Reckless Hearts

by Jessa Wilder

“Whatever’s between me and Colt stays between us. Touch him again and you’ll wish a bull stomped your goddamn face in.”

Would he do it again? Would he leave me in that hospital to chase his dreams? Or would he follow me, hold my hand while I lay there terrified?

“I don’t know why you care now when you sure as hell didn’t back then.”

Because now that I’ve had this—them—I’ll burn the whole damn world down before I let it go.

“Don’t leave me.”

For the first time in my life, I think I get it. What people mean when they talk about being undone by someone.

Then blindly, desperately, I reach out again and find Maverick’s hand.

“I should’ve done it back then,” I whisper. “Should’ve chased you the second you fell. Followed you to the hospital. Who the fuck cares about the championship when it cost me you?”

“I thought you left me behind,”

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” Maverick says, smoothing his palm across Colt’s hairline with a ridiculous amount of tenderness. “You’re my favorite thing to look at.”