“How do you know that?” The words are threadbare. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I don’t know who’s more nervous about Billie’s surgery, her or me.
“You said it yourself. I put this healing hand on you.”
She scoffs. “Will you put it on me again if I need it? And the other hand too? All over?”
“Put what all over you?”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I look up and see Colt jogging toward us, his parents on his heels.
No sign of the rodeo dickhead. Good.
“Nothing.” I drop Billie’s hand and shove my own inside my back pocket. “The Lord’s blessing.”
Billie outright laughs. “That’s exactly what I want put all over me. I need some Jesus in my life. Thank you, Ryder.”
Colt draws to a stop beside Billie’s bed in the hallway. He’s out of breath as he leans in to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry we’re so late.”
“You helped clear the cattle from the road, didn’t you?” Billie wrinkles her nose. She looks really fucking cute when she does that. “You stink.”
“You’re welcome for busting my ass to get here!” He laughs. “And yeah, we all lent a hand. Still took an age. Are you feeling okay? They told us you were being brought into surgery.”
“I’m…okay, actually.” Billie glances at me. “Ryder kept me distracted while they did the needle stuff.”
Colt sends an appreciative look my way. “Thank you, brother.”
“Welcome.” The word comes out more gruffly than I intended. Maybe because I’m suddenly gripped by an awful sense of guilt even though I know that, logically, I didn’t do anything wrong.
I still can’t kick the sense that I crossed a line tonight. Many lines. I’ve done a good job of keeping Billie at arm’s length, but tonight I let her in—I let myself get close to her—and now I feel funky. Or maybe I’m in a funk thinking about how I’ll have to put up my guard again in the morning.
Before I lost my parents, I wasn’t afraid to open up to Billie. I even played my guitar for her, both of us getting deep in our feels as I strummed her favorite Taylor Swift song.
But after my parents died, I stopped playing guitar, and I stopped opening up too. And maybe it’s hitting me that I’ve missed out on some really excellent things by keeping my distance.
Shit like Billie’s wry sense of humor and her bravery and the way she lights up a room. I want to witness it all again, because…well, because it made me feel fully and completely alive for the first time in ages.
What am I supposed to do, though? If I keep letting her get close, I might do something stupid. Like cross even more lines, blow up my friendship with Colt, and risk complete and total annihilation.
Not to be dramatic. But I’ve already been through so much loss. Losing people you love—it wrecks you, and I’m not sure I can survive that kind of loss again.
Mr. Wallace claps my shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of our little girl.”
“I’m not little anymore, Dad.” But Billie’s eyes still well when he kisses her cheek. “Love you. I’ll be okay.”
I step back, giving Billie’s family space to get closer to her.
“You hurting?” There’s a deep groove between Mrs. Wallace’s brows. I know that groove well; as the mother of six children whom she raised on the ranch, Mrs. Wallace has experienced dozens of injuries over the years. I’ve been there to witness the appearance of that groove more times than I can count.
“Mostly my pride, Mom.”
Mrs. Wallace grins. “You did so great tonight, Billie. We’re proud of you.”
“We also hope you’ll be hanging up your spurs soon.” Mr. Wallace puts a hand on his chest. “My nerves can’t take this kind of scare anymore.”
The life in Billie’s eyes dissolves almost immediately. She looks down at her hands, which are now clasped in her lap. “You’ve been saying that forever, Daddy.”
“I mean it this time, sweetheart.”
“But it was my first real race?—”
