Chapter 17

It had been four days since Nathan regained consciousness. He still looked awful: the bruising on his face had progressed through a rainbow of colors, and his right eye was only now starting to open slightly, but he'd regained some of his energy. The medical team had transitioned him to soft foods, and he was able to talk, though his voice remained hoarse and weak, requiring frequent pauses for breath.

His memory had returned in fragments, pieces of that night in the stable coming back whether he wanted them to or not. He remembered Peter's voice, the pain, the blood, the weight of the knife in his hand. Neither he nor Trevor brought up what had happened, both understanding that Nathan needed to focus on healing before confronting the psychological aftermath.

Trevor had been at Nathan's side for a full week, refusing to leave for more than a few minutes at a time. He'd forgotten his clothes on the plane in his rush to get to the hospital, and he'd given up on basic hygiene days ago. He lived off hospital coffee and whatever he could find in the vending machines, catching naps in the uncomfortable bedside chair.

They didn't talk about the attack, but the guilt in Trevor's eyes was obvious every time he looked at Nathan's injuries. Trevor wanted to apologize for not being there, and Nathan wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but the timing never felt right.

When Beth walked into the room wearing a sharp business dress that suggested she'd just come from a meeting, she immediately made a face as an awful smell hit her. She knew it wasn't coming from Nathan.

She glared at Trevor with the kind of look that could strip paint.

"He's awake and talking. You should go back to the ranch and clean up. You smell like absolute shit."

"But–" Trevor started to protest.

Beth stared him down with the intensity of a predator.

Trevor gulped. "Yes, ma'am." He looked over at Nathan apologetically. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"

Nathan nodded, wincing slightly from the movement, and Trevor reluctantly left the room.

Beth took his vacated seat and lit a cigarette, despite the hospital's no-smoking policy.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like shit–I mean awful. I feel awful," Nathan corrected himself, still trying to maintain some semblance of propriety.

Beth smirked. "Had to drag you here myself, you know?"

Nathan's expression grew serious. "I don't know how to thank you, Beth."

"I told you not to get sentimental with me."

"I know," Nathan said, managing a small smile. "But I don't know how I can ever repay you. You saved my life. Again."

"No," Beth said firmly. "I saved you from dying. You saved your own life when you killed that motherfucker."

Nathan's face shifted to panic as he remembered. "W-where is he?"

"We took care of it."

Nathan didn't know what to feel. Relief? Guilt? Gratitude? The emotions were too complicated to sort through while his head was still fuzzy from medication.

"I'm sorry," Nathan said, his eye shifting away from Beth's face. "I didn't know he would actually find me–"

"Never apologize for surviving." Beth interrupted, her voice serious.

Nathan nodded, trying to believe what she was saying.

"How much longer do you have to stay here?" Beth asked.

"The doctor said around two more weeks before I can go home. If I still have a place to go back to."

"You do. I'm just not gonna pay you while you recover, so you should focus on that."

Nathan smiled despite the pain, and Beth stubbed her cigarette out in a paper cup. She stood up from her seat, preparing to leave.

"Anyway," she said casually, "do you remember calling me 'mom'?"

Nathan's face flushed with embarrassment. "What? I–I don't remember doing that. I don't know why I would do that. My mom died when I was eleven."

Beth raised her eyebrows, the revelation hitting her. She realized just how close Nathan must have been to death that night, how far his mind had traveled toward the other side.

Without another word, she walked out of Nathan's room, leaving him to process both his recovery and the weight of what he'd survived.

—

Trevor pulled up to the ranch and immediately spotted Colby and Lloyd working near the bunkhouse. He parked but didn't head toward them, instead standing beside his truck as they approached.

"How's Nate?" Colby asked, wiping his hands on a rag.

"He's getting better," Trevor replied, his voice flat. Then, after a moment of gathering courage, he asked the question that had been eating at him. "Where did it happen?"

Lloyd sighed heavily. "The stable."

"I don't think that's a good idea for you to go there–" Colby started, but Trevor was already walking away from them, his stride purposeful despite the obvious reluctance in his movements.

"We haven't cleaned it!" Colby called after him, a warning in his voice.

Lloyd put a hand on Colby's arm, stopping him from following. "Let him."

Trevor entered the stable, and every step felt like he was walking through concrete. The familiar smells of hay and leather were now tainted with something else. The metallic scent of dried blood that seemed to cling to the air despite the days that had passed.

He found it in the far corner, near the stall where Nathan had been checking on the mare. A large, dark stain spread across the wooden floor, dried to a rust-brown color that left no doubt about what had happened here. Trevor stared at it, his mind immediately conjuring images of Nathan fighting for his life in this exact spot, alone and terrified.

Trevor sniffled, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. But standing there wasn't helping anyone. He needed to do something, anything.

He grabbed a bucket from the tack room and filled it with water and soap, then found a mop and sponge. Trevor wasn't exactly sure why he was doing this. He couldn't undo what had happened, couldn't wash away the trauma Nathan had endured. But maybe he could erase this visible reminder, this stain that would greet Nathan every time he returned to work.

As he began scrubbing, all of his emotions poured into every stroke. The guilt of not being there to protect Nathan, the fury at the reality that someone had hurt the gentlest person he'd ever known, the confusion and rage that Nathan of all people had been forced to endure such horror alone. It all mixed together, driving him to scrub harder, to try to erase every trace of that night.

"I'm gonna make this right for you, Nate," Trevor said quietly as he worked, his voice echoing in the empty stable.

The bloodstains were stubborn, soaked deep into the wood grain, but Trevor kept scrubbing. He scrubbed until his arms ached, until the water in the bucket ran pink, until the floor was as clean as he could make it. It wasn't much, but it was something he could do for Nathan. One small way to try to make the world a little less broken when he came home.

—

A week had passed since Beth's visit, and Nathan's recovery was progressing steadily. His color was returning, the pallor of blood loss giving way to something closer to his natural complexion. The swelling in his right eye had reduced significantly, though it remained bloodshot and a small cut beneath it was already showing signs of becoming a permanent scar. He could talk normally now without the hoarseness, and while his body was still sore, he'd regained most of his mobility. The doctors and nurses constantly reminded him not to overdo it, but he was finally transitioning back to normal foods.

Trevor had established a routine over the past week: Arriving at the hospital every evening after clocking out from ranch work, spending the night in the uncomfortable bedside chair, then heading back to the ranch early in the morning. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with Nathan, to make sure he was truly okay, to be there if nightmares came or if Nathan needed anything at all.

They talked about everything except that night. Nathan seemed to shut down whenever Trevor tried to steer the conversation toward what had happened, but Trevor knew they'd have to address it eventually. For now, he was content to let Nathan heal at his own pace.

When John Dutton walked into the hospital room that afternoon, the atmosphere immediately shifted. His presence commanded attention even in this sterile medical setting.

"Mind giving us a minute, Trevor?" John asked.

"Of course, sir." Trevor replied, getting up from his seat. He looked at Nathan with a reassuring expression before walking out and closing the door behind him. Through the window, he could see John taking the chair Trevor had vacated.

Nathan's heart began racing. John Dutton himself was visiting him in the hospital. This had to be it. The end of his time at the Dutton ranch. He was probably here to fire him personally, to make it clear that the chaos Nathan had brought to their property was unacceptable.

John settled into the chair, placing his hat carefully on his knee. "You feeling better?"

"Yes, sir." Nathan managed.

John studied the bruises on Nathan's face, the bloodshot eye, taking in the visible evidence of violence with the grim assessment of someone who'd seen plenty of it in his time. He nodded. "Good."

Nathan couldn't wait for the axe to fall. Better to get it over with quickly. "Sir, I want to apologize for bringing trouble to your ranch. I understand if you feel the need to fire me. What happened, it was my past catching up with me, and it caused nothing but chaos."

"Nonsense," John said firmly. "Beth told me everything. Your past came back to haunt you, and you put an end to it. Happens to the best of us."

Nathan blinked, surprised by the response.

"You didn't bring trouble to my ranch, son," John continued. "Trouble found you, and you handled it. As far as I'm concerned, you did what needed to be done."

Nathan nodded, relief flooding through him so completely that he felt lightheaded. "Thank you. Thank you so much, sir."

"You just focus on getting yourself back on your feet," John said, standing up and replacing his hat. "You've already proven you're a fighter."

Nathan's chest tightened with gratitude. "Yes, sir. I won't let you down. My loyalty lies with your ranch."

John looked down at Nathan with a small smile, rare from a man who didn't give praise lightly. "I don't doubt that."

He left the room, nodding at Trevor on the way out.

"Trevor."

"Sir," Trevor nodded back.

Trevor returned to Nathan's room immediately, reading his expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Better than okay, actually." Nathan replied, finally letting it sink in that the Dutton ranch wasn't just his workplace. It was his home, the place where he belonged.

—

One evening, Trevor had brought a deck of Uno cards from the hospital gift shop, remembering Nathan mentioning that he enjoyed the game more than poker. They'd set up on Nathan's hospital bed table, and Nathan was obviously winning, much to Trevor's mock frustration.

"Oh, goddamn it, you're too good at this," Trevor said, drawing another card as Nathan played a Draw Four. "By the way, did I tell you? Rip and the other guys came back from Texas last night."

Nathan's face lit up despite his healing bruises. "That's great! I really miss them. I can't wait to go back. It's getting depressing here."

Nathan smiled, and Trevor's heart fluttered seeing that expression under the fading marks of violence. He'd expected Nathan to hold grudges against them for not being there when he needed them most. Trevor wanted Nathan to blame him for breaking his promises, for failing to protect him. But Nathan never did. He was simply a good man who'd had terrible things happen to him but never stopped being good. The realization tugged at Trevor's heartstrings.

Now seemed like the right time to finally address what had been weighing on him.

"Nate, I'm so sorry–"

Nathan's expression immediately shifted, his smile fading as he frowned and looked away from Trevor. "Trevor, stop."

"I should've stayed. I should've been there to protect–"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Nathan's voice rose, the first time Trevor had heard real anger from him since he'd woken up.

Trevor paused, recognizing the wall that had gone up. "Okay, okay. But take it from me, you'll have to. It doesn't have to be right now, and it doesn't have to be with me. Please?"

There was a long pause as Nathan stared at his hands, wrestling with emotions he wasn't ready to face.

Finally, Nathan nodded and looked at Trevor again, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "Would you hold me? Because right now that's what I need." he said quietly.

Trevor nodded without hesitation and carefully climbed onto the hospital bed beside Nathan, mindful of his healing injuries. He gently wrapped his arm around Nathan's body, pulling him close.

Nathan took Trevor's hand and placed it on his chest, right over his heart, wanting Trevor to feel the steady rhythm beneath his palm. Proof that Nathan was truly safe now, truly alive.

"I love you, Nate." Trevor whispered against the back of Nathan's neck.

"I love you too, Trev." Nathan replied quietly, finally saying the words that had taken him so long to find.

In the quiet of the hospital room, with the steady beeping of monitors and the distant sounds of the hallway, they held each other and let the weight of everything they'd survived settle between them. There would be time for harder conversations later. For now, this was enough.