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“If that thousand-pound cow doesn’t haul ass so we can get Chance out of there, I’ll gladly be eating it as a steak dinner,” Dakota answers.

There’s my girl.

I drown out the noise in my head, trying to focus on anything else, including the suffocating heat that seems to get more intense. The noise of truck engines and metal against metal compete with the sounds of voices and the fire in my mind, getting more and more confusing as the minutes pass.

“Chance! We’re almost there! Just hang on!”

“Hang on,” I chuckle. “If you only knew.”

There’s more bustling and movement behind me, but I can’t find the energy to look. I can’t find the energy to do anything. Duke shifts underneath me, and I know he wants to move. I’m just happy I got the bandana on his head so he doesn’t have to see what’s coming.

“I’m sorry, Duke.” I hold on to his mane tighter. “I’m sorry I brought you into this. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Duke snorts.

“Yes, I also know you would have been pissed if I left you behind.” I cough and shuffle my feet and almost lose my balance if it weren’t for Duke grounding me. “I guess we’re both assholes then, eh?”

“Chance, do not fall! We’re almost there!”

“I’m sorry, Dakota. So sorry for everything.”

I feel my hold on Duke slip as my knees buckle under me, and all I can feel is falling.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dakota

Iwatch the rise and fall of Chance’s heartbeat on the monitor, tying to find solace in it. It’s been over twenty-four hours since we pulled him from the ranch after he fell to the ground, and he still hasn’t woken up.

“You need to eat,” Wyatt barks from his chair in the corner of the room.

“So do you.” I don’t have the energy to fight him. Not anymore.

We’ve been doing a lot of that since we got to the hospital. Being argumentative seems to be the way we both handle guilt, and we’re just lucky enough to be stuck with each other while we wait for Chance to wake up.

Because he will wake up.

Other than the breathing tube under his nose, it just looks like he’s sleeping. He has the same child-like expression on his face that he does when we spend our nights together. Like it is the only time he truly doesn’t have a care in the world. And maybe that is true.

For once, I want to wake him up and not let him have that rest. I need to know that he’s going to be okay. That he’s still going to be the same asshole I fell in love with.

“You’re not going to do him any good if you don’t take care of yourself,” Wyatt says in a tone that makes me want to punch him.

“Don’t you have family you can go and annoy?”

“Don’t you have ambulances that need chasing?”

I stand and face him, pointing my finger at him. “Fuck you with the lawyer jokes. Fuck you with trying to boss me around and get me out of this room, and you know what, just FUCK YOU!” I yell.

He stands and crosses the distance between us, towering over me like he’s trying to intimidate me. “Do you think you’re any better? You’re not going to make him wake up by staring at him or holding his hand.”

“Maybe not, but I’m going to be here for him, whether you like it or not.”

“Can you both knock it off?”

I spin around, eyes wide, as Chance starts to cough. The sound is both welcoming and alarming. He’s awake, which is the biggest thing, but the cough sounds so horrific and painful it has to be torture for him.

Rushing to his side, I place my hand on his shoulder, trying to stop him from sitting up. He swats my hand away while still coughing and sits.