Page 32 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Allison

Time just keeps rolling on relentlessly. It’s almost September, Colt is doing physical therapy three days a week, and so close to getting off crutches it’s borderline miraculous.

I’ve been going with him to the hospital for some of his in-person sessions.

It is a long drive. I’m glad that I’m moving.

I really am. I tell myself that every time I take that long ass trip to Tolowa.

I have my apartment picked out, the deposit put down.

I had money in savings from the job at Sammy’s.

So I was able to do that on my own. The rent is higher than what I was paying at Cindy’s place. The deal she was giving me was too good to be true.

My dad has offered to cover any expenses I can’t cover on my own, and I’m grateful all over again for the support of my family.

I have so much. So the fact that I still feel the sort of hollow, unsatisfied feeling in my stomach as time ticks by is a me problem. I’m not missing anything. Not really.

Yes, I have strong feelings for Colt. Yes, I’m not looking forward to the physical aspect of our relationship ending – who would be excited about losing such great sex? No one I know. It’s sex. That’s all.

“I want to drive back.” Colt says as we head out of the session.

“You’re not tired?”

“I am tired. But I’m making progress. So… You’ve been driving me everywhere. I think I should get to take care of you too.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Everyone needs it sometimes.”

Not me. I don’t want to need it. Because the minute you need someone, you could lose them.

Better to be needed. It’s why taking care of Colt has been so great.

And yes, there’s been a lot of sex, and I’ve enjoyed it, but I don’t want…

I don’t want to get used to this. I don’t want to get used to him caring for me.

But he doesn’t listen, and he drives that long drive back.

“You know, I should make dinner.”

He’s made dinner a few times over these past months.

But combined with what he said earlier, it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable.

Still, he does it anyway, and I don’t stop him.

Because even though there is a reservation inside of me, part of me is hungry for it.

It’s honestly my whole experience with Colt.

I know better, but I want it. I want it, so I let myself have it, I’m perilously close to the edge.

Perilously close to falling off, falling to my death.

I know it, but I let him.

The best thing about today was that he got the all-clear to take his brace off for things like bathing. He’s still not supposed to put weight on it, or do anything else with the brace off, but he can do that.

“I think we should take a bath,” he whispers.

“What?”

“I can officially get in water now.” He grimaces. “I can’t say that I love the look of my leg when that brace came off, though.”

He’s lost muscle, that’s true. But it’s also to be expected.

I can see why it bothers him, though. But it doesn’t bother me at all.

It’s just part of this. That feeling of edging ever closer to a precipice grows more profound.

It’s like when we had the picnic. He’s teasing me with romanticism, and that’s not supposed to be us.

I’m supposed to be able to sort all that out. I’m supposed to have gone into this with my eyes open. And yet I’m panicking.

I also still don’t tell him no.

Instead, I enjoy our grilled corn salad and pork chop, because he really is a great cook, and then I let him go and run a bath. I sit there and act like the one who needs to be pampered. I let him, because there’s been so little of this in my life, my choice.

I’ve dated men who let me baby them. I flung myself into this thing with Colt when he was in need of a caregiver. Because I know how to be a caregiver. I know how to make myself important.

And I always choose men that I… Can live without.

Always. Maybe I choose mediocre sex for that same reason. Nobody’s crying over it ending in that case.

I’m suddenly sitting there in the kitchen looking at a long view of so many decisions that I’ve made.

Deciding not to go to school and live on campus, deciding to depend on myself, take it at my own pace, do it online rather than building a whole network of friends and experiences apart from this place.

And even now, now that I’m moving away, it isn’t because I’m so excited to expand, it’s because I wanted an excuse to distance Colt.

Because I used it at the very beginning of all of this to draw a line in the sand, so that…

I gave it a diagnosis. A prognosis.

I made it so that it was something I could manage. So that it was fatal. Because if it were fatal, then I could just accept.

Because I know how to do that. I didn’t want to be in a position where I was fighting. And fighting alone. To try and save this, to try and make it something it can never be.

He comes back into the room. “Ready.”

I get up, and I go to him. I let him undress me in the bathroom, his rough hands skimming over my skin, making me sigh. I try to push all my thoughts away. All my doubts. The heaviness. The heavy feeling that I can’t deny anymore.

It’s never been a crush.

I love this man. I love this broken, fucked up man.

I have for a very long time.

And I never wanted it to be central to my life. I never wanted him to be central to my life because… He’s made it so clear he doesn’t want this.

I don’t want this.

I don’t want to be railing at the sky. I don’t want to be begging for a miracle. One that I’m not going to get.

I just want to be able to live.

I’ve done this already. I’ve hoped for the impossible. I’ve prayed that I would be the exception. I don’t want to do it again.

I fixed it all. I can accept it. I lost my mom, and it was terrible.

But I can accept that it happened. I can turn it into something good.

But going through the work of all that, it’s a Herculean effort, and I just don’t want to do it again, and here I am with this crushing weight, this awful, terrible feeling bearing down on me, and I just don’t want to deal with it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and I let his hands take me away. I let this moment stand on its own.

“Someday. Someday, maybe I’ll be able to pick you up.” Except there is no someday, and we both know it. Our eyes connect, and I can feel the acknowledgment of that.

I just step into the tub, and I sit down. I expect him to join me, to slide in behind me, press his hard cock up against my ass. He doesn’t. Instead, he undresses, and kneels down behind the tub.

And he starts washing my hair.

“Is your leg okay?”

“It is,” he says. “Don’t worry. I know how to make sure I don’t hurt myself. It’s been almost three months.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It has.

It’s been three months. Three months since the accident. Three months since everything between us changed. Since his life changed. Since everything changed.

It’s been three months.

And eventually it’s going to fade away with time. Like all these things do. It’ll be nothing but a blip on the radar of my life. And yet somehow I can’t imagine it not feeling big. Not feeling significant. Not being this defining moment in my life.

I need it to not be. I need it to shrink away. But some things don’t. No matter how big they are.

Just like a loss can still feel bigger than the sky after ten years. I think that the loss of this, the loss of him, will be my whole view for longer than I want.

But I let him wash my hair. Those big hands scrubbing my scalp, moving down over my breasts. That’s when he finally decides to get in the water with me.

I let him. I let him fold me up into his arms, let our slick bodies slide together. I let him kiss me until we’re both breathless.

Why does it feel like a goodbye? It’s getting closer to one.

And that makes me want to die.

I’ve loved Colt Campbell since I was eleven years old. I’m afraid I’m going to love him forever.

This is being in love.

God. I’m in love.

It’s not wonderful. It’s painful and terrifying and horrendous.

And it’s going to swallow me whole.

For a moment, I let it. I let him.

I let him kiss me all over the place, let the water make our skin slick, the slow glide of our bodies driving me wild.

He gets out, so do I. I’m a little surprised he didn’t take me in the tub.

But when he leads me to the bed, I get it.

He grips my face and comes down over the top of me, kissing me hard as he thrusts deep inside of me.

Now that he could do this without one leg off the bed.

Without contorting. Without accommodating that brace, he’s ready to take me like this.

And he does. Hard. Fast. Every stroke a revelation.

It’s like this every time. Like he’s showing me new aspects of myself. Like he’s healing and breaking me all at once.

When I cry out my climax, I know I’m going to break this. Because I can’t accept it.

I can’t accept it.

I don’t just want to walk off into nothing. I don’t just want a quiet end.

I want to fight.

Even if it kills me.

“Colt,” I whisper. “I love you.”