“Oh, God. Rhett.” Her voice cracks, and I watch a fat tear fall from her eye. It rolls off her dark lashes and splatters on her cheek.
It breaks my fucking heart.
I haven’t looked at my ribs yet, and I hadn’t planned to. I feel her nail on the skin and jump, shoving her hand away as the shirt falls back down to cover what appears to be one hell of a bruise.
“I’ll go get the doctor.”
She turns to leave, and I grab her wrist. “No.”
“No?” Her face twists in genuine confusion.
“No. I’ll see a tour doctor later. A doctor here will want to admit me and keep me from riding.”
She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. The tip of her nose is red from crying. “You’re going to ride?”
“Probably not tomorrow. But yes, I’m going to ride. I didn’t make it this far to miss my shot at the buckle.”
She shakes her head like she can’t quite believe what she just heard. “Your ribs are probably broken. You could have internal damage.”
“I’ll be fine,” I grumble, glancing away because I can’t look at her anymore. It hurts worse than my ribs.
“Rhett, please. I know enough to know you won’t ride your best like this. It’s not safe.”
I’m agitated because she’s fucking killing me right now. And I want to relent. I do. For her, I do.
She’s not wrong. But I also hate when people tell me to stop riding. I want the last win. It’s all I have. She said things to me yesterday that stung. That resonated. That made me realize I don’t have her, not really.
So maybe I’m mad. A little wounded.
I know it isn’t fair to make her endure this when she’s already been through so much. I want to protect her from any asshole who might hurt her. And that needs to include me.
Maybe that’s why I say something I’ll come to regret.
“We slept together for a couple of weeks, Summer. Don’t tell me what to do.” I spit the angry, petty words at her and watch her lips press together.
I hate myself instantly.
She pushes to standing, pulling in a deep breath and wiping at her nose as she straightens, so full of grace and class. So fucking far out of my league. Pulling away from me like I wanted her to, even though I could be sick over it.
Regret pulses through every limb. It courses through every vein. It singes every nerve.
She nods at me and walks away.
Taking my fucking heart with her as she goes.
* * *
“Where’s Summer?” my dad asks as I enter the kitchen.
And there it is. The reason I went back to drinking coffee in my bedroom this morning. But even the view from my deck doesn’t seem that impressive anymore.
While I mull over how to answer my dad’s question, I limp over to the coffee maker for another cup, trying not to look as injured as I am but feeling like I’ve been hit by a fucking Mack truck.
Broken ribs, as confirmed by the tour docs. I stayed in the city for one more night. They discharged Theo with a severe concussion, but he rode the next night anyway. I wanted to tell him not to, and I bit my tongue so hard it bled.
I’d told Summer not to tell me what to do, so who the fuck am I to tell another guy just like me he shouldn’t ride?
He rode well, and I watched from the sidelines. I might have a few screws loose, but I know my boundaries, and the amount of pain I’m in right now doesn’t work for sitting on a bull. It puts me behind going into the World Championship, but only slides me into second. Emmett in first and Theo in third.