Page 50 of Tame Our Wild

I know I said Paisley couldn’t be here while I was coaching Harlow, but I miss her and wish I didn’t feel so … alone. I find myself thinking about what the atmosphere is like at my parents’ house. If they miss me or still harbor that resentment. Paisley said they don’t anymore, but I don’t believe her. She just wants me to be there with them, and I’m not sure I’m ready.

I don’t think I ever will be.

Glancing at the bottle, I decide to down the rest of the contents at the bottom. It would equal two fingers of whiskey—a glass. That’s nothing compared to the five or six I’ve had if I’m measuring correctly. I’m probably wrong, since the bottle is blurry in my vision, but I can’t tell if it’s from my drunken state or if it’s the tears lingering in my eyes.

I turn around, peering at the arena that I haven’t used since that day seventeen years ago. Once spring comes, Paisley and I will get it prepared to turn it back into a flower garden. That first year, after her accident, she thought we should turn an ugly moment into something beautiful, and now we do it every year. Still doesn’t stop me from looking at it with repulsion as I always do.

At the top of the pasture, a yellow light glows through the forest trees. There shouldn’t be headlights on my very private road this time of night. At first, I think it might be Matt, but he’s with his family.

I leave the arena and close the gate, dragging my drunken ass up the slight incline toward the old barn, tossing the empty liquor bottle on the ground. I’ll get it later—if I remember.

I hope I don’t.

Rounding the side of the old barn, I eye the unfamiliar car suspiciously. But when the rear door opens, the blonde head of hair that catches my eye is unmistakable.

The first flash of light in the dark I’m drowning in.

As if it’s the simplest cure in the world, seeing Harlow penetrates my misery that not even alcohol has ever been able to numb.

TWENTY-ONE | HARLOW

Steel eyes penetrate mine through the darkness.

Shit. Maybe coming back early was a bad idea.

I wasn’t due to return for five more days. The headlights from the car bounce off that chiseled jaw set in place like stone; the expression making me think Colson isn’t happy about seeing me. Coming back early wouldn’t have even been a thought if he hadn’t told me he was staying home for the holidays.

Knowing he was spending them alone had something hot festering in my heart that I couldn’t ignore.

The few weeks leading up to my departure for Christmas were busy. Colson and I trained and worked out, and he wrote up a workout plan for me while I was gone that I was a stickler about, to the point that I think I drove my family crazy.

While Colson worked, I sat in the stables and read a book or watched game film of my previous rides, just existing with Cosmos so she might get used to my presence. A few times before I left, she would come to the stall door and hang her head over. God, I’m hoping all that progress didn’t slip through my fingers. I still have plenty of time with her, though, considering tomorrow is the first of the year and World Finals aren’t until May.

Meals and breaks were filled with comfortable conversation about random things like our childhoods or school years. He told me about his sister, Paisley, and how she is staying with their parents while I’m staying with him. Maybe others would think it’s weird that a thirty-four-year-old lives with his sister, but a part of me is glad he isn’t completely alone. However, I can’t shake that something feels off about the way he talks about her.

Colson also talked about what it was like to grow up in a ranching family, but didn’t tell many stories, whereas I would talk about my own sister and what it was like to butt heads with her because she did ballet and I rode bulls. When I pushed further about his family and Paisley, his silence was deafening. He was only going to give me the information that he wanted to, so I’d change the subject.

There’s a nagging feeling deep down in my chest that wants to know more—like every bit and piece I get from him is adding to the puzzle that is Colson Payne.

When my family asked me how things were going while I was home, I told them that each passing day feels more comfortable. More natural.

I should’ve known that letting that admission slip through my teeth would’ve ended up with Mel suggestively waggling her brows at me from across the table.

It’s as if the knot of tension between Colson and me is unraveling slowly. It shouldn’t scare the hell out of me to fall into this new level of comfort, but Colson’s always been one of my reasons.

My reason for pushing myself to get into the PBR.

My reason for working my ass off to resecure a spot after my injury.

My reason for having steel in my blood and an even tougher mindset.

I know keeping that distance at events will protect the shield of armor I’ve built around him since we first met all those years ago. However, I can’t deny that while I was gone, I … missed him. That doesn’t seem like the right word.

I came back to train. Not for him.

Whatever you tell yourself.

We have a few weeks until our next event in Dallas and not lasting eight seconds for either round isn’t a choice.