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I lost all sense of time. Morphine was a damn good friend, but fucking hell, I was so far gone—which was probably a real good thing, all things considered. Try as I might, there were so many pieces missing.

I remembered climbing on Rampage’s back.

I remembered the bell and the chute opening.

And then I remember thinking I was dead the split moment before his hooves came down on me.

I remembered asking West to marry me and him turning me down. Should’ve seen that coming.

Everything else was a blurred mix filled with doctors, nurses, my mom, Mickey, the understanding I probably wouldn’t ever walk again, and the Friends theme song.

“You better not be watching that goddamn show again,” I growled, my throat uncomfortably dry. Fucking Mickey . I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know the old man was watching reruns on my hospital room TV.

“It ain’t like they got anythin’ better to watch,” he retorted.

“It’s a stupid fucking show,” I snapped. “Turn it off. ”

I blinked slowly, trying to bring everything into focus. My mom motioned to the TV before sitting on the bed next to me. She did so slowly, doing her best to not move the bed. It didn’t fucking matter. I couldn’t feel a goddamn thing. Not even my teeth.

“How are you, baby boy?” she asked. Sitting this close, she swam in my vision. Fuck, these drugs were so strong.

“Where’s West?” I replied instead. My question was greeted by utter silence. Fuck. That was so goddamn telling.

“Baby boy,” Mom began carefully.

“Don’t.” I shook my head. My heart was already shattering. I didn’t want to hear her say the words. It wouldn’t do me any fucking good.

“No one has seen West in four days,” she continued anyway.

I shut my eyes against the burn and ignored her attempts to comfort me. While deep down I knew West never intended to stay—was never mine to keep—a part of me had hoped I’d change that for him.

What a fucking idiot I was.