Bandaid on a Bullet Hole - Morgan Wallen

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Another two weeks passed, and I was preparing for my finals to finish my fall semester. I would have one more semester and then graduate with an interior design degree with a minor in architecture. I was very proud of myself, to say the least. I worked hard to get to this point and deserve every bit of it.

Here I was, sitting at home on a Saturday night with my computer and my popsicle-stick sculpture, finishing my essay for my senior seminar class. Well, I was sitting at home on a Saturday night mainly because I was waiting for Colt to return from the rodeo and see me. It was almost midnight now, and the house was utterly silent. Brooke was with Knox, and Julia was with Willow at Jayden's frat. They'd begged me to come, but I'd rather stay home.

I ran my last rodeo race of the year last weekend. I didn't attend this weekend since my essay and sculpture were due Monday morning. I attempted to complete it before he arrived so I could focus my full attention on him. Plus, if he were here, nothing would get done. He's persuasive with getting his way.

I stared at the clock on my computer screen: 11:46. He hadn't gone to a rodeo far away. He was only an hour in Alexander City, which happened to be Brooke's hometown. She and Knox rode separately from Colt to see her parents. I know he probably enjoyed not sharing the trailer bed with them.

Colt had said he had a fantastic night when I talked to him before he left. He won the bull riding, but he said it was only because half the competition pulled out since it was raining. He said he also did a team roping with Knox, and they had placed second.

Sometimes, it saddened me that Brooke went to every rodeo Knox went to. It made me feel like a bad girlfriend for not being there for Colt. The difference between us is that Brooke doesn't care about her school grades, but I do.

My phone rings, and Colt's name flashes on my screen. He must be home. I answer, "Hey babe, you on the way here?" He doesn't say anything, but I hear noises in the background. "Colt?" I ask again.

"Charlie," he croaked. Something was wrong.

I stand up from my seat, immediately going to find my shoes and rain jacket. "Colt, what's wrong?" I grab my purse with my keys and run out the door, barely remembering to close the door behind me.

"There's been an accident," he breathed. I could hear him choking up as he was on the verge of tears.

I run to my car, starting it, "where are you?" I put it in reverse and hit the gas, waiting at the street to see where I needed to turn.

"Opelika," he says. I turned right, racing down the street, speeding, though I didn't care I was doing 60 in a 45. "Charlie, it's bad," he sniffled. I can't imagine how he feels, especially if it's terrible. The roads are slick as rain pounds on my windshield, barely letting me see the road in front of me.

"Baby, I'm on the way. I'll be there soon." It was a short drive to Opelika, as I remember going to the mall there a few weeks ago with Julia and Willow. I pull onto the highway, being one of the few scarce cars on the road. I hold both hands on the steering wheel, my mind focused on my surroundings, watching for cops. I take the exit ramp to Opelika and open my mouth to ask where he is, but a fire truck drives past me with its lights on, so I follow it.

The truck flies past several lights through the ghost town before he slows down at a light, and I gasp at the sight. I pull my car to the curb, throw my hood over my head, and jump out to find him. I ran to the scene, where he was correct. It's not good. The flashing lights were blinding as they reflected in the puddles on the streets. Cars lingered as they saw the scene before them, frozen like I wanted to be.

I spot him leaning against the wheel of his tire, his face in his hands, leaning against his knees. "Colt," I shout. He lay in the pouring rain, blood on his clothes that now were torn in places. He had several cuts on his body. A cut on his cheek, which was dripping blood. His hands were stained red, and he had a gash on his arm that needed stitches immediately.

He barely lifts his head as he hears me. I sit next to him, and he falls on me, crying into my neck, "Charlie."

I wrap my arms around his soaking wet body, "I'm here now." I didn't want to say, "You're okay" or "It'll be okay," knowing that none of this even looked okay. I can't lie to him. I know he's probably not even listening to me now. I ran my hands up and down his back as his body violently shook in my arms.

An officer comes around the corner holding a notepad, "are you with him?" He also had blood on his hands, but it definitely was not his.

I nod, "Yes. What happened?" Colt still shook in my arms, crying his heart out.

"Drunk driver," he said curtly. I pursed my lips and nodded. What idiot would get so drunk and drive so carelessly? The officer walks away when I say nothing else, leaving Colt and me alone again. I sit there holding him for who knows how long. It feels like hours, but more fire trucks and ambulances show up at the scene, frightened at the scene.

"He's dead," Colt whispers against my neck. "He's dead, Charlie," he repeats. "My best friend is dead." His cries become louder as I can't imagine his feelings as his best friend is gone. The one he told everything to.

I'm speechless. What do you even say to someone when this happens? "I'm sorry?" "You'll be fine?" Neither sounds even true. "I'm here for you, Colt. I'm here to help you through it," I say as I kiss his forehead and run my fingers through his soaking wet hair. My body was also drenched with God's tears falling from the sky.

A paramedic walks around us with a kit to stitch Colt's arm. Colt sits up, wiping his tears away as he hands the medic his arm. He still shakes as one of his hands covers his mouth to calm his cries.

I take the moment to stand and look at the full extent of the wreck. I walk to the back side of his truck and see the remanence of his horse trailer scattered across the road. Blood seeped all across the street as the rain washed it away. Fire trucks surrounded the vehicles, trying to seclude the wreck from the world.

I step around the side to see the backside of the trailer. The trailer had been hit so hard it was whipped around the gooseneck hitch almost ninety degrees, forming an L-shape. Amazingly, neither the trailer nor the truck tipped. Everything from the back right tire and the back of the trailer was ripped off. I gasp at the side, covering my mouth. I want to throw up. I feel a gag coming from my throat, so I turn away.

Diesel lies deceased inside, his body in disarray as you can tell his body was thrown around in the crash. His head lay limp in the trailer, and I wanted to do nothing but fall and cry like Colt. But I had to be the strong one this time. I take one last look before the police cover up Colt's best friend to lay him in peace.

I turn away and look at the drunk driver's vehicle lying upside down, crushed. It had been a newer Mercedes model, so hopefully, they have insurance. I wonder if he died? Where was he now? No extra people were standing around. Maybe they took him to the hospital. He must have run the light and hit Colt as he passed through.

Two wreckers approach the scene, the first backing up towards the crushed Mercedes. The man shakes his head as he inches towards the vehicle, yelling about the smell of vomit and alcohol.

I walk around where Colt is alone now, still leaning against his tire. He noticed me and looked up at me with tears streaming down his face. "I want to cremate him so I can have him with me forever," he whispers.

I nod, supporting a soft smile, "I'm sure he would love that, Colt." I bend down to him, wiping the tears from his face, and gently kiss both eyes.

Another horse trailer pulls into the scene, backing up towards Colt's. They must be here for Diesel. They bring out tools to pick up Diesel's lifeless body with the help of eight men. The men groan at the heavy weight of the quarter horse, knowing a lifeless one is much heavier. Colt walks over to the man driving the trailer and begins to talk to him for a minute before he hugs Colt. He comes back over to me, grabbing my hand to hold, "Vet," he mutters as the man climbs into the truck to take Diesel to their veterinarian.

"Alright, we're gonna try to get this trailer unhooked from the truck," a man from the wrecker service says, walking towards us. Colt slowly gets up, wiping his eyes and staring at the man. The man stretches out his hand in condolence to him, "Sorry for your loss, man." Colt takes it, offering a small handshake to the man.

We step away from the truck and move to the curb, where we watch the men from a distance using tools to try and pry the trailer apart from the hitch. After two unsuccessful attempts, they manage to try it off. The trailer screams as the back right slams onto the concrete where the wreck happened. They quickly loaded the truck onto the wrecker, which was still in one piece.

Another wrecker with a wide bed pulls in after they haul the truck off and backs in towards the trailer. They hook the trailer to the chain and drag it up the ramp. Everyone covered their ears as the bed screeched across the pavement. Soon enough, the trailer was loaded, and they hauled it off where we were left with nothing.

Colt thanks the men who worked on the scene, and we walk back to my car in silence. We climb in, every inch of our bodies soaking wet. I blast the heat as the coldness finally hits me. I never noticed how cold it had been as the adrenaline pumped through my veins.

"I'm gonna take you home, okay?" I tell Colt as I put my car in drive. He nods, and we drive in silence to Colt's house. I glance at the time, 3:33. The Angel number for support.