Page 182 of Unleashed
Jett shoves the helmet into my chest.
"You're up. Go get that championship. Put the Sterlings back on the top spot where we belong."
I pull the helmet on. Strap it tight. Look at both of them. My cousin who'd die for me. My brother, who'd kill for me.
I think about Harper. Sick at home, missing this. I'll win it and bring it back to her. Lay the buckle on the bed and tell her it's hers, because every ride I've ever made has been for her, whether she was in the stands or not.
I think about Paulie. Face down in the dirt on the east fence. The man who drove me four hours to ride a sheep when I was six and told me it was the finest riding he'd ever seen.
This one's for both of them.
"Let's fucking do this," I say.
And I mean it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Harper
“Harper, honey. Ace just called. I told him you aren’t feeling well. He sounded worried sick. Can you call him?”
I shake my head. I still can’t fucking speak. I can’t call him because the second he hears my voice, he will know something is wrong, and he will walk away from his championship. I know Ace well enough to know that.
And I’m not letting him lose this.
I go to pick up my phone, but then I’m reminded of what’s on there. That website. The videos. And my stomach churns.
“Can you tell me how he does? Please? I can’t look at a screen right now.”
Mom smiles. “Of course, get some rest. We’ll be watching him downstairs.”
She places a glass of water next to my bed and places a kiss on my forehead. I have to protect my parents. Ace. Everyone.
How would they look at me if they knew the truth? If they saw what I do with Ace? What about kids I might one day have?
Things don’t die. They’ll always be there. And I’ll be worried, waiting for one day for more people to see it.
I can’t do that. Not to my future, however that might look. To the people I love now.
“I love you, Mom,” I croak as she reaches the door.
“I love you too, Harper.”
The door closes, and darkness surrounds me. I’m numb from the inside out.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Ace
The bull's name is Hellbent. Nineteen hundred pounds. Nasty and unridden in his last six outs. The kind of bull that doesn't just want you off his back. He wants you in the dirt, and then he wants to come back and make sure you stay there.
I lower myself onto him in the chute. Feel the heat of his body through my jeans. Feel the coiled fury in every muscle underneath me, the rage waiting for the gate to open. He slams against the chute panel, and I adjust my grip, work the rosin into the rope, pull it tight.
The crowd noise drops to a hum. And I slip into my tunnel vision. Just me and the bull and the rope and the eight seconds between where I am and where I need to be.
I think about Harper. The way she saidI can't wait to watch my man win his world title back.
I nod.
