I don’t rise to it. “Heard a lot of things,” I answer, keeping my tone even.
He laughs, tipping his hat back. “Yeah, well, tonight’ll sort that out.”
Colt doesn’t say anything right away, just watches the exchange, quiet and controlled in a way that used to read as calm. Now it feels more like calculation.
“Just ride your ride,” Colt says finally, like he’s offering advice instead of a warning.
“I always do,” I reply.
Ryker smirks. “We’ll see if that holds.”
He moves off toward the next chute, loud and careless, drawing attention with him. Colt lingers a second longer, eyes on me like he’s trying to read something I’m not giving him, then pushes off the rail and follows.
I go back to my rope, tighter this time, slower, letting the motion settle something that doesn’t sit right. Old dynamics. Same players. Different stakes.
And none of it feels as simple as it used to.
I don’t respond, just go back to my rope, tightening it, checking it, giving myself something to focus on, that isn’t the way his words sit wrong in my gut.
A bull crashes into the chute again, harder this time, and I glance over instinctively, watching the power in it, the way it moves like it’s built for one thing and one thing only.
Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
Honest.
“Rider up!” someone calls, and the first guy swings into position, crowd noise spiking as the gate slams open and the ride explodes into motion. The crowd roars.
I watch it without really seeing it, mind already shifting forward, lining up what comes next.
Third.
That’s me.
I roll my shoulders once, loosening up, and step closer to the chute, boots planting firm as I grab hold of the rail.
This is where everything else drops away.
No Riley.
No questions.
No waiting to see what comes next.
Just the ride.
Just the moment.
And the eight seconds that decide everything.
“McCallister, you’re up,” the handler says, and I nod once, already moving.
Because whatever else is waiting for me after this…right now, this is mine.
Wade’s voice cuts through the noise again before I can step into the chute. “Hey.”
I glance back. He’s got Hudson on his hip, kid half-asleep and clinging to his shirt, Quinn right beside him with that steady, watch-everything look she always has.
