Page 184 of Unleashed
These men. My blood. My brothers. The people who held this family together when it should have shattered, who buried a father, built an empire, and raised each other into something the world either respects or fears.
I'd ride a hundred bulls for them. I'd ride a thousand.
* * *
I shake hands. Pose for photos. Accept congratulations from riders and sponsors and people whose names I won't remember tomorrow. Jett handles the media overflow with a grin so wide it could sell toothpaste. Colten stands by the door and makes sure nobody gets too close.
Hunter pulls me aside as the crowd thins. "Good interview."
"You think the message landed?"
I dedicated my championship to Paulie, and I left a direct threat for those who did it.
"I think anyone with half a brain knows what you just said." He adjusts his hat. "Go celebrate. You earned it."
I should. I should stay and drink, let Jett drag me to some bar, toast with the boys, and soak in a night that most riders dream about their entire careers.
But something is pulling at me. A thread in my chest that's been tight since Harper's mom answered the phone with that careful voice.
"I gotta go home," I say.
Hunter looks at me and reads whatever's on my face.
"Something's off, Hunter. I don't know what. But I can feel it."
He nods and doesn't question it. "Go."
I grab my bag. Clap Jett on the shoulder mid-sentence. "I gotta run."
"Run? We just won a world championship! You're not going anywhere, we're getting drunk and making bad decisions."
"Jett, I need to get to Harper."
Something in my voice makes him stop. The celebration drains from his face, and what replaces it is the version of Jett that doesn't joke.
"Go," he says. "I'll cover for you here."
Colten's already got my truck keys in his hand, holding them out before I ask. "She's lucky to have you," he says.
"Other way around."
I take the keys. Walk through the parking lot. I’m still buzzing with adrenaline, still carrying the noise of a crowd that watched me become world champion twenty minutes ago.
I don't feel like a champion. I feel like a man whose gut is telling him to get home.
I start the truck. Pull out. Hit the highway.
My phone is in the cup holder. Harper's name on the screen. I dial her number one more time.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
Voicemail.
I press the gas harder. The highway opens up ahead, and I drive toward Harper the way I've always driven toward Harper.Like she's the only direction that matters. Like the road doesn't exist unless it leads to her.
Something is wrong. I don't know what. I can't name it. Can't point to it. Can't pin it to a fact or a phone call or a word someone said.
It’s the fact that she won’t speak to me. That’s what’s getting to me. She’s hiding something.
