Page 9 of Colt
“Well, we definitely need more nurses,” the nurse says to me.
“I know,” I say.
My words are bland, kind of stupid. I wish that I could say something a little bit more intelligent.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“I’m staying in the hospital. My… My stepbrother is here. He’s the rodeo rider who got hurt.”
“Oh,” she says. “Right. He’s in a bad way.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s not why I passed out. I can handle this. It’s just… I should have eaten sooner.”
“Do you often pass out when you don’t eat?”
“No.”
“It’s okay that seeing a family member hurt like this upset you.” She’s looking at me compassionately. But for some reason, that just frustrates me.
“No. He’s okay. It’s not that. But anyway, I’m going to be here tonight, so I’ll be observed. I’m not going to die in my sleep.”
“That’s good to know,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Good to know.”
I get up, like I’m going to walk out. “No,” she says. “Let’s get you a wheelchair, and I’ll take you up to his room, and then I can bring you some food. Since apparently that’s what you need to function.”
What I need is for my stepbrother not to be broken up and near death in a hospital room, but I decide not to say that. The churning in my stomach makes it hard for me to deny that everything happening with Colt isn’t part of this. Maybe I’m not weak when it comes to medical stuff. Maybe it’s just him.
I don’t really think I like that any better. But it doesn’t matter if I like it or not, because here I am, getting wheeled back to his room.
Maybe he’ll be asleep. He’s pretty hopped up on morphine, so it’s possible that he won’t react when I get brought in.
I get wheeled through the open door, and Colt lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine the minute I cross the threshold into the room.
No such luck as going undetected, I fear.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
I stand up, and move on unsteady legs over to the chair. I’m a little bit shakier than I realized.
“Okay. You don’t look fine, but also, that doesn’t answer my question.”
“Your food will be up soon,” the nurse says to me, and I nod, sitting back in the chair and fixing my gaze on the back wall.
“Allison,” he says, his tone cajoling.
“You’re injured,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be lying there in pain and self-pity?”
“I don’t know that you want me to sink into the swamp of my own self-pity. It’s unattractive. Honestly, it would be embarrassing for both of us.”
I look at him, his strong athletic body completely bound up in the bed. Self-pity is coming. I can feel it. Because he’s going to want things to be a certain way, and he’s going to have to wait for the actual healing process to take effect. I don’t think that Colt Campbell has ever, ever thought that he was subject to the laws that every other man had to endure. He’s always moved through the world as if a light shines upon him. Down from the heavens. One that gifts him with incredible talent to do whatever he wants, to be liked by everyone. Social anxiety is afraid of Colt, not the other way around.
And I just have a feeling that when he really contends with the reality that he isn’t going to just be able to rise out of bed and walk on command, he’s going to be very, very unhappy.
“I passed out,” I admit. Because the longer that I spin this out, the weirder it’s going to be.
