Page 11 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Eleven

The One Who Stayed

Colt

T he edges of the world came back in pieces.

First, the weight in my limbs. Then, the stiff pull in my lower back was anchored deep and hot like someone had welded metal to my spine. My throat was dry. My head swam. The hum of machines and the occasional beep filtered in like a half-remembered song.

For a second, I thought I was dreaming.

She was there—Tessa. Sitting in the chair beside my bed, her frame curled into itself, chin tucked, eyes heavy. She wasn't crying. Just… quiet. Still. Her arm was slipped through the gap in the side rails, her hand wrapped around mine like it belonged there. Like it had never let go.

Her scent hit me before my vision fully cleared. Soft and sharp all at once—vanilla with that bite of cedar she always wore. That scent used to linger on my jacket long after she'd stolen it for the weekend. Smelling it now, here, beside a hospital bed, it just about leveled me.

I shifted, trying to speak, but a grunt escaped instead.

Her head snapped up. "Colt?"

I nodded slowly. "Hey."

Tessa let out a shaky breath like she'd been holding it since the moment she got the call. Her eyes were rimmed in red, not quite from crying—more like from not sleeping. She looked tired, older somehow. Sad. And maybe… scared.

"Your mom?" I rasped, my throat dry as dust.

She gave a slight nod, her voice tight. “Mom’s stable. They're giving her breathing treatments. She's gonna be okay."

I closed my eyes for a beat, letting that sink in. Relief spread through my chest like a crack in solid ice. "Good," I whispered. "That's real good."

"And you?" I asked, opening my eyes again. I didn't mean the usual how-you-holding-up kind of thing. I meant it deeper. The kind of asking that only comes when you still remember the way someone talks in their sleep or how they stir cream into their coffee.

She gave a ghost of a smile. "I've been better."

We both knew that was an understatement.

She looked down at our joined hands like the words were hiding there. "I—Colt, I need to know. What happened? How did you even—why were you there?"

I tried to sit up, instinct mostly, but my back pulled like someone had tied a rope around my spine and yanked hard. I winced and eased back against the pillows.

"Same as every other Sunday," I said, voice rasping less now. "I went to get feed at Joe's, came back through town like I always do. Passed by your mom's and saw smoke coming out of the kitchen window. I slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and started banging on the door. Nothing."

Tessa's gaze didn't flinch. It was locked on mine like she needed the truth steady and straight.

"I kicked the door in," I said. "Ran through the house. Smoke was thick by then. Found her on the bathroom floor."

I swallowed. My chest ached with the memory.

"I picked her up," I went on. "Tried to move fast, but I didn't even make it down the steps before my back gave out."

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

"It was the old injury," I added quietly.

"You remember, back at the San Antonio Rodeo?” Tessa squeezed my hand.

"A while back, the doctor told me there was scar tissue crowding around a disk.

Guess all it took was the right kind of strain to blow it out.

" I shook my head. "Hell of a time to prove him right. "

The corners of her mouth quivered. Her fingers—still threaded through mine—tightened.

"I should've said something sooner," I murmured. "Guess I figured… if I said it out loud, it'd make me less of what I used to be."

Tessa didn't speak. She didn't have to.

Because of the way she looked at me—soft, like she was seeing the past and present at the same time—I knew she remembered who I used to be, too.

And for the first time since she returned to Lovelace for the race, I let myself believe maybe she hadn't stopped caring.

She was here.

And that had to mean something.

A soft knock preceded the squeak of the door, and a nurse stepped in, her scrubs the color of mint gum and just as cheery. She gave Tessa a kind nod before turning her attention to the machines humming around my bed.

“Good afternoon,” she said quietly like I might break if her voice was too loud.

"Or whatever time it is," I muttered, wincing as she adjusted something on the IV pole.

Tessa stood and moved aside so the nurse could get a better angle. Her fingers brushed mine before she let go, and I felt the absence like a chill.

"Vitals are steady," the nurse said after a quick glance at the monitor. "How's the pain?"

"Manageable," I said. "If I don't try anything dumb."

She smiled, clearly not new to stubborn men. "We'll be upping your meds shortly. Just enough to help you rest, not enough to make you loopy again."

"Again?" I asked.

Tessa chuckled softly. "You had a name for your IV pole earlier."

I groaned.

"You called it Twinkle Toes."

The nurse laughed under her breath, then glanced at Tessa. "I saw you with your mother earlier. I'm glad you got to check on her."

Tessa’s smile dimmed. "Yeah… I meant to ask—how long will she need to stay?"

The nurse's face shifted just enough to say this wasn't the first time she'd had to give this kind of answer.

"That's going to be up to Helen, our caseworker, and the doctors. A few key topics will need to be discussed, including ongoing care, safety at home, and supervision. The caseworker will speak with you before your mother’s discharge is planned.”

Tessa hesitated, then added, “Mom’s house burned to the ground.”

That stopped the nurse in her tracks. “Oh… I’m so sorry.”

Tessa nodded once, her jaw tight. “We’ve got the trailer for now, but it’s… a lot.”

The nurse’s voice softened. “All the more reason for the caseworker to walk through the options with you. We’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Tessa gave a tight, polite nod. “Thanks.”

The nurse patted the end of the bed gently, like I was a good boy for not dying, and left us alone again.

Tessa sat back down and exhaled, like the weight had settled on her shoulders again now that no one else was watching.

"I tried to call you,” she said quietly. “It's official. Hale Performance offered me a full-season deal. It's solid. Best numbers I've ever seen."

She paused, her fingers twisting in her lap.

"I turned it down."

That made me look at her—really look.

She didn't meet my eyes. Just kept staring at a crack in the floor tile like the truth might crawl out of it if she focused hard enough.

"I'm done, Colt," she added, barely above a whisper. "I've decided to quit. Walk away from the circuit. For good."

The words hung between us, heavier than they looked.

"That's… big," I said finally. "You sure?"

She gave a faint nod, her lips pressing into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It means I can stay close. No more hoping my mother will get better while I'm off chasing races. I need to be with her."

Still, she wouldn't look at me. And something in her voice—it didn't sit right. Not completely.

I reached out and let my fingers brush over hers.

And just like that, I felt it again.

That little twist in my gut.

The one that told me there was more coming.

And that whatever she was trying to bury—wasn't going to stay buried long.

I didn't speak right away. Just watched her. Took in every small tell.

The way she pressed her palms flat against her thighs. The way her knee bounced, like her body hadn't gotten the memo that she was "done" chasing speed. The way her eyes kept dodging mine.

"You said you're quitting," I said, keeping my voice low. "But you didn't say it like you meant it."

Her eyes flicked to me, then away just as fast.

"I meant it," she said.

"No," I murmured. "You practiced it."

That earned a soft puff of breath—more sigh than laugh. But it wasn't amusement I saw in her. It was something closer to guilt. Or maybe grief.

"Tessa," I said, her name like an anchor. To keep her here. Not drifting into that space where she shut everyone out.

She straightened, defensive now. "Colt?—"

"You love the track," I said, cutting gently across whatever excuse she had loaded up. "Always have. You live for the rush. The speed. Winning one heat at a time. Hell, you left me for it."

That hit. She flinched—just barely—but I caught it.

Her gaze dropped again as she started messing with the cuff of her jacket. "It's not that simple."

"Didn't say it was. Doesn't make it untrue."

Her hands stilled. "Some races… cost too much."

That landed deep. I felt it in my ribs like a bruise I hadn't noticed until someone pressed on it.

I could've let that be the end. Could've nodded and moved on.

But if we were ever going to be real again, I had to press just a little harder.

"You still light up when you talk about engines," I said gently. "Even now—when you told me about Hale—you didn't sound tired. You sounded alive."

She didn't respond.

So, I kept going.

"You think you're done. But it's in you, Tess. Always has been. It's in the way your hands move when you talk gear ratios. The way you still check your mirrors when you're not even driving. That kind of love doesn't just fade."

She let out a long breath as if I'd cracked something open that she wasn't ready to look at yet.

"You don't know what it's taken," she said. "To walk away."

"I know enough," I said quietly. "I know what it's like to pretend you don't need the thing you built your whole damn world around."

She finally met my eyes.

And there it was—every bit of it. The pull. The ache. The war she was still fighting inside.

She wanted to be done.

But she wasn't.

And I wasn't sure which part of that scared her more.

We stayed like that—stuck in something fragile and unfinished. Like neither of us wanted to say what came next.

Because we'd never been good at next.

Especially not with each other.

Tessa shifted, then stood, brushing her palms on her jeans. "You hungry?"

I arched a brow. "Starving. But unless this place is hiding a five-star chef behind curtain number two, I'm not exactly holding my breath."

Her mouth curved just a little. "What do you want?"

"Pizza," I said without hesitation. Then I added with a grin, "And a beer."

She rolled her eyes like I'd said something outrageous. "Not a chance on the beer, cowboy. But I'll see what I can do about the pizza."

She pulled out her phone and tapped a delivery app. Tessa could always order takeout faster than she could start a car. "Still like pepperoni?" she asked.

I gave her a look. "You serious?"

She smirked. "Just checking. People change."

"Not where it counts."

That earned me a glance I couldn't quite read. But she didn't argue.

Twenty minutes later, a kid barely old enough to shave showed up at the door with a greasy box and a single sweating cup of soda. Tessa tipped him, then turned to me with a half-apologetic shrug.

"One Coke. That's it. There was supposed to be two. Hope you're feeling generous."

I chuckled. "Just like old times."

She pulled the rolling tray table closer and popped open the box, the scent hitting me like a freight train full of memories. Greasy, hot pepperoni. Cheese that would burn your mouth if you didn't wait. Crust that could kill a diet in one bite.

Perfect.

We dug in without ceremony with the hospital tray hovering over my lap.

I shifted just enough to grab a slice, trying not to jostle the IV taped to my arm.

Tessa sat beside the bed, close enough that our arms brushed every so often.

She handed me the Coke, then snatched it right back for the first sip with a smirk.

I didn't even protest—just held out my hand until she passed it back like we'd done a hundred times before.

"Remember that time in Billings?” She asked, around a mouthful. "We got stuck overnight after that regional rodeo and ate two large pizzas in the back of your truck.”

I laughed, nearly choking on cheese. "Pretty sure you ate one and a half of those yourself."

"Please. I had to keep up with your metabolism back then."

We kept eating, trading stories, and laughing in between bites. It wasn't loud laughter—more like those soft chuckles you let out when something hits you just right. Familiar. Easy.

For the first time in days, I felt almost okay.

Almost.

Because beneath the warm crust and carbonated sugar and her effortless smile… there was still something else. Something quiet. Sweet.

She hadn't looked at her phone since the order. Hadn't checked her messages. Hadn't said what she was doing after this.

And I hadn't asked.

We finished off the last slice without speaking. She handed me the cup for one final sip, and I made a show of draining it, even though there was barely anything left.

"You always do that," she said, grinning.

"Do what?"

"Leave me nothing but ice."

I shrugged, licking sauce from my thumb. "Tradition."

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, smile lingering but eyes thoughtful.

And just like that, I felt the moment start to slip. Like the good parts of us were always on a timer.

Still, for a little while, we'd found it again. That rhythm. That space where we didn't have to say anything big to mean something real.

And even if it didn't last, I wasn't about to take it for granted.

Not this time.

Tessa stood and brushed pizza crumbs off her jeans, grabbing the empty box and Coke cup with the other hand. She looked lighter than when she'd first walked in—still tired, yeah, but not so tightly wound.

She moved toward the door, and something in me tugged. I wasn't ready for her to go.

"Hey, Tess?"

She turned; her fingers still curled around the doorknob.

I tilted my head on the pillow. "You ever think about going back to barrel racing?"

That made her blink. Then blink again.

I shrugged a little. "Just sayin'. Might scratch the itch. You've always been dangerous with a fast horse and a tight turn."

Her mouth pulled into a slow grin. "You trying to get me trampled, Bennett?"

"Not if you stay on," I said, smirking. "You were damn good at it."

She laughed—genuine and from the gut—and shook her head. But she didn't dismiss it outright. Instead, she gave me a look I hadn't seen in years. A spark of something… thoughtful. Curious.

Tessa returned to my bedside and leaned down, her hand resting lightly against the side rail, and kissed me.

It wasn't one of those chaste, be-good-while-I'm-gone kisses. No, this was slow and certain, with a warm press of lips that said everything she wasn't ready to voice. Sexy and sweet. Familiar in all the ways that counted.

When she pulled back, I caught her hand for half a second longer. Just enough to let her know I wasn't letting go easy this time.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she said, her voice softer now.

And damn, if that didn't sound better than any pain meds they'd given me.

I watched her walk out, the door clicking gently behind her.

She was still good at leaving.

But this time, she promised she'd come back.