Page 79 of Tame Our Wild

I grasp lightly onto his arm, feeling the muscles in his forearms solidify under my palm. He halts, his frame hardening further under my touch. “No. Just tell me what pissed you off during that interaction.”

His jaw flexes, his eyes avoiding mine by flicking to a large trash can against the wall.

I bite the inside of my cheek, releasing an exasperated breath. I thought he might be over this after coaching me, but I guess not. “You’re ridiculous. And here I was thinking that maybe you’ve started to change.”

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” fits this situation perfectly, because apparently, you also can’t teach an old bull rider to accept change in a sport that was initially built on masculinity.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s because Calli is a girl, isn’t it?”

His chest deflates, but he doesn’t say anything. The muscles in his jaw tighten under the lights.

I cross my arms. “How about we go back in time to when we met six years ago in an interaction that was very much like the one we just had.” The hardness in my tone has his brows knitting together.

He swallows, curious eyes bouncing between mine. “What are you talking about?”

“The first time we met wasn’t the season kickoff party, my first year in the PBR, Colson.” My heart strains painfully as the memory floods my vision. “It was at a small-town rodeo in Ember Ridge, Arizona.”

The gears turn, turning and turning until I think that smoke might billow out of his ears from him shifting into overdrive, trying to remember me. But he doesn’t. Those turquoise eyes bore into mine like a deer in headlights.

I wait longer than I should, longing for that switch to flip.

Nothing. Nada.

That was six years ago. One instance. One blip in time.

To him, I was just one of the countless fans he had trying to get his attention.

I mean, can I blame him? Honestly, I don’t think I even have a right to hold it over his head in the way I have, but that one encounter has been my motivation. It has pushed me until I’ve been exhausted, grappling to hold onto a goal that everyone always said would be out of my reach.

But still, I hoped he’d maybe at least recognize me.

I take a tense step toward him, keeping my arms knitted over my chest. “‘Stick to the women’s circuit.’ Do those words sound familiar? Because you didn’t just say them in interviews with Kickin’ Up Dust, you told them to a seventeen-year-old Harlow Hartt six years ago after you won your first buckle and decided to compete at a small-town rodeo in your off-season.” I was a girl who looked up to you like you were a god of beasts.

His face pales. It’s like every ounce of blood in his body has seeped through his boots and pooled beneath them on the concrete floor. “Harlow, I don’t rem—”

I let my arms fall with my exhale. “I know you don’t. And I’ve been hoping all these years that you would. But I remember enough for both of us.”

He winces, taking his hat off his head, pulling his fingers through his tousled hair. I can see the war in his eyes, as if he isn’t sure what to say but is flipping through his memory box trying to locate the moment I’m talking about.

A moment that led us here.

Because it did.

I stand before him, peering up into those gorgeous eyes that have me internally melting despite how angry I am. I lift a finger to his chest, feeling his hardened muscles flex under my fingertip as I tap him. “You may hate that I’m in the PBR, Colson, but you’re the one who lit the fire under my ass.”

His chest stills. “Why didn’t you say something before? All this time, and you never thought to bring it up?”

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out yourself. Because I was stupid enough to think you might apologize for what you said all those years ago when you realized that you were wrong—that I could belong in this circuit as much as you and every other rider chasing the same ambition.”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “It all makes sense now. I always wondered why you hated me from the moment we met.”

I shouldn’t ask it, but I do. “Do you still think those things?”

“God, no.” He sighs. “Harlow, it’s not because of you or that girl we just met. It just—It’s personal things that I deal with that I can’t explain. At least not right now.” His jaw clamps shut, like he isn’t sure if he wants to say more.

“I just want to know why you said those things to me! After all this time we’ve spent together with you coaching me, how do you feel about me now?”