"Like I went twelve rounds with a mountain and the mountain won by knockout."
"That's not far from accurate." She taps through screens on her tablet with practiced efficiency. "You're very lucky, Ms. Reid. Bruised ribs, grade two concussion, sprained wrist, mild hypothermia. Could've been significantly worse."
"When can I get out of here?" Panic edges my voice because hospitals mean paperwork, insurance verification, background checks. The longer I stay, the more questions they'll ask.
Questions lead to phone calls to next of kin and legal guardians.
Questions lead straight back to uncle Richard's clutches.
"Eager to leave?" She gives me a look that says she's seen this dance before. "You'll need observation for seventy-two hours minimum. No screens, no driving, no strenuous activity. Someone will need to wake you every few hours to monitor for concussion symptoms. Do you have someone at home who can provide that level of care?"
The question hangs in the air like a live grenade with the pin pulled. I feel all three men go tense, waiting for my answer.
The truth sits heavy on my tongue. That home is a fifteen-year-old van with a broken heater and a leaky roof, but I can't. Not here. Not like this.
"I'll figure something out."
Dr. Chen frowns, all business now. "This isn't a suggestion, Ms. Reid. You need proper supervision or I can't discharge you in good conscience." She heads for the door. "I'll be back later to discuss options."
The moment the door clicks shut, Colt and Beau start talking over each other like competing auctioneers.
"She'll stay with me," Colt says, voice brooking no argument. "The clinic apartment has everything she needs, and I can monitor her medically—"
"Like hell she will." Beau cuts him off with razor precision. "My ranch is better equipped for recovery. Quiet, private, proper guest room instead of some cramped apartment above a clinic."
"Since when do you know what's best for her?" Colt stands, squaring off like they're about to throw down right here in the ICU.
"She deserves better than your whiskey-soaked idea of caregiving."
"I haven't had a drink in over a—"
"Both of you shut the hell up." Gabriel's voice cuts through their pissing contest, cold and controlled as mountain air. "If either of you actually knew Lucy, actually paid attention instead of just wanting her, you'd realize she doesn't have a proper address to begin with. She's been living in her van."
The silence that follows could stop a freight train. All eyes swivel to me, and I want to melt into this hospital bed and disappear forever.
"Lucy?" Colt's voice goes soft, confused, like I've just told him the sky is purple. "What's he talking about?"
Tears burn behind my eyes like acid. Of all the ways for them to find out, this is the absolute worst.
Gabriel knowing is one thing, he's the sheriff, probably figured it out day one. But Colt and Beau learning like this, in front of each other, when I'm too busted up to run...
"I live in my van." The words come out small and broken as old glass. "Parked behind the clinic most nights."
The expressions that cross their faces destroy something inside me. Shock. Hurt. Something that might be pity, which is infinitely worse than all the rest combined.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Beau asks, voice barely above a whisper.
"Lucy, sweetheart, we didn't mean to—" Colt starts.
"I know." I swipe at my face with my good hand, wincing when the movement pulls at my ribs. "It's fine. I'm used to taking care of myself."
"You're not fine." Colt moves closer, and I can see the war raging behind those green eyes. "You're hurt, and you need help whether you want to admit it or not."
"She can stay at the ranch," Beau says with quiet determination. "Plenty of space, peaceful environment for healing—"
"The clinic apartment puts her closer to medical help if something goes wrong," Colt counters. "And I've got veterinary training, know how to spot complications—"
"Will you both just stop?" I press my palms against my temples, their arguing making my head pound like a bass drum. "You're doing it again. Fighting over me like I'm some prize heifer at auction instead of a person who can make her own goddamn decisions."
