I can’t speak. My throat is a knot. A tear lands on my hand, and I swipe at it, embarrassed. “You raised good men, PJ. All of them.”
She laughs, raspy. “They’ve taken care of me just as much as I have for them. That’s what families do, or ought to.”
We sit. Let the silence stretch. After a while, PJ starts telling stories. About Trouble as a kid, the first time he rode a bull. How he stole her car at fourteen to impress a girl, barely made it three miles before the sheriff caught him, and somehow talked his way out of it. The stories spill out. I find myself laughing, then crying, then laughing again. It’s easier, somehow, with PJ here.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. I lay my head down on the side of Trouble’s bed. PJ slumps in her chair, blanket up to her chin. I hear his breathing, even and slow until eventually I drift asleep, too.
A cough snaps me awake. I jerk upright, my neck screaming in pain, eyes blurry. The room is bright with morning light. PJ is gone, but her blanket is still in the chair. And in the doorway stands Winnie, holding a limp bouquet of daisies.
She looks lost, like she took a wrong turn and ended up here by mistake.
“I, uh,” she says, clutching the flowers tighter. “I wasn’t sure if—do men even like flowers? I didn’t know what else to bring.”
I blink, try to force my brain into gear. “They’re perfect,” I say, and mean it.
She brings them over, hovers awkwardly, so I take them and lay them on the window ledge. Winnie comes to thebedside. She touches Trouble’s hand, just her fingertips on his wrist. It’s a while before she finally speaks.
“You know, there’s a lot of things to say about Trouble. The bull rider, the wild one. The way he drives everyone crazy and then gets away with it ‘cause he’s charming.” She smiles, but it’s sad. “But there’s a part of him buried deep down he doesn’t let anybody see. Not even me, and I’ve known him a long time. I’ve tried to get there for years.”
She glances at me, eyes glassy. “But you got in. Quick, too. Makes me think some people really are meant for each other.”
Winnie’s crying now, but it’s the silent kind, the worst kind. “I saw you two the other night, dancin’, and I’ve never seen him like that before. If Trouble can fall in love, that means anybody can. So maybe I’ll find someone like that too, someday.”
“You will,” I tell her softly.
She nods, swipes her sleeve under her nose. “Hope he makes it through. We’re all praying for him.”
I smile. “Thank you, Winnie. For everything.”
She leaves just as quietly as she came. And it’s just me and Trouble again.
I lean close to him. “Just had a talk with your ex. I see why you liked her. I like her, too.”
I clutch his hand in both of mine, pressing it to my cheek, wet with tears I can’t stop. “Please, Trouble… I just need you to wake up. Just open your eyes, because I have to tell you something—something I should’ve already told you.” My voice cracks, and I choke on the words, but I force them out anyway.
“I’m not going back to Chicago. God, I don’t even know if I ever meant it when I said I would. Because I don’t want that life—not when I’ve finally figured out what Ido want. I want you. I want to stay here with you, take care of you, of my daddy, Knox, even the horses and all the poo.” A broken laugh slips through my sob, raw and aching. “I want all of it… the mess, the chaos, the storms. Because this place, this life… with you, it feels like home. Chicago never did. But you—you feel like home.”
My voice breaks, my chest heaving, my voice wrecked. I bow my head over his hand, sobbing into his skin, praying to God he hears me—praying he’ll come back.
“You made me see everything I was missing,” I whisper, clutching his hand tighter. “So when you wake up—because you have to wake up—I’m gonna stay. I’ll get my real estate license here, sell and flip houses, drag you along on every job whether you like it or not. We’ll eat at every awful diner in this county until you’re sick of chicken-fried chicken. We’ll build a life, Trouble. A messy, loud, beautiful life.” My throat closes as fresh tears spill. “But I need you to open your eyes for me first. Please.”
He doesn’t move. There’s a steady rise and fall of his breathing, and I fall apart. I sob for all the days I wasted pretending I didn’t love him. For every chance I had and threw away. For all the ways he showed me he loved me without ever needing to say it out loud.
There’s a soft knock on the door. A nurse peeks in, pity is written all over her face. “Hi there, his mama’s gone home for a minute to grab a shower. You should, too. Get a shower, some air. You need it.”
“That’s okay, I’m fine right here,” I murmur, my fingers laced through his.
The nurse crouches a little, her voice kind but steady. “I know you are. But you’re allowed to take a minute for yourself. We’ll keep a close eye on him—I promise. Let us take care of him for a bit. You go get cleaned up.”
She’s right. God, I probably look feral. Still, the thought of leaving him twists something deep inside me. My chest feels hollow at the idea of not being right here if he wakes up. But I can tell by the look in her eyes they won’t stop asking until I give in.
I lift his hand to my lips, pressing a kiss into his knuckles, whispering against his skin, “I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare go anywhere without me.”
The nurse waits until I gather my things, then steers me into the hallway like she’s done this a hundred times for a hundred scared girls just like me.
I walk out of the room, leaving half my heart hooked to the monitors. Then, I do exactly what the nurse tells me. Shower. Change. Spend five minutes staring at my reflection in the bathroom, trying to recognize the girl in the mirror. She looks like she lost a bad bar fight. I don’t even remember being in the car or driving, but I buy a giant cup of coffee that tastes like rainwater when I get back to the hospital.
I keep moving, finding his hospital room by muscle memory, like all the sadness in the world could pull me right to it.
