"You weren't moving." Her voice was scraped to nothin'. "You weren't—Brody, you hit the ground and you didn't move and I?—"
"I know." I squeezed her knee. "I heard you."
Her eyes doubled in size as the horror of realizin' I'd witnessed her little confession set in—realizin' every wall she'd built had come tumblin' down and the rubble was still scattered around her.
I held her gaze. Steady as I could manage with my brain rattlin' around in my skull like a marble in a tin can.
"I heard you, Calvin. Every word."
She pressed her lips together so hard they went white. A fresh tear spilled over and she didn't wipe it away. Didn't look away, either. Just let me see her—reallysee her—in a way she hadn't since the first time I'd made her come undone on a tarp in my half-built house.
Rhett was somewhere to my left. I could feel him—that solid, immovable presence standin' guard. Other shapes hovered at the edges of my vision.
"Brody, can you feel your feet?" Rhett's voice. Steady. All business.
I wiggled my boots. Felt the leather shift against my socks. "Yeah."
"Fingers?"
I squeezed Calvin's knee again. She answered for me. "His grip's fine." Her voice was steadier now. Just barely. The viper puttin' herself back together one scale at a time.
"Let's keep him still 'til the medics get here." Rhett's hand landed on my good shoulder—brief, firm. His fingers lingered a half second longer than they needed to.
More shapes in my periphery. The crunch of boots on arena dirt, slower than the rest.
"Boy, you hit that ground harder than a sack of wet cement."
Hank.Toothpick still in place, cloudy eye squintin' down at me. He lowered himself with careful economy and crouched at my left side.
Beside him—slower still, one hand on Hank's arm for balance—John Calvin settled onto one knee with a grunt that said this was costin' him somethin', but he'd be damned if it stopped him.
"You in one piece, son?" John asked. Gruff voice, sharp eyes.
"Think so, sir. Might be missin' some pride."
"Pride grows back." John's bony fingers gripped my forearm with surprisin' strength. "Bones don't always. You lay still."
I caught Calvin's eyes flick to her grandfather—just a second, just long enough to clock that he was there, in the dirt, next to me. A man she'd only reconnected with weeks ago. A man who'd called her Vinny and made her cry in the doorway of a room in Livingston. Here. On his bad knees. For me.
She looked back at me. Her hand didn't leave mine.
That's when the air shifted.
A shadow fell across us from behind Calvin's shoulder, and the quality of the silence changed—drew taut, like a wire pulled to the point just before snappin'.
"Damn." The voice was easy. Warm. One that had rehearsed charm so long it had calcified into somethin' permanent. "That was one hell of a spill. Real men know how to keep their seat, though, don't they?"
Every muscle in Calvin's body locked. I felt it through her hand—the instant, full-body shutdown, every joint sealin', every tendon pullin' taut. Her fingers didn't tighten around mine. They went still. Completely, absolutely still.
I couldn't see him from where I lay, but I didn't need to. The effect he had on her was identification enough.
Wyatt Cole.Standin' over me with a smile in his voice.
Rage hit clean and immediate, floodin' every bruised inch of my body with somethin' hotter than pain. My good arm tensed. My jaw locked. Every instinct I had screamed at me to get up—get up and put this man in the ground, make him eat that smile, make him understand what happened to people who?—
Calvin's thumb pressed into my palm. One firm, deliberate stroke.
Stay down.
