Page 52 of Hard To Fall
The crowd is deafening now. He looks flawless sitting on that bull, and I’m afraid his love for the eight seconds at a time, for the recognition, for the praise, will overpower his love for me and our future.
Seven, eight?—
The buzzer sounds, and Colt lets go and hits the dirt hard.
Too hard.
Time freezes, Levi squeezes my hand so hard it hurts, but then Colt rolls, comes up on one knee, and stays there.
For a moment, I forget everyone around me exists and send up silent prayers. “Get up. Come on, Colt. Get up.”
“Brother. Come on.”
My breath locks in my chest, and then, slowly, deliberately, he stands. Pain flashes across his face before he can hide it, but I see it. He’s not favoring the knee; he’s standing evenly on both. He straightens, tips his hat again, and the arena erupts.
People chant his name, and kids scream. Levi is at the gate in an instant, jumping it and meeting him in the arena. Colt doesn’t limp, but he doesn’t pretend either. They fall into each other's arms, hugging and pounding each other's backs. I hear Maria gasp, but I can’t take my eyes off of them.
And when he finally looks up, his eyes find mine across the arena.
There’s pride there. And peace. And maybe a little relief. He did it on his terms.
As he walks out of the arena, the lights burn bright behind him, and the crowd keeps cheering. And for the first time since I met him, I don’t see a man fighting the end.
I see a man stepping into what comes next.
The rail is warm from my palms, the crowd still roaring, and somewhere in all that noise is the quiet fact that I don’t want to be anywhere he isn’t.
~~
I don’t find him right away. I wait, letting the night settle around him. He earned every moment that everyone here wants to give him.
So while the arena is chaotic with voices overlapping, boots pounding dirt, and people celebrating, Colt entertains it until he doesn't. He disappears the way he always does when he needs a breather. I follow instinct more than direction, weaving past trailers and shadows until I spot him behind the barn.
In our spot.
He’s sitting on an overturned bucket, hat off, forearms braced on his thighs, head bowed like he’s still catching his breath from the ride.
He looks up as I get closer, and something in his expression softens immediately.
He stretches out his hand as I stand in front of him. I take it, squeezing it before intertwining our fingers. “You okay?” I ask quietly.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
I step between his knees, close enough that his breath brushes my stomach. His hands slide to my hips, thumbs pressing in like he needs to feel something solid. He leans forward, resting his forehead against me, and the contact sends a low, warm ache through my chest. I slide my fingers into his hair, feeling the heat of his scalp, the roughness of him.
“You scared me,” I murmur.
“I know,” he says softly. “I scared myself.”
I lower myself onto his good leg, sitting on his thigh, placing my hand on his bad knee. I tip his chin up and kiss him. He pulls me closer until there’s no space left to question anything. I feel the tremor in him before he stills, like he’s letting himself have this moment without fighting it.
“I’m proud of you,” I whisper against his mouth.
His eyes shine just a little, the moonlight sparking around him. “I didn’t do it alone.”
“No,” I breathe. “You didn’t.”
“I don’t want to do anything alone anymore,” he says quietly but with certainty, and it makes my pulse jump.
