he went back to Brock’s, he’d never leave.
“Have you seen Lexie?” he asked.
“She’s right outside, waiting for me to go so she can come in.”
Anguish burned its way through Shane’s body, as if he’d swallowed acid. Lexie couldn’t be part of this. She deserved better. She deserved a life. “Damn fool woman,” he muttered. “Tell her I said to walk away and don’t look back.”
“I could try. But you know she won’t listen. If that’s what you want, you’ll have to tell her yourself.”
Shane took a deep breath, knowing what had to be faced. “I’m not going to walk again, am I?” he said.
“Wait for the tests. And give yourself some time. Nobody knows yet.”
“I know. I can’t even feel my damned toes.”
“It’s too soon to jump to conclusions, Shane. There’s always hope.”
“Hope is horse shit. Why should I lie to myself?” Shane was losing patience. “Go on. Get out of here and take Lexie with you. I don’t need your platitudes, and I don’t need anybody’s goddamned sympathy.”
“Lexie is your problem, not mine. I’ll be in touch.” Brock turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door with too much force.
Shane lay staring up at the ceiling. Knowing Lexie, she would walk in here like a saint, ready to offer all her love and support. But how could he ask her to stay with him? He was a washed-up bull jockey with nothing to give her. Hell, he didn’t even know whether he’d be able to make love to a woman.
Rianne had done the smart thing, taking her baby and walking away. But he wasn’t about to off himself like Corey had. He was too angry for that.
* * *
Brock stepped into the hall, closing the door so abruptly that Lexie was startled. “How is he?” she asked.
“Scared, I think. Good luck.” Brock’s expression was a rigid mask as he turned to walk away. Then he paused. “If you need a ride—”
“No. I’ll be staying.”
He nodded. Lexie watched him walk down the hall and disappear from sight. Then, steeling her resolve, she opened the door and walked into the small treatment room.
Shane lay flat on his back, on a high, narrow bed with rails. His neck was in a brace. A white flannel blanket hid whatever was supporting his back and legs. Only his hands and arms were free. A saline drip, probably laced with painkillers, was attached to a needle on the back of his hand. Other lines led to a blinking, beeping monitor above the bed. A nose clip supplied extra oxygen to his lungs.
She leaned over him. His face was drained of color. Only his coppery eyes held signs of life. They blazed up at her. Proud eyes. Defiant eyes.
“You look like hell, Shane Tully,” she said.
A corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “That’s the most honest thing I’ve heard since I got here.”
“Did you know that you took second place?”
“Brock told me. I guess they’ll hold my check.”
“I can pick it up and deposit it if you want.” Lexie felt an odd sense of déjà vu, like being in a play that she’d seen performed with different actors. “We can celebrate after you get out of here.”
“Lexie—”
“No arguing,” she said. “One way or another you will get out of here. And we’ll get on with our lives. I’m not Rianne. I’m not going anywhere.”
“And I’m not Corey. I’m too damn ornery to die. But you need to move on. Last night I was in a position to offer you the world, Lexie. And that was what I wanted to do. Now . . .” A grimace of pain crossed his face and passed. “For all I know, I could end up camping on the sidewalk like those poor, disabled war vets. I can do that. I can survive. But I’ve got to do it on my own.”
“Brock would help you. I know he would. He may not be my favorite person, but I’ve seen how much he cares about you.”
“No. I’m done with Brock. I won’t be owned, and I won’t take his charity—or yours, if that’s what you’re offering.”
“I’m not offering charity. Whatever happens won’t be easy. But I’m here, Shane. I love you.”
She’d never said those words to him before. She knew that they were true. But clearly, they weren’t the words he wanted to hear.
He swore under his breath. “Don’t be a fool. Rianne had a wedding ring and a baby, and she still walked away. You don’t have either one.