Page 48 of Forbidden Cowboy

It took a couple hours, in which Beau was removed from his room, and taken for any number of scans, but by the time he was back and it looked like I might get some answers, Wyatt was there.

I leaped up, and hugged him, without thinking. Almost as soon as I had, however, Wyatt held me back. His brow was furrowed, and he glanced down at me like there was something perplexing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, “just… nothing. What’s happening with Beau?”

“Uhh, I was just about to talk with the doctor when you showed up.”

I carefully put distance between Wyatt and myself. The kind of distance friends would have. Nothing more than friends, that was my new resolve. Still, I felt reassured that he was with me as we walked back into Beau’s room. The same sandy-haired man that had broken bad news to me last time was there, and for whatever reason, this immediately made me anxious.

“Hello again,” the doctor said, and held out his hand for Wyatt and I.

We both shook it.

“Hello,” I said, trying to stay still even while nervous energy danced under my skin.

“I’m Dr. Dearns, and I’ve been one of Beau’s doctors while he’s been here.” He was looking at Wyatt, and I realized I was supposed to already know his name.

I had literally never heard it in my life.

“So how is he?” I asked, jumping straight into it.

Dr. Dearns ran his eyes over the tablet he held in his hand, and flicked across what looked like a couple different scans that I couldn’t decipher beyond thinking that I was seeing my brother’s brain.

“So, there is a significant increase in the level of consciousness Beau has achieved, which is great. Before the bleed in his brain, however, he was moving at much lower levels of consciousness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that while I believe Beau is going to wake up soon, you should prepare yourselves for him not having the same physical or mental faculties as he did before the accident.”

I had already heard this speech, and relayed it to Wyatt. It hit a little differently, however, hearing that permanent damage was not only possible, but likely. I looked up to Wyatt, and noticed we were wearing twin expressions of stress.

“How soon until we know?”

“Once he wakes up, we can start assessing things better, for now, it’s about making sure he is comfortable until his eyes open.”

“Okay,” I said.

The doctor bid his goodbyes not long after, and I collapsed into my vinyl chair.

“He could be back with us soon,” Wyatt said.

I looked up, and saw tears in his eyes.

“Hewill,” I amended for him. “I’m not having any of this ‘could’ business.”

I tried to make my face an impassable fortress, to not let any of the insecurity I felt inside of me out.

“You’re not going to come home tonight, are you?”

He knew me so well, it was hard to believe things would never work between us.

“Last time I left him and he was like this, he ended up with a bleed in his brain that made him regress in his recovery. I’m going to be here until his eyes are open and he is speaking.”

“I’ll bring you some of your things—toothbrush, clothes, you know,” Wyatt said, and he stood there, at the end of the bed, for a moment longer, looking like he was trying to decide how to say goodbye.

He didn’t do anything, and just left instead.