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The grin on my face hurts at this point.
Then they call Briggs. The applause rolls through the arena again as he steps forward beside the others. Bruce’s already back in the stalls, but I can still picture them together out there. The way he looked toward the rail afterward, like he needed to make sure I'd seen it.
Three champions.
My champions.
The thought slips in before I can stop it. I don't even try.
The announcer keeps talking.
"Let's hear it one more time for your event champions!"
The crowd erupts.
Clint looks over and gives me a small tilt of his head. Like, come here.
I’m moving before I make the decision, boots kicking up dust as I hurry across the open stretch toward them. Tripp sees me first, grin breaking wide, and Clint barely has time to brace before I throw myself at him.
He catches me easily, my arms go around his neck, and I kiss him in front of everyone.
Not politely, or like I’m worried about what people will think.
He laughs against my mouth, one arm firm around my waist, and when I pull back, his caramel eyes are warm enough to make my chest ache.
“Proud of you,” I say, breathless.
His hand squeezes my hip once. “Yeah?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
His smile spreads.
Too late.
Tripp makes an offended noise behind me, so I turn and launch myself at him next. He catches me with an exaggerated grunt, like I weigh more than a feed bag, then spins me once before I smack his shoulder.
“Put me down.”
“Not a chance.”
I kiss him anyway. He tastes like dust and victory and the stupid blue sports drink he’s been carrying around all day. When I pull back, he looks so pleased with himself, I almost regret giving him the satisfaction.
The crowd noise settles around us in waves, people clapping and calling names I barely hear. I should probably be embarrassed… I’m not.
For the first time since I got here, I don't feel like I'm standing outside their life looking in. I belong in this moment as much as they do. Dust on my boots, dirt in the air, and their hands on me.
The announcer’s still talking somewhere in the background while the arena buzzes around us.
I glance past Clint's shoulder, and my eyes find Briggs. He's standing a few feet away, buckle shining in the afternoon sun, hands resting casually at his sides, watching. Just watching me celebrate with his cousins like he's trying to memorize something.
Then my eyes catch on someone near the edge of the crowd behind Briggs.
Dark hair, leather vest, and a familiar stance I know I’ve seen before. My stomach drops so fast, I almost miss the way Tripp’s hand tightens slightly at my side.
Peter?
No, that’s not possible.
