Page 2 of Josephine and Clay

A slow smile spreads across my face as I reach down, grab my hat from the dirt, and slap it against my jeans before settling it back on my head.

I tip it toward the stands.

This never feels old or dull, because for those eight seconds I’m not the screw-up.

Not the brother who left, or the son who couldn’t stick around long enough to be worth anything.

Out here I’m exactly what I’m supposed to be, and that’s a feeling I’d burn everything else down to keep.

The roar follows me all the way back behind the chutes.

Hands clap my shoulders, someone presses a cold beer into my hand before I’ve fully caught my breath, and voices blur together. Numbers and laughter blur as someone shouts about my score. I don’t bother asking what it is.

I already know it was good.

“That’s how you ride, McCoy!” someone calls.

I take a long pull from the bottle, the burn settling warm in my chest while the adrenaline slowly unwinds. My muscles ache in that satisfying way that reminds you you’ve earned it.

“Eighty-seven!”

A whistle cuts through the noise.

I shake my head, pretending it doesn’t matter, even though I settle at the number. It isn’t pride exactly. It’s lighter than that. Easier to carry.

“Solid,” I say, mostly to myself.

Because it was, and these nights are why I keep coming back…

The bar’s already packed when we get there.

Music spills out into the street, boots thudding against worn wooden floors, neon lights flickering across dust and sweat. Girls lean against the bar with easy smiles, and guys talk louder than they need to, reliving rides that somehow get better every time they’re told.

I settle into it easily.

“First round’s on you, champ,” Brandon says, knocking his shoulder into mine.

“Figured as much,” I reply, heading for the bar.

I don’t mind because tonight feels good. Loose. Easy. I could keep moving like this forever. One town to the next, one ride after another, nothing tying me down long enough to make a mess of things.

A blonde steps in beside me while I wait, her hand brushing my arm gently. “Hell of a ride, McCoy.”

I glance down at her, a half-smile coming naturally. “You caught it?”

“Hard to miss.” Her eyes flick over me. “You always that good under pressure?”

The flirting is easy; familiar, and simple, with no strings attached. Exactly how I prefer things.

I lean in just enough to play along, ready to give her the answer she’s looking for…

And my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I almost ignore it.

But it manages to pull me out of the moment just enough that I step back, already reaching for it.

“Give me a second,” I tell her.