Page 51 of Tame Our Wild

In this sport, you grab life by the horns, work your ass off, and write your own legends.

While I was back in Arizona, I also couldn’t ignore the ache swirling in my chest like an unpredictable hurricane barreling toward shore. I felt bad that he spent the holidays alone, so I figured I’d book a ticket to get back on New Year’s Eve. Plus, tickets were cheaper.

Walking to the back of the car, I lift my suitcase out of the trunk and drag it across the gravel to the driver’s side window.

Steven, my Uber driver, smiles at me through his salt-and-pepper beard, which is heavy on the salt for being forty-three years young. “Got everything?”

I double-check my belongings. “Yes. Thank you so much for driving me all this way. I know it’s a hike.”

He waves a hand. “Forty-five minutes is nothing.” I make a note to leave him a hefty tip when I get settled in the house. He said he and his wife recently had their third kid, and he’s working extra hours to cover his wife’s maternity leave.

“Have a good night, Miss Harlow. And good luck with the rest of your season.”

I smile. “Thanks. Have a good night, Steven.”

He pulls away, the red glow from his taillights disappearing down the long driveway until they disappear into the forest. When I turn around, Colson is standing in the same spot he was when I arrived, with his hands tucked into his sweatshirt pockets.

That’s all he has on right now? It’s freezing out here, and I’m in a winter coat and a sweatshirt, damn well wishing I had some gloves or a beanie on.

Where I’m from in Arizona, we get snow. So, you can’t blame it on my warm-weather blood or whatever stereotype most people give people from my state. We’re not all living in the scorching areas where people are packed like sweating sardines. No, thank you.

Each step I take feels thunderous as we hold each other’s eyes. His breaths are loud, so audible that they have my heart beating like a drum.

When I step up in front of him, he peers down at me, not saying a word, so I do. “Sorry, I know my early arrival is a surprise. I should’ve told you I was coming back sooner than we planned.”

His gruff voice makes my bones shake. “Why did you?” It sounds like he’s fishing for something below the surface.

I’m not sure I can dig that deep yet. I don’t want to. Don’t want to know what it means if I acknowledge those feelings that are like faint embers softly flickering.

It’s an hour till midnight. “I’ve got to start the year off right. I’d rather train here than at home,” I respond. It’s not a lie, yet I don’t want to admit that I hated thinking of him being here alone.

This time of year can be lonely for some, and I get that sense from him.

He flattens his lips in a line, and I notice the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead beneath the brim of his hat. When my eyes meet his again, the glassy, bloodshot look makes me study him more closely.

He catches me off guard when he sways and mumbles, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Oh, shit.

His body lurches forward, and on instinct, I release my suitcase handle and grasp his broad shoulders to support his weight. His cold forehead falls into the crook of my neck. His head turns, those soft lips barely brushing my skin as his breath glides across the exposed part of my neck. The glaze on his face made him look like he was burning up, but I was wrong. So wrong. His ice-cold skin is a shock to my system.

“My God, Colson. You’re freezing!”

His words slur. “I—don’t feel that way.” He keeps sinking further into me.

“How many drinks have you had?”

“Enough.”

His long, dark eyelashes flutter against the slope of my neck, making me tremble. “Colson, we need to get you inside. Can you walk?” I sputter, trying to keep my anxious tone under control.

He releases a throaty hum. Not sure what it means, but I have no time to dissect it. I need to get him inside.

Leaving my bag in the middle of the driveway, I brace his massive body against mine as best I can, struggling to walk us up the porch and into the house. The entire time, his large body clings to mine as if he’s afraid to let me go. Panic laces through my bloodstream, grinding the questions rummaging through my head.

Why is he drunk?

Does he always drink this much alone?