Page 2 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

Chapter Two

Allison

I’m screaming. Screaming and screaming. I’m watching from the stands while Colt Campbell dies.

There’s a feeling inside me, persistent and horrible, like a piece of myself is being torn away from my body with every pass the bull makes over Colt’s ragdoll frame.

Which makes no sense, but it’s a sensation so strong I’m almost overwhelmed by it.

Nobody seems to be able to get the bull away from him.

The bullfighters are doing everything they can, and men on horseback have the bull lassoed by the horns now, trying to at least draw some of that animal’s fire back onto them.

Finally, they have the bull bound up enough that he can’t keep going back in on Colt. The crowd is in a frenzy, and the woman next to me collapses against the man she’s sitting next to. I think she might actually be unconscious.

The announcer is saying something about ambulances, about emergencies and protocols, but his words fade out into an indistinct buzzing. I can’t process language anymore. All I see is Colt. Lying there, broken. Completely ravaged by that animal.

I don’t like Colt, but I’m a human, and so is he. I would feel devastated watching this happen to anyone. Plus, he’s my stepbrother, and I love his mom. Cindy has been so good to me for so many years, and

His mom, my stepmom, ran out of the stands with my dad, and I’m just there, frozen. Gentry, my brother, is sitting beside me, holding onto my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“No.” I’m not. There’s a pit in my stomach I can’t imagine ever going away. I don’t know what to do next. I’m frozen.

Gentry tugs on my arm. “Let’s go. We’ll figure out where they took him. I assume Dad and Cindy went there. Then we can get to the hospital. Cindy will probably go in the ambulance with him.”

I look back at the arena. At the dirt, dark, and wet with his blood.

I don’t know how a person can bleed that much and not have bled their whole soul out.

“Do you think he’s alive, Gentry?” My lips are numb as I ask the question.

He stares ahead, his face waxen. “I don’t know, Sprite.”

I’ve never seen my brother look like this.

Like he might throw up, or like he might cry.

He and Colt are so close. Best friends, honestly.

They have been since before our parents married each other.

They kind of parent-trapped them, honestly.

It was the best thing that ever happened to Gentry.

The worst thing that ever happened to me, for reasons that I’ve never wanted to talk about.

But as difficult as my relationship is with Colt, seeing him hurt like that…

I’m floating above myself. Now that I’m done screaming, my whole body feels like it’s a husk. I’m dimly aware that we’ve stood up and are walking out of the stands, headed toward the medical triage center that was set up, because even though this so rarely happens, it can.

By and large, it’s usually people, attendees of the rodeo, getting treated for heatstroke, or getting bandaged up after some fistfight has erupted.

It’s rarely the riders. But when it is, it can be serious. Deadly.

I’ve always known that in theory. That what he does is dangerous.

Now it feels far too real.

We get to the tent, and I see him on a gurney, right in front of the ambulance. They’ve got a bandage over his head, stopping some of the bleeding, his midsection packed with gauze. They have his leg in a splint.

He’s not conscious. Not moving.

I’m not even sure what to be most worried about. The wound in his midsection, his clearly shattered leg, or his head injury. That bull went horn to forehead with Colt, and I know that…

He has a mask and a helmet that he wears.

And I’m so grateful for that, because without it, I know he would be dead.

I know that it stopped the full force of what happened, but him bleeding like that, just because the bull clipped him right under the helmet, shows how devastating that would’ve been without it.

His mother loads up into the ambulance with him, and I meet eyes with her, her face tear-streaked.

I want to do something, say something, but I don’t know how to speak anymore.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t feel like I can really say anything.

Everything just feels like a blur. A horrendous, awful blur.

My dad scrubs his hand over his face. “Allison, would you… Would you please drive his truck to the hospital?”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a set of keys. “He always gives them to me before the ride.” I’ve never seen my dad look like this before. He looks like he’s going to keel over.

“Yeah. I will.”

“I don’t know if I can drive. I feel like I’m going to throw up. But I don’t want to do it in front of my dad. I don’t want to do it in front of Gentry.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I think so,” I say.

He parks in the lot designated for the cowboys, and it’s the most garish red truck you’ve ever seen, with oversized tires. It’s easy to find.

I clutch the key fob in my hand, and I walk away. As soon as I round the corner to where the cowboys park, I scurry quickly over to a planter box, and I vomit. I retch until there’s nothing left in my stomach. Until I’m dry heaving. Then I straighten back up and wipe my mouth. This is awful .

My heart feels like it’s being torn into pieces.

You would think that I was still in love with him.

But I know better than that. I thought I knew what being in love was when I was thirteen, and he was sixteen, glorious, and my brother’s best friend. The Golden Boy of Gold Valley. The most popular, unattainable figure in town.

The best and the brightest.

When our parents married each other, I cried and cried. I made myself sick the night before the wedding. Kind of like I was just sick right now. I wonder how many times I’ve vomited over Colt Campbell. That’s kind of an ignominious honor.

Not that he’ll ever know. I’ll never, ever tell him.

It would have to be tortured out of me. Because I can think of nothing worse than having to admit having feelings for him.

It’s so basic, honestly. Every girl had a crush on him, but I actually knew him.

I know him still. Not that we can ever be in the same room without sniping at each other.

My fault, admittedly. But it’s a survival technique.

I had to distance myself from him after he moved into my house.

Could there be anything more mortifying for a thirteen-year-old girl in love?

To have the object of your affection move into your house?

Having him see you at your absolute worst. With acne, in the morning, while PMS-ing.

It was an actual nightmare. I couldn’t see another option besides putting myself in the bratty sister category.

And if the physical attraction to him hasn’t worn off entirely, that’s just because he’s hot. Tragically hot, if I’m honest.

But that doesn’t mean I want him.

I stop right outside of his truck, and I unlock the doors.

He might not make it. A tear slides down my cheek that I didn’t even realize was there, and I reach up to wipe it away.

Colt .

Fuck.

I bite the inside of my cheek and try to pull it together. My dad asked me to drive the truck to the hospital, and I need to do that. I need to do this one simple thing that he asked me to do. I can do it. I can do it.

I take a deep breath, and I open up the driver’s side of the truck. I get inside. With shaking hands, I push the ignition button, and then I realize that I don’t know which hospital we’re going to. There are two in Medford, and I don’t know which one.

I call Gentry, who’s on his way there in his truck. I rode over with him. “Which one?”

He tells me, and I put the directions in on my phone. Gentry and I stay on the phone, silent as we both drive in our separate vehicles. When we get there, everything is chaos. We can’t see him, because he’s been rushed straight to surgery.

He’s not conscious.

Not conscious.

I can’t bear the thought of it. He’s twenty-five years old. I can’t bear the idea that the most fraught, complicated relationship of my life might just be over. With no resolution, no gain, no… Nothing.

I can’t fathom that a bright spark like Colt Campbell might be snuffed out forever.