Page 1 of Tame Our Wild

ONE | HARLOW

Anxiety coils around my rib cage, sharp and suffocating, like the moment I fell into a sea of catclaw acacia shrubs at the edge of our property when I was ten. Their curved thorns dug into my flesh, unwilling to let go. Those same feelings of imprisonment flood my chest, stirring the nausea deep in my stomach.

God, I need to stop.

I should shove aside my competitiveness for one goddamn second and ignore the new episode looming on the screen. A casual interview that, without a doubt, will end with my phone shattered on the floor.

But I’m known for being stubborn—which means I keep my eyes glued to the podcast video and mute the voice inside my head telling me this is a terrible idea. Which, it is. It will only rile me up.

Or more accurately, he will rile me up.

Drawing a deep breath, I press the play button, starting the video at the eighteen-minute mark. I’m only interested in the part that my coach, Aaron, says concerns me.

That’s one thing I appreciate about him—he doesn’t treat me like a slow-burning ember, like my parents.

Or the rest of the world, for that matter.

My coach keeps the rogue blaze burning in my chest. He fuels the flame, knowing that I’m thriving when I’m scorching everything in my path like those relentless wildfires that claim acres of Arizona land every summer.

Whenever Aaron texts only the double exclamation point emoji with a link, it means the matter is urgent. Dread flooded my chest when I saw his message, but it also battled that other feeling I know all too well.

Rivalry.

It’s not hard to guess what topic of conversation is driving this part of the interview. My body is rigid; concern lines etched between my brows as I ponder the questions they threw at my competitor. Unfortunately for me, traces of bullshit usually lace into whatever spills out of his mouth.

The sugar-coated voice of Heather Ellis from Kickin’ Up Dust fills my room. “What were your thoughts when the official roster was updated for the Professional Bull Riding season?”

There are three individuals on the screen, but only one holds the power to feed the inferno blazing under this exterior he finds so delicate.

Heather’s co-host, Mark Sutterman, is lounging beside her on the brown leather sofa they always sit on. He leans into the gigantic microphone positioned in front of him. “You must have been shocked by the outcome? I mean, I think everyone who follows the PBR was caught off guard when Lucas Abbot dropped out one week before the first event.”

Colson Payne reaches up, adjusting his black cowboy hat—the Lucchese that he’s worn ever since they became his sponsor ten years ago—further tousling his medium-length brown hair that falls in those wavy curls that you can’t help but want to tug your fingers through. His sponsor gives him a new hat every season. There’s nothing like walking around with several thousand dollars balanced on your head.

Not that I’d understand the feeling.

Maybe someday.

Colson lowers his arm to drape it over the cushions. He leans back smugly, comfortably settling into the matching couch opposite the podcast hosts.

I shift on my mattress, bracing my elbows on my knees to ready myself. Colson’s lips part, the slight motion already causing me to choke my phone in a death grip before he’s uttered a word. “There’s not much that surprises me in this sport anymore, Heather.”

The way he injects charm into her name has a crimson blush creeping across her cheeks. She lifts her fingers to tuck a strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear, the red tint on her skin deepening when she realizes her hair is in a high bun.

“Lucas was a fierce competitor both on and off the dirt,” Colson continues. “I don’t think anyone expected him to come out of practice with an injury as wicked as a knee fracture, but you go into practice and each ride knowing that injuries are a part of the lifestyle—” He swallows, for a moment making me think he’s going to say something sympathetic. “That’s the game. If you can’t handle that, then you’re not built for this sport. It’s as simple as that. Hence why I’m not shocked.”

See—bullshit.

I roll my eyes dramatically.

Instead of turning off my phone as I should, I lean forward, keeping my scowl trained on the dick as he keeps talking.

“Forty of the world’s top bull riders are ready to ride their asses off this season to snag one of the top twenty spots at World Finals.” Colson shrugs, and my gaze effortlessly magnetizes to how his broad shoulders fill out his shirt. “A lot can happen in six months.”

“You’re a veteran.” Mark gestures to him. “Have been going hard at this sport since you were eighteen, and now you are thirty-four. You have won two coveted buckles throughout your career and aim to win the world title for a second consecutive year. If you win again this year, three titles would make you one of the greats.”

Colson’s deep, sultry laugh floods my ears. “Stroking my ego there, Mark.”

All three of their laughs blend through my speaker.