Rhett
I blink heavily. It takes several seconds to adjust to the light, but when my vision comes into focus, there’s a pretty blond nurse messing with an IV at the side of my bed. I try to formulate some sort of pick-up line, but by the time she looks down at me, my eyelids are drifting shut.
Next time I wake up, the pretty nurse is gone, and it’s my mother standing over my bed. Her eyes widen when she sees that I’m awake.
“Hi, sweetheart.” She offers me a tremulous smile, and I take her hand as she sits on the bed.
“I’m okay, Mom.” I choke the words out because my mouth is dry.
She pats my hand. “I know, but that doesn’t make what happened any less scary.” Leaning forward, she presses her lips to my forehead and lingers there for a moment. When she pulls back, her eyes are clear with relief. “Let me go find the doctor.”
She rushes out of the room, and I notice my twin brother, Cooper, sitting in a chair next to the window. He sits up and offers me one of those fake smiles. You know, the one where something horrible happened, but they don’t want to be the one to tell you.
“Who died?” I ask.
“There for a second I was worried you had.”
I try to wave him off, but when I lift my left arm, I end up groaning in pain. “I feel like I got run over by a train.”
“Close. You got run over by a bull.”
I nod, wincing when my head throbs. “I remember. How long was I out?”
“Three days.”
Hmmm. Not bad. “Last time it was four. I’m improving.”
Cooper frowns at my poor attempt at a joke.
“Too soon?”
“Just a little.” Pushing up from his chair, he walks to the side of my bed. “You gave us one hell of a scare.”
“Not the first time, won’t be the last. What’s the verdict?” I do a quick inventory. Rhett Thomas Allen, three-time world champion bull rider. Check. Nice deep breath. Check. Wiggle my fingers and toes. Check. “When can I get back to work?”
Furrowing his brow, Coop shakes his head. “I’ll never understand why you choose to get on those bulls night after night, knowing one of these days you could end up dead.”
“It’s not your job to understand.”
“Doesn’t matter if it’s my job; you’re my brother.” He looks at me for a moment, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns toward the door. “Trevor, Adley, and Dad went down for coffee. We’ve had Beau on standby. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”
The solemn look on his face doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not one to worry about what anyone else thinks of my profession, but Coop isn’t just anyone.
“Coop?”
“Yeah?” he replies, looking over his shoulder.
“I’m okay.” I don’t know what else to say. I can’t promise I’ll never get hurt again or that a bull might not someday claim my life, and I won’t apologize for loving my profession.
He nods and walks out.
Blowing out a breath, I look around the room. Flowers and balloons are scattered over the table and windowsill, and there are a few cards propped up on my bedside table. I reach for one, but my arm is too damn sore, and I give up at the same time a man in a crisp, white coat walks into the room, followed by my parents, Coop, Trevor, and my sister, Adley. My oldest brother, Beau, is traveling around the world, but I know he’d get here if I needed him.
The doctor walks toward me and reaches out. It takes longer than I’d like, but I manage to shake his hand.
“Mr. Allen, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr. Simpson, and I’ve been in charge of your care since your admission the other night.” With a warm smile, he glances at my family. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, and I need to check you over. Would you like your family to step out or—”
I shake my head. “They’re good. They can stay. I’m just anxious to find out how much damage I caused.”
“Surprisingly, not much. You suffered a grade 3 concussion and lost consciousness. Most patients with a grade 3 concussion don’t stay out as long as you did, but you had quite a bit of swelling in your brain. I watched the video of your accident, and after you were thrown from the bull, you were kicked in the head, which is what I presume caused the swelling. It wasn’t a direct hit, otherwise the injuries would’ve been much different. We did a scan and ran several tests, and everything came back normal, so we were confident you’d wake up once the swelling subsided.”
“Will I have any permanent damage?”
He shakes his head and pulls out a pen light. “I hope not, but your chart tells me this isn’t your first concussion, so we’re going to watch you for a few more days.” He shines the light in my left eye and then my right. “Squeeze my fingers,” he says, holding out two fingers on each hand. “I need to check your grip.”
I squeeze his fingers, noticing that my left hand feels weaker than the right. If he notices it too, he doesn’t show it. Instead he does a series of movements with both of my arms and moves his way down my body, checking the strength of my legs. Once he’s done, he folds his hands in front of his body.
“Now for the not-so-good news.”
Damn. I had a feeling that was coming. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“The concussion wasn’t your only injury.” Dr. Simpson looks at my family and back at me. “After watching the video, I was concerned about a possible shoulder injury, and it was confirmed by the MRI. You’ve strained the rotator cuff of your left shoulder, and there’s a partial tear. It’s small, but it’s there.”
Closing my eyes, I grimace. A rotator cuff injury can be hell on a bull rider’s career. If surgery is required, it can mean months out of work, and you’re still not guaranteed to come back at full capacity.
I run the fingers of my right hand along my forehead and look up at the doctor. “What does that mean? Will I need surgery? How long will I be out of work?” I try to pull up a mental calendar of the all the events I have left this season.
Dr. Simpson shakes his head. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. It’s a small tear, barely visible. My hope is that we can rehab it without surgery.”
“So what does that mean? Physical therapy?”
He nods. “That’s where we’ll start. I’ll give you some medication to help with inflammation and pain, and we’ll get you going with physical therapy. You’re young and healthy, and so I’m hopeful you can get through this without surgery. But I do want you to follow up with Dr. Wong. He’s an orthopedic surgeon, and I’ll let him make the final decision.”
“Okay.” That doesn’t sound so bad. “I can do that. When can I go home?”
He chuckles. “Like I said, I want to keep you for a few more days so we can be sure there’s nothing else wrong neurologically. Maybe we can get Dr. Wong to come in and see you before you’re discharged. Until then, I want you to be thinking about where you’re going to go when you leave here.”
“What do you mean? I’m going home.”
“Do you have a spouse or roommate? Or do you live alone?”
I shake my head. “It’s just me.”
“He can stay with us,” my mom interjects.
Hell no. I love my mom to death, but she’ll drive me up the wall. “No. It’s not necessary. I’ll stay at my house.”
Dr. Simpson frowns. “I highly encourage you not to go home alone—at least for a few weeks. You need to rest your shoulder as much as possible, and since you’re left-hand dominant, that’s going to be difficult. You’re going to want to do things yourself, but it won’t be easy, and if you want this to heal without surgery, you cannot strain it any further.”
Damn. The last thing I want to do is go back to Heaven, but asking my family to commute an hour and a half each way to come help me doesn’t seem fair.
Sighing, I look at my brother, Coop. “Can I stay with you for a few weeks?”
“You don’t even have to ask,” he says.
Shit. My dogs. “What about Duke and Diesel?”
Coop holds up a hand. “Already taken care of. They’re in good hands.”
Dr. Simpson gives me a tight smile. “I also think you need to evaluate your return to bull riding.” I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. “I’m not saying you can’t return or that you won’t, but look at your history, Rhett. You’ve had several concussions—this one being the worst—and those injuries eventually add up. You have a lot of life left inside of you, son, and it’s my job to make sure you live long enough to enjoy it.”
He pats my leg. “Just some food for thought. I’ve got to get going, but I’ll have the nurses get you something to eat, and we’ll make sure you’re able to shower tonight. Just remember to take it easy. You’re going to be sore.”
“Thank you, Dr. Simpson.”
He nods, gives my family a polite goodbye, and slips out the door.
“Seriously.” I look at Coop’s jacked-up Chevy and lift an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have brought your car?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking when I saw you get trampled by a bull and rushed to the hospital. Let me go home and get my car in case my gimp brother has to come home with me.”
“Get me out of this damn wheelchair.”
The nurse steadies the wheelchair while Dad helps me into Coop’s truck. Mom hands Coop my discharge paperwork, and finally—almost six days after I arrived at this hospital—we’re on our way home.
Well, not my home, but close enough.
“Thank God,” I mumble once we’re actually moving. I lay my head back on the seat rest. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand that place.”
“At least your nurse was hot.”
I look over at Coop, and he shrugs. “What? She was. You should’ve requested a sponge bath before you left.”
I smile and close my eyes. “Next time.”
“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”
“Coop.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up so I can get some sleep.”
With my eyes closed, I replay my ride with Lucifer in my head and try to figure out what I did wrong. Somewhere along the way I must fall asleep, because next thing I know, Coop is nudging me in the side.
“Rhett. Wake up.”
Every bone in my body throbs as I prepare to climb out of the truck. I’m not as sore as I was when I first woke up in the hospital—thanks to the physical therapist—but I still ache.
“I’m getting too damn old for this.”
“You’re not even thirty,” Coop reminds me.
With a hand under my good arm, he helps me down from his truck, and I brace myself for Duke and Diesel’s attack when he opens the front door.
When it doesn’t come, I follow him into the house. “Where are my boys?”
Coop drops his keys on the counter and picks up a stack of mail. “They’re at Animal Haven.”
“You took my dogs to an animal rescue?” I nearly shout, grabbing the keys he just dropped on the counter.
“Chill out. They’re being boarded, not sold.”
That doesn’t make me feel better. “Since when does Animal Haven board animals?” I’ve known Phil Gallagher my whole life. I remember when he opened Animal Haven, and not once do I remember him boarding animals for the public.
Coop thumbs through his mail and tosses it on the counter. “They don’t. It’s a special situation, and they’re being nice, helping out.”
Shaking my head, I turn toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get my damn dogs.” I respect Phil—he’s one hell of a guy—but my dogs are my babies, and they belong with me.
“Are you supposed to be driving?”
“Ask me if I care.”
Coop beats me to the door. “We should probably talk before you leave.”
“About what?”
“Mo.”
I flinch at the mention of her name. “What did I tell you about saying her name?”
Coop frowns. “It’s been six years.”
“Is she hurt?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Is she in jail?”
“What? No.”
“Is she getting married?”
Coop opens his mouth, and I shake my head.
“Wait, I don’t want to know. Now move so I can go get my dogs.”
“What happened between you two?”
“Nothing. Get out of my way.”
“Suit yourself. At least take the car and leave the truck for me.”
We switch keys, and I climb into his Malibu.
As I pull out, I realize he’s right; I probably shouldn’t be driving. But the doctor said I shouldn’t drive, not that I couldn’t. And luckily, Animal Haven is only five miles from Coop’s house.
As the road spools out before me, I remember all the good things about being here. Making the decision to leave Heaven was difficult—not just because I was leaving my family behind, but because I left Mo behind.
Mo Gallagher. The girl who got away. Our relationship was a whirlwind. We fell hard and fast, but we both had big dreams, and we made a promise that when the time came, we’d support each other in the pursuit of those plans. Turned out her version of support was much different than mine.
Shaking my head, I try not to think about the past. Now I’m living my dream. Well, I’m not living it right now. Right now, I’m jacked up, but I’ll get back there. I have to; bull riding is my life.
My tires crunch on the gravel lane that leads to Animal Haven. The main building is tucked in the backwoods of Heaven. As I approach I see a large, red barn sitting off to the left that wasn’t there six years ago, and the trees I helped plant along the lane when I was a boy have grown exponentially. Animal Haven sits on about one hundred acres, and I know at one time Phil wanted to build a house out here. That doesn’t seem to have happened yet.
A small lane juts off to the right, leading toward a set of stables, and beyond that is a dirt path. It’s grown over now, but back in the day, Coop, Mo, and I would spend hours out there running through the woods.
Coming back here feels familiar, and familiar hurts. I put the car in park and climb out, and a movement to the left catches my eye. A woman runs across the open yard with two dogs. My two dogs. Duke is a German Shepherd mix, and Diesel is a husky mix. I picked them both up at an animal shelter in Houston a few years ago. My intention was to get one dog, but they were in the same cage, and it didn’t feel right to leave one behind.
The woman stops, zigs to the left, and when the dogs follow her she zags to the right and takes off again. Diesel jumps up, catching the back of her leg and sending her face first toward the ground.
Shit. I move across the yard as quickly as I’m able, praying she’s okay. Diesel bends down to lick her while Duke bounces around her in circles. She sits up and pushes Diesel off of her, and that’s when I hear it. Her laugh. My heart seizes inside my chest. I’d recognize that laugh anywhere.
Mo.
I can still remember everything about her—the way she’d thread her fingers through my hair before kissing me, the light smell of strawberries every time she entered a room. Her touch. Her taste. Her soft moans when I made love to her. Everything about her is so fresh in my mind that it’s hard to believe we’ve spent the last six years apart.
Monroe always loved coming out here and helping her dad, so I shouldn’t really be surprised to see her. I suppose that’s what Coop was trying to tell me. If my calculations are right, she should be about ready to finish up veterinary school, and I imagine she’ll soon be taking over Phil’s practice. Not only did her dad start Animal Haven, he also owns and runs the only veterinary office in town, Ruff Times Veterinary Clinic.
Mo must sense my eyes on her, because she turns my way, and the easy smile on her face fades. She pushes up from the ground, brushes her hands off on her jeans, and not once does she break eye contact.
Her long, dark hair is a bit of a mess, pulled up into a knot on top of her head as her green eyes move warily over me. She’s wearing tight jeans, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and cowboy boots, and she looks gorgeous. Unable to help myself, I take a tentative step forward. She seems hesitant at first, but then she looks down at the dogs and says something. I’m not sure what—we’re not close enough for me to hear—but whatever it is makes Duke and Diesel two happy pooches, bouncing and jumping around her.
I can almost hear her sigh as she takes her first step toward me, and I use the distance between us to run my eyes over her body. The last six years have been kind to her. Much kinder than they’ve been to me, that’s for damn sure. Her chest is larger than I remember, and she fills out a pair of jeans in a way most women only dream about. I’m not at all ready to analyze the strange feeling stirring in my gut.
My eyes travel north as she comes to a stop twenty or so feet in front of me, and even from this far away, I can feel the magnetic pull that’s always between us. I take a step back because I don’t want to feel that attraction—or anything else that will make me see this woman as someone other than the girl who left me.