“You will have to wait here,” the paramedic tells us as they stop outside the emergency doors inside the hospital. “The doctors will come get you.” She points to the waiting room next to us.

If Larry weren’t here to physically remove my hand from hers, I’d still be here, begging all the angels in Heaven to let me stay with her. We settle into two chairs, comfortable even in their discomfort, and wait.

After a few minutes, one of the nurses comes over with information for us to fill out. Her social insurance number, birth date, and a variety of other information. It doesn’t take long for her father to complete the information, and once again, we settle back into silence.

I wipe my face with the sleeves of my shirt, attempting to dry it. But it’s futile, as both Larry and I are soaked from head to toe. When I taste the salt on my lips, I realize I’ve been crying.

I’ve only cried one other time in my entire life, and that was when my first horse, Boomer, died, so I’m not familiar with the sensation.

“You love her.”

Looking up, I find Larry watching me intently. It was worded more as a statement and less as a question, but I still nod.

“I’m going to marry her someday,” I tell him.

As he fixes the ball cap over his head, the edges of his mouth curl into a smile. “I think I’ve known that for quite some time, son.”

Hours pass, and as they do, my nerves continue to wear thin. They came to tell us that she was going into surgery, but we were left with no more details than that.

Owen and Aurora come with changes of clothes and hot coffee. The other horses have all been wrangled up on the property and placed into outdoor paddocks for the time being. The firemen weren’t able to save much of the barn, although I hadn’t expected they would.

We don’t ask about Achilles, and they don’t tell. I suppose none of us are ready to talk about what that will look like for her.

I may not be a man of faith, but I pray in that waiting room. I pray for my girl, and I pray for her white knight, Achilles.

A doctor, who can’t be much older than I am, looks up from London’s clipboard in the waiting room. “Are you the family of London Daniels?”

“Yes,” we all manage to say more or less at the same time, standing in unison.

The man hesitates as if he’s not sure if he should say this to everyone, but he seems to let it go as he continues, “London is out of surgery. The stress from her actions during the fire caused the hairline fractures to her sacrum to widen exponentially. We had to place pins inside the bone to stabilize the injury. She suffered a great deal of pain, which is likely what attributed to her unconscious state. Her body finally gave out. We are monitoring her fever closely, but we suspect it will dissipate within a few hours, and we’re giving her something for the pain. When she’s awake, you are all welcome to see her, but until then, please make yourselves comfortable.”

“Sir,” Aurora asks. “Will she be able to ride again?”

He clips the pen on top of his clipboard and positions it at his side. “While we do expect London to make a full recovery, she won’t ever ride professionally again. Her body will not be able to sustain the prolonged stress that comes with that kind of rigorous training. I’m sorry, but her riding will only be for pleasure from now on.”

Heavy sadness lays in the air on top of us all, but there’s a guilt mixed into the cloud above my head.

How am I going to tell her this is all my fault?

“WE’RE GOING TO BRING YOUR family in to see you now. Are you up for that?” The sweet, older nurse adjusts my IV drip.

Smiling, I nod. “I am, thank you.”

My body is exhausted, my eyelids are heavy, but I feel very little pain, thanks to the morphine drip I’ve been given.

The doctor just spent the last twenty minutes briefing me on my surgery and the damage to my body. The recovery process will be mostly uncomfortable, as I’ll have to wear a brace for most movement while the pins settle, but otherwise, I will be healthy.

“You will never ride professionally again. I’m sorry, London.”

I remember his words as the nurse leaves the room, and once again, I wait for a crippling sadness that never comes. Not that I wished for the devastation, but I expected it to be there.

“Bridge.”

Drawing my eyes to the door, I see my daddy’s worn face. “Hi, Daddy.”

He enters the room slowly, followed by my siblings. Last is the other half of me. After circling the foot of my bed, he folds his massive frame over the bed, resting his forehead on mine.

“I missed you.” His tears fall onto my cheeks.

I rest my palm—the one without the IV—on the side of his handsome face. “I missed you too, cowboy.”

The weight on his shoulders seems terribly heavy as he runs his thumb over my lower lip. “I love you, London.” His lips brush mine in a sweet kiss in front of my family before he settles down into one of the chairs next to my bed.

Blowing him a kiss, I try to ease the tension in the room. “You better, because I love you.”

Daddy takes the seat on the other side of my bed. His face seems so strained, and it’s obvious they know.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay.” I lace my fingers through his.

When he looks at my hands, the softness in his heart bleeds through the rough exterior most people only ever get to know. “You just love it so much.”

“I love to ride.” Tears beg to be let free as I squeeze Daddy’s hand. “But it’s always been about more than competing for me. It’s about feeling.” I smile at him. “It’s about feeling like she’s with me. Momma always told us riding isn’t about just being in the saddle. It’s about everything that gets you there. That’s what I love. That’s what reminds me of her. Not a medal or a ribbon, but the feel of a horse’s coat under my hands or the sound of their hooves on the ground. I have passion for the sport, and it will break a part of me to lose that, but the passion I can’t live without is the horses themselves.”

A tear slides down my Daddy’s rough cheek.

“I didn’t lose that. Now, my heart just has a little extra room to love them is all.”

“She’d be so proud of you,” he whispers.

“Remember, Daddy. Our hearts have to break a little sometimes. How else would we make room for all that love?”

Standing up, he brushes the hair off my face. “Of all the angels on Earth, my sweet girl, you have to be the strongest.” After kissing my forehead, he excuses himself from the room.

“You could teach!” Aurora brightens. “I mean, not like I do for volunteering. I mean like really teach. You could train people.”

“I could.” I smile at her.

Owen’s hand squeezes my ankle through the blankets at the foot of my bed. “You can still ride, Bridge. It’s just gonna look a little different from now on is all.”

“I love you guys,” I tell them. “Would you give me just a few minutes alone with Branson?”

They take turns giving me delicate hugs and kisses on my cheek before shutting the door behind them.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, running one of my hands through Branson’s hair.

“I’m just . . .” His voice trails off. “I’m scared to tell you.”

“To tell me what?” My hand moves down the side of his face before falling back down to the bed.

His face is a war of emotions. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen play on his features. “That this”—he chokes on the lump in his throat as he looks over me—“is all because of me.”

My body reacts before I have time to stop it, and in sitting up so quickly, my injury protests. I wince against the pain, and he frowns. When he opens his mouth to speak, I shake my head.