Chapter 21
Spencer
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we have our last rider, and he is the one you have all been waiting for. The newest addition to the Alberta Braves, riding Jester, is none other than Spencer Lockwood!”
The arena goes nuts.
Legs sliding down Jester’s sides, my grip tightens on the chute rails above me. Brades and Knox both had great rides. I’m the last on the team and need to keep up the scores.
Anything below eighty-five or a no score would be bad. To say the least. Hell, if I can’t prove my worth in these next few weeks, if they drop me from the team . . .
Everything rides on my spot on this team.
I have no weekday wage now. No penthouse that comes rent free.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Points of light creep into the sides of my vision.
I shake my head, slapping the helmet.
Snap the fuck out of it, Spencer.
The back of a bull is no place to freak out. I need this ride.
Period.
I settle my ass onto Jester’s spine and adjust my grip a little tighter.
Nodding to the chute gate cowboy, I send up a prayer to whoever’ll listen. Make the eight. And make it count.
The gate flies open.
Jester shoots into the arena, twisting like hell.
The veins in my forearm pop to the surface with the tension. I ride Jester down, spurring him like this is the last ride I’ll ever take. My last spin on the back of rage and despair.
Jester switches directions, and my seat leaves his back.
I pull down hard on my grip hand and try to call back my center of gravity as the arena spins around me.
I chance a spur down his shoulder, and he shoots to the left.
My ass leaves, my grip fails.
I glance at the clock.
7.18
The ground meets my shoulder, my body crumpling into a pile as I eat the powdery dirt that flings up through the cage of my helmet.
Montgomery’s shouts are the first thing I hear when the space around me registers.
Bull . . .
Jes—
Hooves thunder closer.
I scramble to my feet, my shoulder dropped on the right.
The arena rails meet me as my hands grab overhead. My feet find the rungs, and I ascend on autopilot, survival mode kicked in. I wobble at the top of the rail.
Logan has Jester back in the center of the arena and moving for the return gate a heartbeat later.
Fuck. That was too fucking close.
It hits me, clear as day, why Riley was so upset about me doing this every weekend. Ivy needs the only parent she has left.
It is only a matter of time before one of these bulls catches up with me and Ivy has no one left.
But without the Pbr, we’re literally penniless.
Goddamn motherfucker.
Way to implode your entire life, Spencer.
Way to go, fucker. I bumble my way down and off the fence. Tugging at the helmet strap, I rip it from my head and stalk after Jester.
Christ above.
The cottage is dark when I roll into the small gravel driveway Sunday night. I kill the engine and push from the truck. Hauling my bags out of the back, I shove my way through the front door and dump the bags.
The lifeless, small, dark cottage’s refreshed scent, distinctly Riley, hits me.
As does the weight in my chest that my girls aren’t here.
I flick the kitchen light on and find my tiny little house all furnished, decor dotted around the place. The TV rests against the wall.
A note sits on the counter, next to a bowl of fruit and some kind of long narrow run of material.
I pluck up the note and flinch as pain stabs at my shoulder. Making a mental note to see the doc this week for it, I raise the slip of paper.
Hey Spence,
Ivy and I are out with Aunty Stacey for a couple of hours.
There’s lasagna in the fridge and a salad. Try to leave us some.
We’ll be back around eight. Girls’ night after submitting the last paper for the semester.
Be back soon,
Riles.
It’s the simplest thing in the world. A note. The first one anyone has ever bothered to leave me. The first time I’ve had somebody to come home to that wasn’t trying to get in my pants or my bank account.
My throat closes over.
Nobody’s ever put this much effort into anything for me. Ever.
Headlights flash through the window.
I glance at my watch.
7:48
They’re home early.
I pad through the cottage, flicking on lights and opening windows to let in the breeze. In Ivy’s room, the crib is still in pieces.
I’ll get to that first thing tomorrow.
Hopefully my shoulder holds up.
“Spence?” Riley calls from the kitchen.
Ivy’s little babbles echo down the hallway, winding their way through this small little abode to find me.
“Here you go, kiddo, you get to work on that stuffy, and I’ll fix you some supper.”
When I reach the end of the hallway, Riles is fussing over Ivy. I lean on the doorway, folding my arms over my chest. This is not our reality.
Not really.
And lord above, what I wouldn’t do to change that.
“Hey,” I rasp. The emotion has risen to behind my nose and eyes.
Fuck, I’m a damn mess.
“Hey, Spence.” Riles crosses the floor, stopping in front of me. She leans on the adjacent wall and looks up at me. “We missed you.”
My jaw feathers.
I open my mouth to tell her that every minute I was away felt like an hour. That my rides were hell without her and Ives by my side. Tha—
Riley rolls off the wall and heads for the refrigerator.
“Hungry?” Her eyes find mine over the refrigerator door.
We stand there, a kitchen appliance between us, locked in a silent stare. My shoulders sag as the last breath falters and disappears.
Riley’s lips part, her brows tilting as she leans into the door. As if it could vanish and I’d replace it . . .
Or maybe that’s me, wishful thinking this whole scenario.
“I—I . . . didn’t get the crib done . . .” Her words are breathy.
I swallow past the stone in my throat.
“It’s okay. I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
“I’ll help. I’m on vacation for a few weeks, anyway.” Her dark gaze is still on mine, her grip on the door whitening.
Her chest plummets—
She whips her head ’round and focuses on the food in front of her.
“Riles . . .”
I don’t know what I want to say. I know what I feel. What I’ve been thinking about for weeks with this little woman in my orbit.
“Yeah, I’ll just heat it up. Won’t be long.”
“No, tha—”
Her head pops up from the refrigerator. Her eyes narrow as I shift on my feet, my shoulder flinching with the movement.
“Spencer Emerson Lockwood, what did you do to yourself.”
Christ, not the full name.
I can’t help the half smile that kicks up on my lips. My cock swells in my jeans at her chastisement.
The refrigerator door shuts, and she’s in my space a beat later. A single brow cocks up on her stern, fucking beautiful face.
Hell, if this is mad Riley, I’m going to be breaking every single bone in my body.
God, she’s fiery, and protective as fuck.
She is sexy as hell when she’s mad.
She’s . . . undoing the buttons on my shirt.
My heart thunders. “It’s nothing, Riles.”
I move to halt her progress, and she slaps me away. “I’ll be the judge of that, cowboy.”
It’s all I can do to stand, arms hanging—especially the right one—as she guides my shirt from my shoulder and presses her fine fingertips to my bulky biceps, over and around the shoulder joint before making her way back to the shoulder blade.
It hurts. All of it.
But my body is numb to anything but her touch.
My cock stretches my jeans, fire weaving through my veins and ending in my useless lungs that fail to capture enough air to be viable for life.
Finally, I coax enough oxygen into my lungs, only to be hit with her scent. Her shampoo. Her perfume. A heady mix of everything that is Riley O’Malley.
It is at this very precise moment I realize, with acute clarity, that I have gone and fallen head over heels for the only woman who’s never showed an ounce of interest in me beyond friendship.
Well, maybe the tiniest of inklings. When we accidentally touch. Or she lets me hold her baggage for a moment when life is too hard.
“. . . ence?”
Riley’s dark eyes are homed in on mine.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, did where I touched hurt?”
“Yeah, a little,” I rasp.
“Alright, Epsom salts plus magnesium bath for you. Then I’m popping it in a sling to immobilize it.”
Her grabby little hands are turning me back toward the hallway. I’m ushered to the bathroom.
“We have all that?”
The way her ire turns to the most epic eye roll in the history of womankind has me chuckling.
“You need a hand to get undressed?” she asks.
“No, Riles.”
“Fine. Soak until the water goes cool. Then I’ll see you in your room for the sling. I’m going to put Ivy down.” She turns on the taps, checking the temperate before heading toward the doorway. Hesitating, she turns back. “Ivy’s in your bed for tonight. Hope that’s okay.”
If I had my way, all three of us would be in my bed.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Spence.”
Tugging the door almost closed behind her, she disappears down the hallway. The tub is half full by the time I get my jeans off. My socks go next, then I unbutton the shirt the rest of the way. All with my good arm, because pain sucks balls.
I move my fucked arm ever so slightly.
Stabbing pain shoots through the joint and down my arm.
“Ah, fuck.”
If I can’t lose the shirt from the opposite shoulder, I’m going to have to get in the bath half dressed.
I try again, hissing when I get the same painful result.
With a groan, I hang my head. I’m down to my underwear, and I can’t get the motherfucking shirt off.
The tub is filling fast.
Fuck it.
“Riles?” I call out.
Footsteps pad from across the hall, and her head pops through the door as it opens. “Yeah?”
“Help a man out?”
“Um, you sure?” Her eyes are diverted to the almost overflowing tub.
“Come on. I need your help, O’Malley.”
She slips inside and rushes to the taps, twisting them off. Reaching into the water, she pulls the plug, draining the tub until it’s around half again. Turning back, she wipes her hands on her denim shorts. Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, and she is looking anywhere but at me.
“I’m not going to make a move. That’s not what this is,” I say softly.
She stops, inches from where I stand.
Her gaze lifts as her hands slide into her back pockets.
The V-neck tank top she wears shows off her skin, more tanned now than when we first met at my parents’ that night of the family dinner. A little sunshine looks good on my girl. Her chest rises and falls in deep, quick cycles as her lips part, eyes searching my own.
“It’s not you I’m worried about, Spence,” she breathes.