Page 125 of Ride or Die

Iwake up fighting. At least, I think I do. My body feels like it’s trapped under a layer of concrete, every movement sluggish and wrong. Something tugs at my hand. Something beeps steadily nearby. For a few seconds, I don’t know where I am.

Forcing my eyes open, I blink hard. The ceiling is white. Too white. The lights are dim, yet still too bright. The air smells clean and chemical, sterile, and that’s when the realization crashes into me.

Hospital.

My stomach twists and I jerk upright too fast, immediately regretting it. Pain ignites through my skull and the world around me swims before finally settling into focus, hazy and pixelated.

“Cole.”

A hand grabs my shoulder, soft and gentle, tentative.

“Clara?” I croak out, my voice hoarse and almost lost.

I blink again, disappointment unfurling in my gut when I realize the hand doesn’t belong to Clara. Bailey stands beside the bed looking both exhausted and worried. Too worried.

“What… what happened?” My throat is like gravel.

She doesn’t answer. And I know this woman. I’ve known her almost my whole damn life, and I know that when Bailey Lester ain’t talkin’, somethin’ is wrong.

“You got… bucked off,” she finally says, carefully.

“No shit,” I deadpan.

She lets out a trembling breath. “Concussion. A… bad one.”

I close my eyes. Of course. Another one. The headache alone could’ve told me that.

Thinking back as far as my foggy mind will allow, I remember the ride. I remember the gate snapping open. I remember Rough Rider immediately showing me who’s boss. I remember thinking about Clara instead of anticipating the bull’s movements, before suddenly the dirt was rushing toward me. Then I remember nothing.

Fuck. Clara. “Where is she?”

The silence that follows is instant and deafening. My heartbeat pounds against my ears.

“Bailey, where’s Clara?” I grit out.

Bailey looks down, avoiding my eyes and my question, and something settles heavy in my stomach like a brick.

“Cole, you need to take it easy,” she says, tears shimmering in her eyes.

Her words hit me like gasoline on a fire. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy, Bailey.”

“Cole—”

“Where is she?” I slam a hand onto the mattress.

“I tried calling her but she didn’t—” Bailey looks down again and suddenly every worst-case scenario I can imagine comes crashing over me. “She’s not here, Cole. Mama Joy went by the cabin and… it looks like she… she left.”

I nod slowly. She decided she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t support me killin’ myself. She walked away. I knew it. Deep down, I knew she would.

Anger surges through me hot and sharp, and protective because anger hurts less than whatever’s hiding underneath it.

“She’s gone,” I say more to myself.

“Maybe she?—”

My chest tightens. “She’sgone,” I say again, firmer.

The monitor besides the bed beeps faster. Bailey notices and I see a flash of concern flicker across her face. The kind of concern people possess when they know something, when they know the truth.