Page 3 of Colt
We get to the tent, and I see him on a gurney, right in front of the ambulance. They’ve got a bandage over his head, stopping some of the bleeding, his midsection packed with gauze. They have his leg in a splint.
He’s not conscious. Not moving.
I’m not even sure what to be most worried about. The wound in his midsection, his clearly shattered leg, or his head injury. That bull went horn to forehead with Colt, and I know that…
He has a mask and a helmet that he wears. And I’m so grateful for that, because without it, I know he would be dead. I know that it stopped the full force of what happened, but him bleeding like that, just because the bull clipped him right under the helmet, shows how devastating that would’ve been without it.
His mother loads up into the ambulance with him, and I meet eyes with her, her face tear-streaked. I want to do something, say something, but I don’t know how to speak anymore. I don’t know what to say. I don’t feel like I can really say anything. Everything just feels like a blur. A horrendous, awful blur.
My dad scrubs his hand over his face. “Allison, would you… Would you please drive his truck to the hospital?”
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a set of keys. “He always gives them to me before the ride.” I’ve never seen my dad look like this before. He looks like he’s going to keel over.
“Yeah. I will.”
“I don’t know if I can drive. I feel like I’m going to throw up. But I don’t want to do it in front of my dad. I don’t want to do it in front of Gentry.
“Do you know where it is?”
“I think so,” I say.
He parks in the lot designated for the cowboys, and it’s the most garish red truck you’ve ever seen, with oversized tires. It’s easy to find.
I clutch the key fob in my hand, and I walk away. As soon as I round the corner to where the cowboys park, I scurry quickly over to a planter box, and I vomit. I retch until there’s nothing left in my stomach. Until I’m dry heaving. Then I straighten back up and wipe my mouth. This isawful.
My heart feels like it’s being torn into pieces.
You would think that I was still in love with him.
But I know better than that. I thought I knew what being in love was when I was thirteen, and he was sixteen, glorious, and my brother’s best friend. The Golden Boy of Gold Valley. The most popular, unattainable figure in town.
The best and the brightest.
When our parents married each other, I cried and cried. I made myself sick the night before the wedding. Kind of like I was just sick right now. I wonder how many times I’ve vomited over Colt Campbell. That’s kind of an ignominious honor.
Not that he’ll ever know. I’ll never, ever tell him. It would have to be tortured out of me. Because I can think of nothing worse than having to admit having feelings for him. It’s so basic, honestly. Every girl had a crush on him, but I actually knewhim. I know him still. Not that we can ever be in the same room without sniping at each other.
My fault, admittedly. But it’s a survival technique.
I had to distance myself from him after he moved into my house. Could there be anything more mortifying for a thirteen-year-old girl in love? To have the object of your affection move into your house? Having him see you at your absolute worst. With acne, in the morning, while PMS-ing. It was an actual nightmare. I couldn’t see another option besides putting myself in the bratty sister category.
And if the physical attraction to him hasn’t worn off entirely, that’s just because he’s hot. Tragically hot, if I’m honest.
But that doesn’t mean I want him.
I stop right outside of his truck, and I unlock the doors.
He might not make it. A tear slides down my cheek that I didn’t even realize was there, and I reach up to wipe it away.
Colt.
Fuck.
I bite the inside of my cheek and try to pull it together. My dad asked me to drive the truck to the hospital, and I need to do that. I need to do this one simple thing that he asked me to do. I can do it. I can do it.
I take a deep breath, and I open up the driver’s side of the truck. I get inside. With shaking hands, I push the ignition button, and then I realize that I don’t know which hospital we’re going to. There are two in Medford, and I don’t know which one.
I call Gentry, who’s on his way there in his truck. I rode over with him. “Which one?”
