It was chosen.
My fingers tighten slightly on Hadley’s shoulder again, and this time I feel it, the tension sitting under my skin instead of fading.
“Ouch! Mom?” she says, glancing up at me.
“I’m right here, I'm sorry.” I tell her, forcing a small smile I don’t quite feel.
She studies me for a second longer than she should have to, like she’s trying to decide if she believes me, then turns back to the arena.
I don’t miss the way she stays a little closer this time.
That settles something in me and unsettles something else all at once.
Because if she can feel it…then I’m not wrong.
My gaze shifts again, this time more deliberately, scanning the outer edges of the arena instead of letting my eyes drift there by accident. The truck is still there.
And now I know I’m not the only one who sees it.
Jace’s attention flicks that way again, quick, controlled, like he’s checking something he doesn’t want anyone else to notice. He says something to one of his brothers, something short, and the shift in their posture is immediate, subtle but there.
They know.
Whatever is happening…
He’s not just in the middle of it.
He’s already dealing with it.
And that realization settles heavy in my chest, because it means this isn’t just about a dangerous ride or a bad night at a rodeo.
It’s something bigger.
Something deliberate.
And whether I like it or not…
We’re already pulled into it.
The announcer calls his name, and the sound hits the crowd differently, like a current running through them all at once.
I feel it along the rail where Hadley’s hands are wrapped tight. I feel it in the way bodies lean forward, attention narrowing to the chutes where he’s already moving.
Jace doesn’t hesitate.
If anything, he looks more certain, like whatever he saw or figured out a minute ago only sharpened his focus instead of pulling him back.
He says something quick to one of his brothers, a look passes between them that I don’t fully understand. I recognize it anyway, and then he steps into position like this is exactly where he intends to be.
My stomach tightens.
Because if he knows something’s off, if he’s already in the middle of it the way I think he is, then stepping into that chute isn’t just risky.
It’s a choice.
“Mom, it’s him, It's my Dad,” Hadley says, her voice bright again, all of that earlier uncertainty pushed aside by the excitement of seeing him climb up.
“I see him,” I answer, even though my eyes haven’t left him once.
