Page 18 of One Last Rodeo
“Everyone’s here to see him tonight. Denver's crowd is sold out. If he goes down a notch on the ranks, he'll make it up in a later ride. We're almost to the break; he can rest then.”
Rory presses her lips into a thin line but says nothing.
“Jensen, you good?” Craig asks.
“Right as rain, sir,” Jensen answers his voice chipper and smooth. A contrast to how he was minutes ago.
“See? He’s good. He’ll be fine. Don’t fuck it up tonight, Jensen.”
I can’t stand taking another breath in this room.
“Great. I’ll sign off on it then.” The words come out of my mouth clipped, practically spat from my lips. I turn sharply and walk out of his office before my temper detonates, and I show something more than I already have.
I’m halfway down the hallway, straight to the cramped office the arena gave me as lead doctor tonight, when I hear his footsteps heavy and close behind me. I swear he's wearing boots with rocks in them.
“Doctor Alba! Wait!”
I don’t stop. I walk faster. But he’s taller, bigger, and his hand ends up on my hip, stopping me in my tracks. My skin bristles and my body locks up. Last night at the bar there'd been warmth when he touched my knee—something that melted, that I've since decided was entirely the wine. Now there's nothing but icicles and steel.
“Don’t touch me.” The words tear out of me, sharp and cold. My whole body goes rigid. “I don’t like to be touched.”
He removes his hand immediately from my hip. His eyes search my face like he’s confirming whether I’m serious.
“I’m sorry—whoa—sorry.” Both palms lift in surrender.
“Why do you think it’s okay to touch people who don’t give you permission?” My voice rises. “You walk around touching everyone, all the time, like the rules of what’s socially acceptable don’t apply to you!”
His eyes widen, and for once he looks rattled. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. I was trying to stop you so we could talk.”
“Well, don’t. If I'm moving away from you, don't try to stop me, and don’t touch me!”
“Got it.” He takes another step backward, hands raised. “You’re right. I apologize. And I apologize for touching you. I'd like to blame it on being from the South where we're affectionate to strangers, hug everyone, and give cheek kisses, but that would be an excuse. I shouldn't have done that. You didn’t give me permission. I'm sorry. Really. It won’t happen again.”
I inhale through my nose, hands pressed together at my sternum, grounding myself in the warmth of my own touch. He apologized faster than I thought he would. My body finally loosens but it's still too tight. I need to get out of here and away from him.
“Look,” he says quietly, almost cautious. His hands are still in the air like I've got a gun and I’m going to shoot.
“Please put your hands down,” I say.
He lowers them slowly. “I wanted to tell you… my shoulder’s fine. False alarm. You don't need to worry about it.” He rolls his arm like he’s trying to prove something to me.
“Your shoulder’s not fine.” My voice is flat and clinical. “And we both know it now. But do whatever you want. Clearly, my decade of experience means nothing here.”
“Hold on. That’s not the case.”
I hold up a hand, stopping him. “I don’t need flattery from you. I know what I am. I understand my skills and experience.” I take a step back, then another, just to feel the space open between us. That’s better. I can breathe now.
“In fact, I need nothing from you. You’re just like every other man in this world—you think you know better, think you’re invincible, until one day you're not.”
His jaw clenches, but he stays silent. Finally, he chooses the right response.
“I wasn’t blocking you from riding tonight because of your heart.” I repeat that part again so that he hears it this time. “But soon you’ll realize I was right about both it and your shoulder. And then it’ll be too late for me to help you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Don’t say I didn’t try.”
I turn and walk away, picking up speed with each step even as my pulse hammers at the base of my neck.
Don’t care.
They’re just bodies. Flesh and blood.
