“What memories, Kace?” I put my hands on her shoulders until she lowers her hands and looks me in the eyes. And when she does, the look of pure anguish on her face almost brings me to my knees.
“I can’t just sit there and watch you die; I can’t fucking do it again. I just sat there, helpless, as she died.” The words tumble out of her mouth between sobs. Big fat tears start streaming down her face now, and I wipe them away as my heart plummets into my guts. “The truck came out of nowhere, crashing into the driver's door. It flipped our truck on its side, and I sat in the backseat, begging her to open her eyes, but she never did. The first responders arrived and did C.P.R., and I stood there, watching. But she never woke up.”
Her mom.She watched her mom die.
All I can envision is a little girl inside of a mangled vehicle, watching as her mother dies. She never told me she was also in the vehicle.
“Shit,” I rasp, pulling her into my chest. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I don’t talk about it.” She hiccups.
It all starts to click into place in my mind. The tremble and tone of her voice the night I was thrown into the chutes. The panicked texts when Trey got wrecked out. It’s not just the danger; it’s the helpless feeling of losing those she cares about and not being able to do anything about it. Most people don’t think about losing people they love until they’re gone, but Kacey walks around every day in fear that I’ll die doing my job.
How do I fix this? Can I fix this?
“Do you want to talk about it? Maybe it will help.”
She’s tense in my arms but nods once.
I move us to the bed, cradling her in my arms. After a few deep breaths, she tells me about that day. Several times she has to stop and collect herself, calming her breathing. I don’t ask questions; I just listen and rub her back. I can’t imagine a seven-year-old having to go through and witness what she did.
When she finishes, we sit quietly for a long while. I don’t want to push her—I know she’s emotionally spent after sharing all of that with me. I want to know if we’re okay, or what I can do to fix this, but I don’t ask.
I just hold her until she says, “I don’t know where we go next.”
My voice sounds like it’s been dragged through glass. “Do you want to break up?” I hate asking that question, but after everything she shared, I can’t stop myself from giving her an out. I love her too much to put her through watching me get hurt and banged up on a regular basis.
“No. But what do we do?”
Hearing that releases some of the pressure on my chest. I know she cares about me—she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. So, I say the only thing I can think of, the thing my mom always told me when I was little, and my emotions were too much to handle. “We talk about it. I know it’s hard, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it. You’re allowed to be scared and anxious.”
She looks up at me, and I keep going. “I’ve been doing this for years, so I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling. To me, it’s just part of the game. That being said, I want you to know you can still talk to me about it, or anything, for that matter. And if we need to, we can find someone else you can talk to. Have you ever talked to a therapist about this?”
The more she shared with me about the crash, how bad it was, seeing them try to revive her mom, I’m guessing she has some PTSD. Who wouldn’t?
“No, but I’m open to it. Because it’s not just you, it’s everyone I love. And I’m tired of living in fear all the time. So, I’ll think about it. In the meantime, just . . . be patient with me.”
“I will. Just promise me you’ll talk to me. Bottling things up will only make it worse.”
“I promise. I know I have a tendency to bottle things up. I just don’t want you to think I don’t support you, because it terrifies me. I’m scared because I care about you, thinking about something happening to you is my worst fear.”
“I would never think that.” I kiss the top of her head. “In a way, being scared for me is being supportive. It shows you care. It’s a dangerous sport and you acknowledge that but choose to be with me and support me anyway—all because it’s what I love to do. But I promise to be careful, listen to all your fears, and reassure you when things get tough. Your support means more to me than you will ever know.”
She shifts, tilting her head up, then kisses me. “Scared or not, I’m not going anywhere. You’re mine, Knox Ward.”
How she knew the exact words I needed to hear, I’ll never know. In this moment, nothing could’ve soothed my worries more than that.
Her sea green eyes are rimmed red, but dry now. “You’re really okay? I need to hear it again.”
“I’m really okay, but if it would make you feel better, I’m happy to show you just how good I feel.”
Now that I think about it, I might not let her leave this bed for the next two days.
Chapter 38
Kacey
Ibreathe in the comforting scent of Knox as he flips me onto my back and lowers his lips to mine. Standing at the side of that arena, watching him get thrown around like a ragdoll by that bull terrified me. I’ve been trying to work through my fear and not let him see how scared I am, but it’s been hard. The box I keep shoving my fear into is overflowing and seeing him in danger only made me realize my feelings for him are far deeper than I want to admit—even to myself.
