Page 11 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

Chapter Eight

Allison

As annoyed as I am, I decide to go check on him in person the next morning.

I let everything he said last night get to me a little bit too deeply.

I know Colt better than that. I know him well enough that I should’ve just breezed past all his inflammatory statements.

I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin.

He’s putting on a brave face for Sarah and Dallas, and calling him out on that was an affront to his pride, and I know Colt well enough to know he won’t allow that.

So why couldn’t I let it go? I don’t know.

But I’ve got a stake in how badly things went last night, if only because I should respect that he’s not in the best place.

But hearing him say that – hearing him say that he was going to be right back in the arena in just a few months worried me.

I don’t want him to go back to riding. And not only that, I’m not sure it’s possible, and the idea that he’s in denial on that level frightens me.

I don’t think he is, though. I kind of think he just wishes he could be.

I text him, and I don’t get a response. I get dressed for the day and grab my bag of coffee beans, intent on making him some at his place. Then I have to work for about three hours at the store, put in a couple of hours of coursework, and take care of the grocery shopping, I guess.

I ring the doorbell, but he doesn’t answer. And that’s when I start getting worried. I fish around for the extra key that I know is hidden at the front of the house, and with some hesitation, I unlocked the door.

I hear running water in the house, the sound of the shower.

We were sent home with a few things to help him shower, but the idea of him doing it by himself…

He might’ve fallen. What if he’s unconscious?

“Colt?” I shout his name, hoping that he’ll answer, but he doesn’t.

I curl my hands into fists, and I press forward. No, I don’t really want to bust in on Colt’s shower. But the reality is, he could be hurt. And privacy and nudity are not the utmost concerns at the moment.

His safety is.

He isn’t allowed to get certain things wet, so he’s been sponge bathing at the hospital, and that’s sort of what he’s supposed to do here, on the bench that they sent home with him, but he’s so stubborn, who knows exactly what he’s trying?

I followed the sound of the running water to the master bedroom, then I open up the door and see the bathroom door ajar. “Colt?”

I still don’t hear an answer.

So, I take a deep breath, and I move forward, pushing the door open. And then I nearly injured myself practically cartwheeling out of the room.

Because he’s in there, just fine, sitting on the bench with water pounding down on his back, completely naked.

And even though I move in and out quickly, he raises his head, turns it, and meets my gaze.

That one moment, his blue eyes boring into mine as he sits there naked - completely naked – is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.

So is the vision of his sculpted muscles.

His broad, incredible shoulders, his washboard flat midsection. His thick, solid-looking thighs, and…

The whole side view of his ass sitting on that bench is really something.

Thank God he’s so muscular, because those treetrunk thighs disguised the sight of his…

But even still, as I careen back into the bedroom, I see more in my mind’s eye than I should. His flat abs leading down to the hard-cut line of his Adonis belt, and a tuft of hair just above… The problem is I know exactly what’s there.

As much as I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to know about it… I do.

And I’m never going to be able to get the vision of him out of my head.

“Normally, I expect a tip if I put on a show like that,” he calls out toward the bedroom as the water shuts off.

I grimaced. “I was worried about you,” I shout.

“No need to be worried.”

“I called your name.”

“All I could hear was water.”

I hear heavy movements in the bathroom. And he comes out on his crutches, a towel wrapped around his waist, his brace covered by a waterproof liner.

This is the first time I get a real-life view of the injury on his midsection.

He’s not stitched back together anymore.

But the scar is ugly and deep, fresh and angry-looking.

He’s still way too naked for my peace of mind. And way too hot, even scarred up like this.

I can’t remember ever being immobilized by the sight of a man’s naked body. Colt has managed to do it, even outside of a sexual context. That seems like a superpower. What I really wish my stepbrother didn’t have.

“I’m good,” he says. “I didn’t expect you this morning.”

“I was worried. I brought… Stuff to make your coffee.”

“Thanks.”

I do my best not to look at him. I do my best not to let my eyes linger on his powerful thigh, very exposed with the way he’s holding his towel, and his chest and abs, marred though his abs are by that scar.

Suddenly, much to my horror, I feel tears building in my eyes. He is so beautiful. And this accident has changed that beauty forever.

I swallow hard and turn away from him. I’m being weird, and he doesn’t need to be exposed to that. He doesn’t need to deal with me.

I rush into the kitchen and busy myself making coffee. It takes about twenty minutes for Colt to join me. But when he does, he’s dressed. For him, at the moment, that means wearing jeans that are split up the side, which allow space for his brace.

“How many pairs of jeans did they ruin?”

He shrugs. “I think my mom went and got me some new Wranglers and cut about five of them.”

Of course she did. I don’t say anything to him about adaptive clothing or other options because the thing about Colt is, he’s going to do what he’s going to do.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

He maneuvers on his crutches to the breakfast nook table. Then he hoists himself down and looks at me expectantly. “If you’re going to come and invade my privacy, I expect you to be full-service.”

“Yeah, it’s about to be,” I say, going to the cabinet and taking out a coffee mug.

Then I set to preparing him a cup.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, not looking at me.

“Oh. I didn’t realize it was notable. It just seemed like you being you.”

He grimaces. “What does that mean?”

“That you don’t like to deal with difficult feelings. And this whole thing is rife with difficult feelings.”

“Touché. But who likes dealing with stuff like this? My mom said something about how I don’t like being patient. And I maintain that nobody actually likes it.”

“Right. I guess that’s true.”

“Being injured is that enough without you all telling me how bad I am at it.”

Something softens in my chest as I set the coffee mug down in front of him.

“I’m sorry. I realize that… That’s kind of messed up.

That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m not trying to tell you that you're bad at being injured. It’s just that…

I guess in a lot of ways I think that what we're trying to do is show you that we understand this is difficult for you.”

“Thanks.” That word is dry this time, and he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t have a lot of time. I have to go start my shift at Sammy’s.”

Sammy Daniels is a great boss. She has the cutest jewelry store, stocked entirely with things she makes.

Sarah and I are reducing our hours as school ramps up for us both.

I’m starting my clinical rotations next semester and I won’t be working at all.

There are a couple of new girls taking over as our school schedule ramps up.

But it’s where I met Sarah, and she’s been a great friend.

I feel really lucky to have her, and I know it’s because of the jewelry store.

“Great. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“So now you’re just going to be surly?”

“I feel kind of entitled to mood swings.”

“Fair enough.”

I don’t leave. Instead, I pour myself a cup of coffee, and I sit down at the breakfast table across from him. “How was your night last night?”

“Terrible. I slept awful.”

“Maybe there’s something you could take for that.”

“I don’t want to. This whole thing already feels like it’s out of my control. I don’t want to end up taking a whole bunch of stuff –”

“Colt, accidents are always out of people’s control. There’s no shame in taking something to help you through it.”

“I don’t need to. I’m just going to… It’ll be fine.”

“It is going to be fine. But it might be different.”

There’s something steely in his gaze then. “I’m going to get back to normal. As close to that as I can. Nothing else is acceptable.”

“Why?”

He looks at me. “Because. Because I can’t imagine being like this for the rest of my life.”

“What does that mean?” I’m so sad that he feels this way. But there’s something about this that makes him feel so desperately helpless and not himself. It’s understandable, I guess. But there’s no way to know the future. There’s no way to know how he’s going to be after this.

I know he doesn’t necessarily believe that it’s a certainty he’ll be okay, but I do worry that it’s the only outcome he can accept.

“There are a lot of people in this world who have struggles, Colt. Who have physical differences and limitations. And you wouldn’t think that they weren’t worth something just because they couldn’t do absolutely everything.”

“Of course not. But that’s different. It’s not me. I want to be able to do the things I’ve always done.”

“You might not be able to.”

“That’s great, Allison. Who doesn’t want tough love with their coffee from someone who currently has two working legs?”

“Okay. You’re right. I don’t know what this is like. I don’t understand exactly what you’re going through. I care about you. I care about you, and I don’t like seeing you despairing. I don’t think it needs to be despair.”

“You don’t just tell me what my feelings ought to be.”