I nod once, because that’s the only part that matters. Eight seconds. In and out. No mistakes.
Simple.
Not easy.
I turn toward the arena, boots crunching over gravel as I head for the back where the riders check in.
A group of buckle bunnies lingers near the fence line, loud and bright, denim cutoffs and boots, eyes tracking every rider that walks past like they’re picking their next target. One of them looks my way, smiles slowly and knowing, like she already decided I’m worth her time.
I don’t break stride. That used to be something I leaned into. Now it just feels like noise I don’t have time for. The closer I get, the louder it gets, the energy building in layers until it presses against my chest like something alive.
It’s been a while since I’ve stood here.
Since I’ve felt this exact mix of control and chaos sitting side by side, waiting for me to decide which one wins.
“McCallister.”
The voice cuts through the noise, and I glance over to see one of the officials motioning me forward. “You’re up third.”
“Got it,” I answer, signing off where he points without hesitation.
Third means I don’t have time to think too much.
That’s probably a good thing.
I move toward the chutes, the smell hitting harder here, sweat, dirt, animal, everything sharp and real. A bull slams into the gate a few feet away, metal rattling with the force of it, and something in me shifts, focus narrowing down to a fine edge.
This part I understand.
This part makes sense.
I grab my rope and start working it through my hands, muscle memory taking over without effort, each movement automatic, precise. The noise fades just enough to the background, not gone, just… managed.
“Didn’t think I’d see you back out here.”
I glance up at the voice, already knowing who it is before I see him.
Colt.
He leans against the rail like he owns the place, clean hat, controlled smile, everything about him exactly the same as I remember.
“Yeah,” I say, not giving him more than that.
His gaze flicks over me, assessing. “Heard you’ve been busy.”
“Something like that.”
He studies me for a second longer, like he’s looking for something he hasn’t decided how to name yet, then nods once. “Good to have you back.”
It sounds right.
Feels off.
“Still riding like you’ve got something to prove?” another voice cuts in, louder, rougher.
Ryker Vale steps in like he owns the space, grin sharp, energy all over the place. He claps Colt on the shoulder, then looks me over like he’s already decided how this is going to go.
“Didn’t think you had it in you to come back,” Ryker says. “Heard you went soft.”
