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“Are you nervous?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m nervous. Tomorrow is the difference between us being comfortable and me having to figure out how to support you.”
I lean in and kiss him. “You don’t have to support me. I do all right as far as money is concerned.”
“But, I don’t ever want you to want for anything. You deserve the best of everything.”
“If I have you, it’ll be enough for me. I promise.”
I kiss him and it turns into so much more.
We stare into each other’s eyes while he lays over me, filling me, and kissing me, and loving me the way I’ve always wanted to be loved. The way he looks at me melts my heart and brands me as his forever. I fight my fear of losing him tomorrow and make the most of the time we have right now. As we drift off to sleep, I hear him whisper. “I’m going to love you forever.”
I don’t answer him because I know he isn’t ready for me to hear it. But I fall asleep with a smile in my heart, nonetheless.
Fourteen
Ryder
The sound of the crowd fades as the gate swings open. The only thing standing between me and the perfect life with Julia is eight tiny seconds. My heart leaps to my throat as the bull under me twists in a circle, then lifts his hind end as high as he can. I hold strong, knowing that that little move just scored me some serious points. He twists his body and snorts, wanting to get me the hell off of him, but there’s no fucking way I’m giving up now.
Just as the buzzer sounds, he slams into the fence and starts to run along it, pinning my leg between the metal and his body. Pain shoots through my foot and travels up my side. The sound of bones crunching makes my stomach churn. As soon as he turns from the fence, I take my chance and leap down, knowing that when I hit the ground, it better be running, which will be hard as hell with a broken foot.
I land on my knees and try to get up but the bastard is on me too fast. I see his hooves coming down on me before I can get clear of him. Then everything goes black.
Fifteen
Julia
I’m in the back of the ambulance with Ryder. I lied and told them I’m his fiancée. I hold his hand while the paramedic hooks up an IV to his limp hand. He’s so pale that he hardly looks like the man that carried me to the shower this morning and held me up against the wall while we made love. His foot is twisted at such an odd angle that it makes my knees weak. His face is so bloody I don’t know where he’s injured.
I watch in silence, glancing at the paramedic’s face every now and then for a clue as to what’s happening. She looks at me and offers me a reassuring smile, but there’s nothing convincing about it. Tears slide down my cheeks, but I don’t bother to wipe them away.
We reach the hospital in what seems like two minutes. Or is it two hours? I have no clue right now. All I know is that I found the perfect love and after only three days, I might lose him.
The back doors swing open and a team of doctors and nurses wait, their expressions grim and urgent. I hear words like ‘surgery’ and ‘brain bleed,’ and it’s all I can do not to throw up. Two of the doctors climb into the back of the ambulance and help the paramedic roll the bed out and into the building.
I sit, completely numb and not knowing what to do. Somehow, I end up in a hallway on a soft chair. The buzzing from the fluorescent lights is the only sound. I watch the sky outside the window grow dark as I pray that he’ll come back to me. That he’ll be all right. That we’ll have our happily ever after.
I wake to the feeling of someone shaking my shoulder. I open my eyes to see an older woman in scrubs crouched down in front of me. A mask hangs down around her neck, splattered with blood. “You’re waiting for Ryder West, right?”
I nod, then rub my eyes, my stomach lurching. I search her face for some clue, but she doesn’t give anything away.
“I’m Dr. Parker. I was one of the neurosurgeons that worked on him. He survived the surgery, but I’m afraid he’s not out of the woods yet. We have him in an induced coma while we monitor the swelling in his brain. He’s in recovery right now, but we’ll be moving him to intensive care in a couple of hours.”
I try to make sense of what she’s saying, but I’m so groggy and scared, I can hardly understand her. “Will he…”
“It’s too early to tell. We did everything we could and we’re going to be watching him closely in case he needs another surgery.”
“Okay,” I answer, even though none of this is even remotely all right about this.
“Why don’t you go get some sleep. You could come back in the morning when he’s in the ICU. I’ll let you sit with him then.”
Shaking my head, I say, “He and I have a deal. I go where he goes.”
She nods and pats my leg. “I thought as much.” She stands. “He’s a fighter, that one. He should be dead but he isn’t, and in my experience men like him with something to live for tend to beat the odds.”
It’s almost twelve hours before I’m allowed to see him. When I open the door to the room, it’s the beeping from the machines I notice first. Then it’s his bruised and swollen face, the bandages wrapped around his head, the IV poking out of his arm and hand. His leg is in a cast that goes down to his toes, which are exposed.
