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"Rider down!" The announcer's voice rings out, followed by an eerie silence. Medics rush onto the scene as the rodeo clowns manage to draw Thunderstruck away. He scrapes at the dirt with his nose down, snorting big breaths. Still angry.
They get Sage settled onto a stretcher, carrying him away from the arena’s open dirt to an awaiting gurney. The ambulance already backing down the tunnel to pick up the gurney and haul him to the nearest hospital.
It's a blur as I sprint toward him, my mind a whirlwind of fear and shock. The crowd's anxious murmurs become a distant hum, fading into insignificance.
As the medics work on Sage, I’m held back, my heart pounding as a wave of dread washes over me. His pale face is a stark contrast to the red dust caking his features. A part of me wants to crumble, to break down and let the fear consume me. But I can't. Not now. Sage needs me, and I'll be damned if I let him face this alone.
My fingers intertwine with his, only for a moment, a silent promise as they load him into the ambulance. I know this road ahead will be hard and fraught with pain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In a daze, I follow the rush of medics and their precious cargo, Sage, swallowed by the cavernous belly of the ambulance. The world blurs around me, drowned out by the persistent echo of my heart hammering against my ribcage. Someone allows me to ride in the front seat of the ambulance, while they stabilize him in the back.
“I’mma need you to buckle up darlin’. We’re goin’ full lights and sirens to Community General.”
I grab the belt from above my right shoulder and click it in place. Still in a daze.
I've been in many places, seen many things, but nothing has prepared me for the cold sterility of a hospital. It is an alien world of sharp smells, white walls, and long, lonely corridors.
Intimate whispers of terror thread their way through my mind, making my pulse spike. But I squash them, drown them in a sea of determined thoughts. Sage needs me. Now, more than ever. I want to hold his hand, whisper words I hope seep into his subconscious, promising him that I'm not going anywhere.
A flurry of activity, a chorus of beeps, a maelstrom of white coats, and all I can do is wait. Stand, rooted like an old oak tree, as time stretches on, filling the sterile silence with an unbearable weight.
Hours later, the prognosis delivered by the head doctor, a man with soft eyes and a steady voice, is cautiously optimistic. There's talk of surgery, rehab, physical therapy, but it all becomes a background hum to the steady rise and fall of Sage's chest. It's the only reassurance I need for now.
Sage stirs, squeezes my hand, his eyes flutter open. His smile, a ghost of its former brightness, is the most beautiful sight I've seen.
A nurse, flustered and red-faced, suggests a bizarre therapy involving electric eels. Sage's laughter bubbles up, raw and painful, but it fills the room with a warmth that outshines the sterile hospital lights.
"Good mornin’ sunshine,'' I whisper, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his forehead, brushing back the unruly strands of his hair. It's a simple gesture, one among many that mark the beginning of our new reality.
His grip on my hand is weak, but his gaze is steady. "Stay with me, Iris," he whispers back. It isn't a question. It's a plea.
I squeeze his hand, promising him with a simple nod and a warm smile. "Always."
A promise I intend to keep, no matter the cost. As we weather this storm together, I find my own strength growing. It's not just about standing by Sage's side, but also about stepping into my own light, pushing through my own fears. For him. For me. For us.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The distinct aroma of antiseptic catches my nose as I stride into Sage’s room. “Hey, handsome,” I quip with a hint of sass, trying to drown out the pang seeing him, the bronc rider — normally a powerhouse — now imprisoned by white sheets and beeping machines. Still, my grin doesn't waver. I need to be the rock, the steady anchor.
Sage quirks an eyebrow, even though his voice scrapes out, raspy. “Ah, there’s my buckle bunny.” Despite his attempt, his sparkle's undiminished, that irreplaceable cowboy charm twinkling in his gaze. Though a tad pale and drawn, his smile melts the ice surrounding my heart.
I spill the tale of a barrel racer's unfortunate mix-up with hair dye — ended up with a horse resembling a giant fluffy cotton candy. Sage throws his head back, a rich, rumbling laughter enveloping the room.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he manages between chuckles. “Heard about the bull who fancied a cowboy’s hat? Swear, it was like a comedy show all its own!”
Our shared amusement escalates when the door swings open, revealing a nurse, red as a freshly picked apple. She holds a bedpan, her gaze bouncing between us, clearly caught off guard.
"I, um, didn’t think you had company," she stammers, embarrassment painted on her features brighter than a Texas sky. “I’ll just come back later.”
Sage roars with laughter, and I can’t help but join in. It’s almost like a tonic, the way we find humor even in a place saturated with disinfectant and draped in white.
The infectious laughter eventually simmers, replaced by a heavy but comforting silence. My fingers find his, tangling seamlessly.
CHAPTER NINE
The familiar hum of a hospital surrounds me. Every so often, Sage's monitors chirp softly. He lies there, rugged features cast in an unfamiliar shade. Hospital lights, huh? Cruel. But even so, he seems... unbroken. Still Sage. I marvel at him.
