So far, Wyatt hasn't given me a reason not to trust him. That has to count for something.
"I'm sorry," Jake says, pulling me back to the moment. "But I don't think I'll make it to your party. Turns out hospitals don't let recently trampled cowboys travel."
"Shocking policy," I say. "What will the insurance companies think of next?"
He chuckles and winces.
"I think we'll be okay." I let my gaze drift toward Madison. "But I know there will be several broken hearts if you're not there."
Madison's cheeks flush.
Wyatt reaches into his jacket and pulls out something that catches the light—bronze and silver gleaming. "Figured you might want this." He holds up Jake's latest buckle. "Didn't think you'd make it over to pick it up."
Jake's eyes light up. "Well, dang." He takes the buckle, turning it over. The pain lines around his eyes ease just from holding it. "Makes it all worth it, doesn't it?"
"You're all touched in the head." Madison's voice cracks, half exasperation, half something that sounds like love. "And I won't be making it to the party either. I promised Jake's mom I'd help her get his sorry butt home."
Jake grins. "You're gonna miss seeing me in a suit."
"I'll survive the disappointment," Madison quips.
My phone buzzes insistently. I pull it out and scan the messages. Madison hands me a notepad without a word.
"Someone's popular," Jake observes.
"The glamorous life of event planning." I feel the weight settle onto my shoulders. "Apparently parties don't organize themselves."
My phone rings. Brook's name. "I should probably take this one." I step into the hallway.
"Kinsley," Brook's voice comes through bright with excitement. "Please tell me you're sitting down."
"I'm in the hospital hallway, so standing, but—"
"Senator Martinez RSVP'd yes! And he's bringing his wife and daughter."
My chest expands. "That's exactly what we needed."
"That's not even the best part." Brook is pumped. "His RSVP apparently opened some kind of floodgate. I've had twelve more confirmations since yesterday, including three state legislators and the president of the Cattlemen's Association."
I lean against the wall, scribbling notes on Madison's notepad. "This is incredible."
My phone buzzes with another call—Hailey's name flashing. "Brook, can you hold on?"
I manage to merge the calls, and their coordinated excitement about flights, media requests, interview schedules wash over me. I write as fast as I can, capturing details I'm already forgetting.
When I finally hang up, I stare at the notepad. All these important people believe in what we're doing. Strangerswho've heard our story and decided it's worth their time, worth their support.
I'm about to head back into Jake's room when my phone buzzes. Unknown number.
You're not as good as you think you are, and some legacies deserve to die.
The words blur. My hands go unsteady.
I stand there in the empty hallway, staring at the screen until the words stop making sense. Then I walk back into Jake's room on legs that don't quite feel attached to my body.
"Kinsley?" Wyatt's voice sounds far away. "What is it?"
I hand him my phone without speaking. Watch his expression shift from concern to something harder. His jaw tightens.