Page 111 of Tame Our Wild

I feel him. I somehow know he is out there.

I scan the first few rows as I pace across the dirt floor, searching for the one person who is an imposter among them—the man who should be riding with me tonight and not spectating.

My eyes clash with Colson’s, our gazes holding steady as everything else around me fades and blurs into nothingness. My breath whooshes from my lungs as I slowly blink, like I’m trying to convince myself I’m wrong and he’s not, in fact, in the front row with his parents clapping along with everyone around him. Clarity settles into my bones as he gives me a genuine smile, like he’s perfectly content where he is. In the stands.

Nooo.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go; he’s supposed to be behind the chutes with me.

He’s supposed to be competing against me.

Colson’s attention stays locked on me, and I fight the urge to leave the line and run to him to ask him what the hell he’s doing. My blood rushes into my ears, the pulsing in my body loud and obnoxious as we finish with the intro and make our way back to the space behind the chutes, forcing me to take my eyes off him.

Quickly, I try to locate Matt, knowing that at any moment, he will be out on the dirt for the remainder of the event. He’s Colson’s best friend; he has to know something I don’t. He must know why Colson isn’t riding tonight, even though John told us in his email that he reconsidered. I’ve been so out of it today that, even when I got to the arena, I’ve barely talked to anyone. Then time went on, and I kept wondering why Colson hadn’t shown up. I should’ve thought about finding Matt earlier.

I scan the area, my eyes landing on the matching yellow-and-black bullfighter jerseys they wear. Hastening my steps, I watch him start to walk out the open gate into the arena with his back toward me.

“Matt,” I yell, hoping he’ll hear me over the obnoxious noise, but I immediately grunt when an arm whips out and hits me in the chest to stop me.

“Harlow, you know you can’t go out there,” an authoritative tone tells me. “We’re starting.” I glance up at the older man, who’s a part of the chute crew, his lips set in a firm line under his salt-and-pepper mustache.

“I just really need to talk to Matt quickly. Please—”

“No can do, sweetheart. Turn around and go get ready, you’re up soon.”

Tears sting behind my eyes, but I do as he says, marching back to get my bull rope and start my pre-ride regimen, like I always do.

Distraction carves into my mentality.

Ride after ride, I get closer to my turn until I’m waiting below the platform to be called for my ride. I’m inhaling deep breaths, my boot tapping in the dirt because I am so anxious that I can’t contain it—it’s overflowing out of my body through my feet. My head is down, my mind racing as a shoulder slams into mine with a force that has me stumbling.

When I catch my balance, I glance up, my jaw tensing in annoyance when my gaze lands on Jax. I ball my fist at my side that’s not gripping my helmet. He’s got his helmet guard clenched in his fist, his bull rope slung over one shoulder.

He eyes me up and down smugly. “I was hoping John would disqualify you both after I posted that video. But I guess you weren’t just Colson’s student and fuckbuddy if he quit so you could ride.”

My stomach drops. Fucking falls to my feet with a force that nearly has me hunching over.

My mouth flops open as what he said registers through my perplexed state. “What are you talking about?”

“Judging by your face right now, I’m guessing you didn’t know. Whatever, he was the one I was neck and neck with. With so little season left, at least you won’t be able to catch up to me.”

Fuck this guy. There’s so much I want to say, but instead, I tighten my fingers around my helmet and bite my tongue, giving him a smile.

When I don’t say anything, he smirks, knowing damn well the weight of his final parting words. “Break a leg out there, Harlow.”

All this time, I thought I was losing a rival … Looks like Jax is stepping up to take Colson’s place.

Sucks for him that I’m only riding for me now. I’ll just get to kick his ass in the process.

When he starts to turn away from me, I can’t help myself and shift my helmet to hang off my pinkie finger. “Hey, Jax,” I call. He turns around, an interested look pulling at his features. Lifting both hands, I raise my middle fingers.

He rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he stomps off toward the back.

Blowing out a breath, I turn around, and it’s not long before I’m adjusting my glove as I stand on the platform while the crew works around me.

“Give it all you got,” a middle-aged man says.

Staring at the dark bull in the chute whose hide almost appears navy blue under the arena lights, I place my helmet on my head. The movement is drawing more attention to the way my heart is actively tearing inside my chest.