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Christ.
Worry blazes inside of me as I press two fingers to her slender white throat. Clock the blood thrumming in her veins, the frenetic pump of her pulse.
Then I move them to mine, noting the difference.
I go cold.
The sunrise outside dims as my vision blurs.
“Ruby,” I whisper, keeping watch on her pale face. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Worse. It’s getting worse.
My hands hold the steering wheel in a death grip as I drive back to Runaway Ranch from town.
The doctor’s words play over in my head on a loop.
Get back to your cardiologist.
Slow down. Stop pushing yourself too hard.
If you’re not careful, you could die. The likelihood of a severe cardiac arrest is a certain possibility.
I woke early this morning, barely an hour after my flutter and snuck out of the cabin. I left Charlie sleeping beside me. He’s headed to Bozeman today to finalize the ranch’s protected habitat status, but that hasn’t stopped him from leaving me numerous voicemails and texts. I spent five hours talking to the doctor in Resurrection, with my cardiologist on Zoom, telling them about my heart, and listening to their advice. And it’s all the same.
Go home to get better.
But how? How do I go home after this summer?
Sadness pours into me.
I love this life. I don’t want to go back to my old one, but at what cost?
Is that the risk I take?
Live while accepting my fate?
Or go back to being quiet, knowing I had a cowboy who loved me and that was good enough?
What is enough?
My whole life I’ve never been afraid of dying. I’ve been afraid of not living, but now that I have lived, the thought of losing everything, the thought of a life without Charlie, is too painful.
Wasted. Everything seems wasted. This entire summer, all the miles on this old Skylark, all the checks off my bucket list, all the love I have for Charlie—wasted.
I imagine his future as I drive. He’ll meet someone else. A guest, a tourist, a local. Someone alive and healthy. They’ll have babies, a family, a long life together—everything I can’t give him. He’ll forget me.
And he should.
I let out a strangled cry. The thought of a life without Charlie has me feeling sick inside.
My gaze tracks the storm clouds rolling down off Meadow Mountain and over Resurrection proper. I punch the accelerator, steering through my tears.
It feels ominous. A sign I need to decide before it’s too late.
I inhale a steeling breath.
How can I leave? How can I go back to anything other than this heartbreaking, wild life?
