Before I can speak for Jake, Madison stands up. "I'm his sister," she says without missing a beat. "Our parents are flying in from Montana." The nurse nods, clearly buying the lie. Madison's got the right kind of raw-eyed worry for it to be believable.
"He's stable. Doctor will be out to talk to you in a few minutes."
The collective exhale in that room sounds like wind through wheat fields.
I sink into one of the plastic chairs, pulling Kinsley down on my lap. My hands are shaking, and I clench them into fists to make it stop.
"Talk to me," Kinsley says quietly, her voice cutting through the fog in my head.
"About what?"
"Whatever's making your hands shake." She covers my fists with her palms and pulls them close to her stomach. The warmth of her touch is an anchor. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Maybe I have. The ghost of every cowboy who didn't make it home, every family that got the call in the middle of the night, every woman who watched the man she loved disappear into an ambulance.
"Jake's been my traveling partner for three years," I say,staring at the motivational poster on the opposite wall—some nonsense about perseverance with a picture of a mountain climber. "We split gas, hotel rooms, food. He's the closest thing I've got to a brother."
"And now?"
"Now he's looking at possible surgery, recovery time, and maybe therapy, who knows?" I run my hands through my hair, feeling every mile we've traveled together, every joke we've shared, every time he's had my back when things got rough. "Three seconds, Kinsley. Three seconds was all the difference between him walking out of that arena and this."
She's quiet for a long moment, watching my face with those eyes that see too much.
"It won't happen to me," I say, because that's what you're supposed to say, what everyone expects to hear. "I'm always careful."
Kinsley pulls her hands back from mine. "You can't promise that."
"Sure I can. I know what I'm doing out there."
"You might know what you’re doing but you’re not in control." Her voice carries an edge I've never heard before. “No one is ever in control.” She gives a slight shake to her head. "You think your experience means anything to a bull that's having a bad day?"
The words hit harder than I expected, maybe because there's truth in them that I don't want to acknowledge.
"Jake's one of the best bareback riders in the world," she continues, standing up like she needs space to get the words out—or space from me, I don't know. "If it can happen to him, it can happen to anyone.” Kinsley pauses as she inhales, her eyes brimming with emotion. “Including you."
I'm on my feet, matching her energy. "So, what, you want me to quit?" The anger in my voice surprises me, but I can't seem to stop it from boiling over. "Life's risky, Kinsley. Driving to the grocery store is risky."
"Don't you dare." Her cheeks flush with the kind of passion that makes her more beautiful and more terrifying all at once. "Don't you dare stand there and act like what just happened to Jake is the same as a fender bender."
She's right, and that makes me angrier than the fear that's been clawing at my chest since I watched my best friend get stomped on and not walk out of the arena.
"So, what are you saying? Is this too much for you?" The questions taste bitter, but I need to know. Need to see if she's going to cut and run when things get hard.
Her eyes narrow, and for a second, I think she might actually walk out. "Do you think I'm that weak?"
"I'm asking if you're backing out because if so, it better be now."
"You're an idiot." The words come out flat, final, like she's stating a scientific fact. "You think I flew all the way to Oregon the week before my biggest professional move because I can't handle watching the man I'm falling for do what he loves?"
I come up short. The man she'sfallingfor?
"I can handle this, Wyatt." Her voice drops to something quieter but no less fierce. "I can handle watching you ride, handle the risk, handle all of it. The question is—can you?"
My brain sputters at the question. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She gestures toward my hands, which are still shaking. "This is the reality of what you do. Every time you climb ona bull, the shadow of this possibility hangs over us. Me, your mom, everyone.” She searches my face. “You didn’t know, did you?”
I shake my head. “No idea. But I don’t know how to stop.”