Real Sexy (Real Dirty Duet #2)(45)
I look at Ripley, but her gaze darts away. It sounds like there's a story there I need to hear.
Grant pulls out his phone and starts searching. "Sure enough, here it is."
Ripley's face turns bright red. "Are you serious? Who would film that? Why weren't they calling 911? What is wrong with people?"
"Give it here." I hold out my hand.
"Boone, it's not important. You need to rest."
I want to see that video even more than I want to close my eyes and give in to sleep. I grab the phone from Grant and ignore the pounding in my head.
The angle must have been from someone higher up in the grandstand because they don't catch Ripley until she hits the stock fence and flings herself over. She lands in the dirt, then sprints toward me and skids to her knees. My heart clenches when I see the bull still running free for a good thirty seconds before they have him contained.
My gaze cuts from the phone to her dirty jeans and then back to the screen. I watch the rest of the recording and see how Grant practically had to drag her away from my side.
When I hand the phone back to him, there's a fist gripping my heart and squeezing. I see it, and from the looks on my parents' and brother's faces, they see it too.
Ripley's in love with me.
From her expression, she's goddamned terrified. One more reason I need to get out of this hospital.
The nurse knocks and opens the door. "All right, Mr. Thrasher, I've got your paperwork."
"Good. I'm ready to get the hell out of here."
* * *
Grant goes out to get his truck, and we plan to meet him at a side entrance where the press hopefully won't be waiting.
Ripley and Ma walk on either side of the wheelchair the nurse insisted I ride in. I was going to argue, but it wasn't worth it. Besides, I'm still a little woozy, and I'm not giving anyone a reason to say I should stay in the hospital a minute longer.
When we get to the door, Grant's truck is idling, and there's not a skulking paparazzi in sight.
"They didn't follow me, but who knows how long that will last," he says as he hops out of the truck to open the door for me.
"Can't a guy get kicked in the head without the world knowing about it?" I ask, trying to inject some lightness into the moment.
"Not when it's you, superstar," Ripley says, taking my lead.
Grant guffaws at her nickname for me, and they all watch as I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and not shaking as I climb up into the backseat of the truck. Ripley rushes around and gets in the other door, then slides over to the middle.
"You should've stayed overnight. Your face is white as a sheet, and if you tell me you feel okay, I'll know you're lying."
The fact that she can read me so easily is actually comforting.
"I'm gonna be just fine, sugar."
Her hands clench into fists on her lap, and I reach over and cover one.
"But-"
"Ripley, look at me." I wait for her eyes to lift. "It'll take a hell of a lot more than a ton of bull to keep me from being with you." Her eyes shimmer in the glow of the fading dome light. "But if you ever put yourself in danger like that again, I swear to God, I'll make sure you can't sit for a week for being so stupid."
Her mouth drops open. "Stupid? Are you serious-"
"Fuck, yes. I'm serious. Next time you let the professionals handle it, and you stay on the sidelines where you're safe. If anything happened to you . . ." I trail off as Dad opens the front door of the truck for Ma.
She twists in the seat and looks back at us. "I think we've had enough excitement for one night. I'm ready to go home."
"Sounds like a plan, Ma."
30
Ripley
I don't sleep. The clock ticks over past midnight, one, two, three, and I sit up, watching Boone's chest to make sure he's still breathing.
I tried to get him to sleep in the main house with his folks, but he refused. Stubborn ass. Buford followed us up to the apartment and curled up on the floor next to the bed, keeping us both company and offering Boone comfort.
Every couple of hours, I wake him up just like the nurse instructed. Each time, my stomach twists until he opens his eyes and smiles at me.
The last time, he finally tells me, "I'm not leaving this earth yet, sugar. You haven't told me you love me yet."
"Then I'll never tell you, because I refuse to let you ever leave."
Boone falls back asleep with a groggy smile, and I assume he won't remember a thing about it in the morning.
When seven o'clock rolls around, I'm fading, the effects of the hospital coffee long gone. Boone sits up in bed just as I'm drifting off.