Riding Jamie (Montgomery Dreams #1)

Chapter Four

JAMIE

“Pay attention, Jamie!” my dad shouts.

Doesn't help much when he yells as I'm sent flying, landing hard on my shoulder in the sand and then rolling to my feet. I dash toward the barricade and pull myself over as the bull gains on me. I barely make it before the thing crashes into the metal barricade, huffing furiously behind me.

It's been two months of training, being distracted, and getting yelled at by my dad, which only serves to distract me further.

Two months without Oakley.

“You're lucky he's one of the calmer ones or he'd have had you,” my dad scoffs as he walks over to where I'm panting. “You need to get your seat, kid. If this were Poor Boy or Code Blue, you’d be dead.”

He reaches out to put his hand on my shoulder, but I straighten and move away before he can touch me. We’ve been on rocky terms with each other lately, and the way he watches over my shoulder while I train isn't helping. I'll admit that I'm doing a fine job of distracting myself all on my own, but his shouts of annoyance—sorry, advice —definitely make it harder to focus.

“I know,” I grunt, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to get rid of the ache. “I'm working on it.”

“Listen, if you can't get your dismounts down, you're not going to be of any use to me in the ring.” He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at me down his nose. “I'm not putting you in there if you're just going to get yourself killed.”

I didn't ask you to put me in the ring in the first place .

I bite back the snarky comment with a twitch of my jaw, breathing heavily as I stare at the wall in front of me.

“I know,” I repeat tersely. “I'm working on it.”

I watch his annoyance flare in my peripheral vision, but I don't move to look at him properly even as his brows raise and his lips thin in warning. I probably should have because the next thing I know, he's got the collar of my shirt in his hand, and he's yanking me around to face him, muscle memory failing me spectacularly.

His breath smells like cigarettes, and I sneer at him, refusing to back down.

It's his own damn fault he taught me to stand my ground.

“Your lack of focus is going to wind up with you dead, boy,” he tells me, frustration boiling in his eyes. “If you don't pull your head out of your ass and get it in the game, I'm?—”

I don't give him time to finish his sentence, my own anger coming to a boil beneath my chin and threatening to spew out.

I manage to bite my tongue before I say something I'll really regret, but I yank my glove off my hand and throw it right in his face. I'm seething with rage that I have no real outlet for, and I stalk right past him, ignoring the way he splutters out half formed shouts behind me.

My vision tints red. I’m panting. The adrenaline of getting thrown has faded, but I still can’t quite catch my breath. I clench and unclench my fists, trying to rid them of the sting of rope burn. My anger mounts, and I imagine with fear and revulsion the sound of my old man’s nose shattering beneath my fist.

I shake my head furiously. Fuck that.

And fuck him.

I pause at the back end of the barn, stopping to rest my forehead against the wood and try to rein my temper in. The familiar scent of wood and animals clears my head, but as soon as I open my eyes again, my frustration comes right back.

I'm still here. Still training for the circuit even though I only half wanted to. Still thinking about Oakley, still trying to come up with some way to get her to give me another chance.

And I still have no clue how to make that happen.

My fist smashes into the worn wood siding of the barn. Splinters of wood scrape against my knuckles as I yank my hand back, glaring down at the new hole in the siding.

One more thing for me to be mad at myself about.

I’ll have to offer to fix it myself if I don’t want to pay a fine or risk getting kicked out of the training ring. My dad would be pissed if we had to travel to train.

I whirl on my heel. My teeth grind as I try to stop myself from shouting. I don't even have anything to say, no words to describe how upset I am. I hardly even know what the hell I want to yell at.

My hand throbs, but I ignore it and do my best to focus on clearing my head, to calm myself down. It's just as futile as it’s always been. As soon as I have a free second, my mind invariably turns back to Oakley. Every time I blink, I see her smiling face, hear the way she snorts when she laughs, feel her hand in mine.

I haven't stopped thinking about her since the day she left.

Hell, if I'm being honest, I haven't stopped thinking about her since the day I met her.

And now it seems like the only thing I can do about it is be mad. I'm mad at Savannah for laying a hand on me, but I'm even more furious at her for hurting Oakley. I'm pissed at Oakley’s family, at Phoebe, even though I know they're only refusing to pass on my messages because Oakley doesn't want to hear them. I can't stop seething every time I look at my dad.

Every other word out of his mouth is something disparaging about Oakley, as if my whole life going to shit isn't painful enough. As if I'd ever want to hear a word against her.

“I know, Dad, but I'm only asking for a loan,” I argue, holding my hands out pleadingly. “I won't even be gone long enough to miss the circuit, I just…I need to see her. I have to explain all of this, I have to fix ? —”

“You don't need to do shit, Jamie,” he yells firmly, staring at me disappointedly. “And for the last time, I'm not giving you money to chase after some dumb-ass girl. Get over it and move on.”

My lip raises in a snarl, and I ball my hands into fists at my side. I hate when he talks about her like this, like she's something other than the most perfect person I've ever seen in my whole life.

“She's not dumb, Dad!” I shout. “She's the smartest person I know, and she's the love of my life!”

He just snorts out a laugh at me, taking a scathing glance over me.

“Maybe you're the dumb one, then,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Jamie, your life, and your responsibilities, are out here. On the circuit. You're going to stop moping around and start practicing, and you're going on tour. That’s final,” he says, brooking no argument. “I'm not about to let you embarrass me by chasing after that Montgomery girl.”

I grit my teeth at the memory. I let out an exhausted sigh as I close in on the edge of the property. I used to come out here as a kid at night to watch the stars and listen to the crickets. Back then, everything was easier, but maybe the routine will calm me down now.

My whole body aches as I take a seat on one of the worn down stumps near the trail head. I groan as I settle into a more comfortable position.

After a full workout this morning, I've been tossed off bulls all day so my back hurts like a bitch. It probably doesn't help that I can hardly sleep more than a few hours most nights, but that's not something I can really fix. I'm constantly on edge, between anger and defeat and defiant hope.

The only thing that's really keeping me going is my drive to figure out a way to get back to Oakley.

I can't rely on my dad for help, so my only real option is to win next week's entry competition. The prize money isn't great, but it should be enough to get me to New York, and I can figure everything else out from there. If I can just see her, everything will be alright again.

But for now, I just feel like I'm losing my mind.

All I can do is think about Bo’s advice because as much as it might pain me to admit, the guy’s right. I’m going to have to suck it up and listen to him.

If I want Oakley back, I need to man up and go get her. I was already a coward once, keeping my decision about the circuit—and my motivations for it—to myself, and look where that got me. All I’ve ever wanted is to take care of Oakley. I want her to see me as someone she can rely on, someone who could be worthy of her.

Right now, I don’t even deserve for her to think about forgiving me.

I need to earn the right to stand in front of her and show her that I can be better, that I can be what she deserves. That starts with the circuit. I’ll win enough money to get to New York, and I’ll tell her everything. I’ll explain every last thought in my head and tell her how much she means to me. I’ll beg her if I have to.

Nothing matters but getting her back.

And Bo is right. She’ll understand. She always understands.

My dad leans against the fence and rubbing his hand over his jaw in aggravation when I march my way back out of the barn. He shoves off the fence and stomps over to me so he can shove his finger in my chest.

“Jamie Walker, if you don't get your ass back in that ring right fucking now?—”

I yank the glove out of his grip and knock his hand away from my chest, staring at him with cold, distant eyes. He stops himself before he finishes his sentence, and I stalk past him without saying a word.

My head may not be any clearer than it was when I stormed off, but I'm more determined than ever. I have a show to win, and while our reasons may be different, my dad and I want the same thing. I need to be in top shape to take home that buckle.

The stakes are too high for me to lose.