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“A huge deal.”

“You’ll be amazing.” He kisses me again slowly before pulling back with a glint in his eye. “And what about everything that happened after?”

“Which part?”

He swallows. “The part where we had sex and basically ruined our friendship, ’cause there’s no way I can go back to being your fucking friend after that.”

He rumbles the words, so I brush the loose strands of hair from his forehead to soothe his worries. “I’m starting to think we were never meant to be just friends.”

He kisses the inside of my palm, and I feel him smile against my skin. “Good. It’s about damn time you realized that.”

The following week whirls into a tornado of training, riding, and weight lifting as I prepare for the Tejas rodeo. Nash spent the last few days in the hospital, so I can get my ass to the gym.

Tejas is a big one because there will be a few PBR scouts there watching, and I desperately need it to go well. If it doesn’t, I might not get another chance to impress the PBR scout, and that’ll set me back. And I can’t afford to lose any more time when my biological clock is a ticking bomb, and… fantastic, now my thoughts are spiraling into an overthinking web.

The pressure builds and builds as the Tejas rodeo approaches, fraying my nerves. I push myself harder than ever before in the gym, practice on every aggressive bull that I can, and all the while, my dad and Wyatt are at my side.

“Slow down, you wild child,” my dad drawls in his comforting rumble as I slam my shoulder into the punching bag, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Wyatt had to leave earlier to pick up Vi, but the gym is still bustling with rodeo folks immersed in their own routines. All around me, cowboys, riders, and barrel racers are slapping each other on the back, getting ready for the rodeo next Saturday like nothing’s changed. The clang of weights and occasional whoop of encouragement only fuel my frustration. We all found out Nash would be okay, so they’re excited, but he’s still got a hard path to recovery.

Their whoops shouldn’t sound so damn happy.

I punch the bag with all my might. Smiley’s face flashes in my mind. Punch. “I can’t slow down, Pops. I have to keep going. I can’t stop.”

My dad grabs the punching bag, stopping it from swinging. He gives me his Cutler scowl, the lines of his face settling into a mix of concern and sternness beneath the brim of his hat. “You still thinking about Nash? I found out he’s gonna be fine, darlin’. Don’t you worry. He won’t be the same, but he’ll live.”

“I know that.” I grunt, my eyes burning with tears for him.

“Then what is it? Tejas?”

My chest heaves.

“It’s everything, Pops,” I admit, punching the bag again. “Nash’s accident, and I still can’t manage to hold on for eight fucking seconds. I’m an embarrassment, so I need to keep practicing. Keep going. I can’t stop.”

I punch and punch and punch so hard that my knuckles almost crack. This is going to set Nash back at least a year as he recovers, and I feel for him, for that dream of his that was so close, but just out of reach.

“Darlin’,” my dad says, gripping my shoulders. His rumbly voice is calmer than the eye of a storm. “You don’t need to sprint after your dreams. They’ll be there waiting for you. Take a breath. Get some coffee. Breathe.”

“I don’t want coffee,” I cut out, my frustration bubbling over.

I punch the bag again.

“Well, too damn bad,” he grunts right back. “’Cause Lana’s in that fancy car of hers, and she’s been waiting on you for over thirty minutes. You’re being rude to her, so you’re gonna take a break, grab some coffee, and bring me back one of those blueberry scones I know Gerald’s lady friend makes fresh every morning. Your dreams will always be here waiting for you, but the people? They might not be around forever.”

I glance toward the gym entrance, guilt pricking beneath my skin.

I can just make out the silhouette of Lana’s waiting figure, hunched against her Porsche.

I’ve turned down so many coffee dates with her all because I needed to practice, but she never stops asking me to come out. I don’t want to be the woman who is constantly saying no. The girl who’s so wrapped up in her goals that she forgets to be there for the people who matter. I’ve spent so much of my life sprinting after this dream that I forgot I have a life outside this sport left to live.

Sighing, I lower my fists.

“Fine,” I mutter, slinging my towel over my shoulder. “I’ll get the coffee.”

He presses a scratchy kiss on my cheek. “Smart girl.”

“I’m so glad you actually decided to get coffee because, holy shit, this is too good. I’m calling it. Boone wants you back,” Lana blurts, slamming down her oat-milk cappuccino with extra foam and a shot of pumpkin spice. She drinks pumpkin spice well into the summer.