolling to one hour a day.
I pressed the phone icon on the steering wheel, but when I said, “Call Tricia,” the car informed me it couldn’t connect. Dammit. I was too high up and in a dense area.
I let out a frustrated growl and smacked the heel of my hand against the steering wheel.
My thoughts went down the rabbit hole of worry. Fear and anxiety churned my insides, and tears trickled over, spilling down my cheeks and dripping off my chin.
I tried calling Tricia again and again and again, but every time there was either no signal, or it went straight to voice mail.
At the hospital, I parked the truck illegally and didn’t bat an eyelid when flashes went off in my face or when the gathered reporters shouted questions. Getting to Dylan was the only thing on my mind.
By the time I reached the front desk, I could barely say his name without sobbing. The receptionist’s jaw dropped open when she saw how much of a hot mess I was, but without asking any questions, she gave me the room number.
The elevator ride to the fifth floor was endless. Finally, the doors opened. I strode through the ICU doors. Once through, I grabbed the nearest nurse. “Dylan Willows?”
Her face took on an expression of deep sympathy, and she pointed toward the end of the hall. “Last on the right.”
I entered the quiet, darkened room and bit my lower lip hard to stop it from crying out when I saw him on the narrow bed hooked up to a monitor and an IV.
At least he was alive. I breathed a long, body-shaking sigh of relief, but seeing him so helpless and so lifeless broke my heart.
On either side of him, stroking the back of his hands, sat Tricia and a woman I guessed was his mom. She was the image of Tricia, but her face was softer, less cynical.
“How bad?” I asked, my voice tight. I tensed every muscle in my body, willing myself not to break down. All I really wanted to do was to throw myself into Tricia’s arms and have her rock me like a baby while telling me everything would be okay.
Reaching out, she took my hand and squeezed. “The doctors are optimistic he didn’t suffer any lasting brain damage. Another concussion. No bleeding. Some swelling. They’ve sedated him.”
His mom smiled sadly, her eyes glistening. “If the swelling doesn’t go down, he might need surgery to release the pressure. They said they might have to remove a piece of his skull.”
A horrified sob came from somewhere deep inside of me, and I buried my face in my hands.
“Hush now, Eileen,” Tricia said, sounding her usual irritated self. “They don’t think they’ll have to do that. They’ve been monitoring him. The swelling hasn’t gotten any worse. It’s the other things we have to look out for.”
“Like what?” I asked, a deep and profound sadness washing over me.
“Personality changes, memory loss, that sort of thing.”
Another sob fell from my lips.
Dylan groaned softly. “What’s all that noise?”
My knees went weak. “How you feeling, cowboy?”
“Like I survived the zombie apocalypse and a nuclear explosion all in one day.” He sounded thick and groggy, like getting the words out took tremendous effort and concentration. He half-opened his eyes and blinked several times before focusing in on me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My chest tightened so much I feared my heart would get crushed. Unable to speak, I simply nodded.
He smiled in my direction, then closed his eyes and fell asleep.
A warm hand stroking my hair woke me. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
All night I’d stayed by his side, nodding on and off in the chair by his bed, waking with a start every time a nurse or a doctor came in to check on him.
I studied him. His face was ashen and waxy, but, thankfully, his eyes were bright and focused, and apart from some swelling on his left temple, he looked fine. Not great, but not awful.
He grinned. “You look hot with drool on your chin.”
“You look hot with a beat-up face.” I ran a hand across my jaw. “How are you feeling?”
He bunched up the blankets in his hands. “Like I want to go home.”
I shook my head and gave him a stern lo
ok. “Not going to happen. You have a bad concussion. You and the neurologist need to have a long talk.”
He didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “I guess we do.”
I drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, sounding confused.
“For being a bitch. For being cold and standoffish. I shouldn’t have gone off on you. Shouldn’t have told you to leave. Taking me to dinner was sweet. What happened after and the next morning wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” He stroked a finger over my cheek. “I shouldn’t have forced you to do something you weren’t ready to do.”
“I’ve done some thinking and soul-searching. You were right about a lot of things.” My voice wobbled with every word. “I can’t stay locked away forever. I haven’t been living, I’ve been existing. Those few days with you were the happiest I’d been in a long time. Maybe ever.” I drew in another deep breath. “If you’re willing to try again, I am. I’m ready to face the world.”
The look in his eyes was tender. “You sure that’s what you want?”
I forced out a small laugh. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. But my next steps won’t mean anything without you. When I thought I’d lost you, I’d never felt so much terror or helplessness in my life.”
He briefly closed his eyes. A frown covered his face, and I watched as he took several deep breaths. “I won’t give up ridin’.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said, meaning it. “I would never expect you to change who you are or give up your passion.” I paused, needing to choose my next words carefully. “But I want you to think about your future. Think about being there for everyone who loves you. I’ve researched it some. Maybe think about a helmet. You can even buy one that looks like a cowboy hat.”
He repositioned himself and winced.
“We can talk later,” I said. “You’re in too much pain to have a heart-to-heart now. I’ll call for the nurse. Get you some pain meds.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “No time like the present to get it all out in the open. You’re not the only one who’s been doing some thinking. I’m gonna take the rest of the year off and allow myself to heal.” He looked at me with so much emotion in his eyes my breath caught. “Waking up and seeing you if only for a second last night made me thankful to be alive. I won’t risk brain damage for a buckle. Not anymore.” He threaded his fingers through mine. “I’m crazy in love with you, Montana. Looking back, I think I fell in love with you the day I knocked you down.”
