I laughed into his chest. "That happened."
"Just checking. Because my brain is doing a thing where it's not sure this is real, and I need verbal confirmation."
"It's real."
"Good. Because if this is a dream, I need to have a very serious conversation with my subconscious about managing expectations."
I propped myself up on one elbow. Looked at him — sprawled in my bed, hair ruined, a bite mark on his shoulder that I was not remotely sorry about.
I found the scar on his ribs. The raised line I'd traced in the dark. "Tell me about this one. In the light this time."
He turned his head on the pillow. "Tulsa. 2019. Bull named Copperhead. Got me on the dismount — hoofed me on the way down. Cracked two ribs."
I traced upward. Found the starburst on his shoulder. "This one."
"Las Vegas. Championship finals. That was Sidewinder." His voice had gone quiet. Not sad — reflective. "Separated my shoulder. Finished the ride anyway. Stupidest thing I've ever done. Also, the ride that won me the championship, so."
"So you have mixed feelings."
"I have mixed feelings."
He watched me trace the starburst. "You're cataloguing."
"I'm learning you." I pressed my lips to his shoulder. "I want to know every part of you. Even the parts that hurt."
His eyes went bright. He cupped my face with the hand I'd just kissed and pressed his mouth to my hair and said nothing for a long time.
When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Nobody's ever asked about the scars."
"Nobody's ever asked?"
"They see the buckle. The highlights. The interviews where I laugh about it. Nobody asks about the parts that broke."
"Your turn," he said.
"I don't have bull-riding scars."
"You have scars." He said it simply. Not pushing. Just knowing.
I was quiet for a long time. His fingers traced patterns on my back — patient, aimless.
"I opened the UT admissions page tonight," I said.
Clay's hand stilled on my back. He knew what that meant — I'd told him about the folder on the hilltop.
"I didn't close it," I said. "I read the whole thing. The online program. The financial aid. The application timeline." I looked up at him. "I'm going to apply, Clay."
His arm tightened around me.
"You're going to be amazing," he said. Low. Certain.
"Stay tonight," I said.
"Wild horses, Callie."
"That's very cowboy of you."
"I'm a very cowboy kind of guy."
