Page 49 of Ride Me Reckless
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I let the silence bloom around us. It didn’t feel heavy. Not anymore. We were getting better at that—being quiet together.
I glanced out the window, eyes tracing the ridge of hills.
“I met with the case manager today,” I said finally.
Colt’s eyes stayed on mine. Steady. No rush.
“They’re keeping Mom a few more days. The pneumonia from the smoke isn’t too bad, but…” I exhaled. “They diagnosed early-stage dementia. She can’t live alone.”
Colt didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer empty words. Just reached across the space between us and took my hand.
I squeezed it once before continuing. “There’s a trial drug they want to try—memory stuff. Promising results, apparently. They’re hopeful.”
He nodded. “And you?”
“I’m trying to be.”
We sat like that for a moment, the silence stretching between heartbeats—quiet, but not empty. Just us, side by side, letting the weight of everything settle in.
Then he said it.
“Y’all could come stay with me.”
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him right.
“Just for now,” he added quickly. “Till it’s sorted. You, Callie, your mom. There’s plenty of room. Hell, there’s peace.”
His voice wasn’t pushy, just gentle. Steady. Like the offer came from some deep part of him that he didn’t show often. I turned to face him fully. The look in his eyes stopped me cold.
It wasn’t just kindness—it was hope. A flicker of something he hadn’t dared speak aloud until now. And maybe it had been there for a while, quiet in the background, waiting for the right moment to rise.
It broke something in me to say no.
“I appreciate it,” I said softly, meaning every syllable. “I really do. But… she’s not ready. And everything between us?—”
I trailed off, biting my lip, trying to find a version of the truth that didn’t crush whatever fragile thread we were weaving back together.
“It’s still new,” I finished. “I don’t want to mess it up before it’s even begun.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just nodded slowly, like part of him had braced for that answer.
“I get it,” he said. And maybe he did.
His fingers stayed wrapped around mine, solid and warm like an anchor, not a chain.
I let my head drift down until it rested against his shoulder, careful not to lean too hard. The fabric of his hospital gown was crisp beneath my cheek, but his scent caught me off guard—faint soap, a trace of pine, and something else that felt like home.
We didn’t say anything else.
We didn’t have to.
Outside, the sky was shifting. The clouds had thinned, letting late afternoon light stream over the hills like a promise.
I didn’t know where we’d go from here. How much of this mess could we actually clean up?
But at that moment, his shoulder beneath my cheek and his hand cradling mine felt like shelter. Because maybe love wasn’t always a grand gesture.
Perhaps it was this—just a quiet offer, a hand that didn’t let go… even when the answer was no.
