Gray’s hand wraps around the back of my head, pulling my face toward his, kissing me deeply. A type of kiss that conveys he’s begging for this, but maybe already accepting that he’s lost the battle.
“I—” His words halt. “Thank you. I’ll be in soon.”
Disappointment swirls in his eyes before he exits the truck and opens my door.
And at that moment, there’s no more debating what I’ll say to him when we continue our first real disagreement later.
The answer has always been there.
I knew it from the day I met him.
Chapter 18
River
Mycurrentdescriptionofhell is as follows: packing up and moving all my clothes in two days, my surgical schedule tripling for three days since four of my partners decided to try some random hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and all ended up with food poisoning, Gran’s eightieth celebration is around the corner, and I drank way too much at girl’s night with Betty, Joy, and Rayna a few nights ago. Hangovers are not supposed to last this long.
This is my first full day of clinic hours again, and I’ve never been so grateful to review dozens of MRIs and discuss scheduling surgeries or physical therapy regimens.
“You look tired, Dr. Thompson,” one of the new medical assistants remarks as she drops the next chart on my desk. I wish I could remember her name, but that’s more brain cells than I have available right now.
“Yeah, it’s been a long week.”
“Moving will do that to you.”
My gaze darts up to hers. How had she known I was moving? I only mentioned it to our PA in the OR on Tuesday when she asked why my back was sore, and she’s not one to gossip. I’m genuinely convinced she hates people.
“Yes. It will. Thank you.” I wave the chart, effectively dismissing her.
If she knows about me moving, so will my partners. Buckner already knows about my relationship with Gray. I’m not in the mood for their passive-aggressive comments or the judgments they’ll make about my ability to keep up with the workload as my relationship grows more serious.
Putting my wayward thoughts aside, I move on to the next patient room. Then the next and the next. Each appointment is another distraction from the growing seed of doubt that I’ve made a mistake moving in with Gray.
An issue with my brain, not my heart.
The last two days of the week finally brought me back to baseline. My clinic and surgical schedule evened out enough for me to breathe. I’d settled in at Gray’s—a change Gran was very happy about. Apparently, she plans to visit often.
Though the calm of a routine had settled over me, the reality of competition night stole it away just as quickly.
Every time I close my eyes all I see are the records from his injury and that boys mangled lower body. It’s the risk Gray takes every time he enters that arena.
But now I’m invested in him. Wrapped up in the turmoil of what those eight seconds could mean in the blink of an eye.
I can tell myself it’s only because of his injuries, but it’s more. Much more.
Gray is taking my heart out there with him.
Though his hand functions just fine, it still bothers him. The pain never entirely went away, and the fractures are still healing—with good callus formation.
It does nothing to erase the pit at the bottom of my stomach. It doesn’t eliminate the images and possible outcomes raging in my head. Each thought leaving me with vivid trailers of Gray getting hurt.
Leaning against the gates, the opening ceremony only sends my sweat glands surging into overdrive.
The familiar announcer’s voice booms through the space. He introduces each rider as he always does. Joy whistles for Tate, and I cheer loudly for Gray. The both of us giggling at our schoolgirl behavior. The excitement real though I’m trembling with fear inside.
“Last month, we told you about some changes coming to the Cole County Rodeo. Tonight, we are pleased to announce the new ownership. Tate Garrison will be taking over Boulder Ranch. As a long-time bronc rider and bull rider here in Cole County, we are confident that there couldn’t be a better set of hands to keep up with the legacy.”
The crowd roars. All but four sets of hands clapping animatedly.
