7. Walker
Walker
“ W hat do you mean the judges pulled my win from Wyoming?” I look up at Jonas, my coach, and really…my only friend. Everyone I train with I also compete against, and so many riders are assholes because of my last name that I don’t even bother trying to get close.
“There was a challenge on the ride and they went back to review the tape. Your left foot turned in twice which pulled your score down, allowing that kid from Kentucky to take the win.”
“But we’re still fine,” I argue. “The championship isn’t in jeopardy because of that.” I hear the desperation in my voice.
“Walker, we only signed up for two more rodeos this season because you wanted more down time before the championship ride. And I only allowed it because I knew you’d take wins in them all.
But rumor has it, Jackson White is signing up for every rodeo he’s eligible for, forcing other competitors to do the same in order to stay relevant.
If we don’t register, you simply won’t have enough points for the championship, no matter how good your scores are. ”
“ Fuck, ” I mutter under my breath before relenting. “Fine. I’ll ride anything but North Carolina.”
“What do you have against North Carolina? They have a helluva tour stop. Lot of good cowboys in that state. Hell, that’s where Phoe?—”
“Just…anywhere else, okay?” I cut him off before he can say the name.
Not a single day has gone by in the last eight years that Phoenix hasn’t crossed my mind. I ruined him the same night he saved me and forever solidified my obsession.
I doubt he remembers much about our night together, and if he does, he probably regrets every second of it. Honestly, I don’t know which would be worse because that night meant everything to me.
I’ll never be able to close my eyes without seeing his fading smile from where I sat in that shoot.
My mind was already a clusterfuck. Part of it in the ring, zeroed-in on what needed to be done, the other part of it, one town over…
where all my guilt and shame were waiting for me.
I realized a second too late that Phoenix was smiling the most gut-wrenching, heartbreaking, hopeful smile at me.
Before I could give him one in return, my shoot opened and it was time to ride.
I knew he’d see that ride—it’s the only reason I got on the fucking horse that day.
I’d planned to talk to him once his own ride was done. I wanted to stay strong, but I knew I’d give in and meet him again that night if he asked.
But I never got the chance.
Instead, I watched in horror as he got thrown twelve feet in the air before landing in the dirt.
He tried to roll to safety, but was too slow.
I fell to my knees and threw up on the floor of the concrete hallway when he wouldn’t wake up, wishing like hell I could have whispered his own words back to him.
You’re stronger than you think, and you’re going to be okay.
They carted him off the floor of the arena, unconscious, and I know, somehow, it was all my fault. Probably that stupid note. I should’ve just kept it to myself, but I wanted him to know he saved me that night even if I couldn’t say those exact words.
I hurt everyone I get close to.
After that, I knew I had to walk away completely.
I still torture myself with the what if game. What if I’d never gone to that bonfire? What if I’d followed through with what I’d set out to do that night instead? What if I’d agreed to keep seeing him when he’d asked the first time?
It’s not like I expected a good outcome after our encounter, but I also can’t say I anticipated all the ways it would fuck with me, either.
“Look, Walker.” Jonas’s voice brings me back to the present. “I don’t know what demons you have in North Carolina, but we’ve gotta do it. The prize purse alone makes it worth it, and if something happens later in the season that prevents you from competing, you’ll be glad you got points there.”
Unfortunately, he’s right, and I can’t really argue with his logic.
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fine. But we’re in and out. No partying. No photo-ops. No PR shit. In. And. Out.”
Jonas holds up his hands. “Got it man, in and out.”
Fuck, my skin is already clammy and I’m still several states away.
Rationally, I know Phoenix has been out of the game a long time.
He probably doesn’t even keep up with the circuit anymore.
But rationality and reason were never really part of the picture where Phoenix is concerned, and I’m freaking the fuck out .
I try to take deep, calming breaths, but it only makes my heart beat faster.
Four days later, we’re loaded up and heading to North Carolina. I’m queasy the entire drive. Normally, I pull my weight and give Jonas a break at the wheel, but I’m so distracted, he doesn’t even ask.
Jonas was hired by my dad, Ricky DeVille.
Dad was a helluva bronc rider himself, holding fourteen total titles.
But the championship title always evaded him.
Like most kids, I didn’t want to have to live up to my dad’s records and taking orders from him as a coach was a definite no-go.
Hence the reason he hired Jonas. Jonas and I didn’t get along at first because I was a punk ass kid with a chip on my shoulder, but he stuck it out and earned my respect.
As for other friends, the few I had back home in Texas dipped when I got serious about riding. I don’t blame them, I’m never around to help keep the relationship alive.
All I had was Alexis.
And then I hurt her too.
“Earth to Walker,” Jonas says, tapping my knee from the driver’s seat as we cross the state line.
I pull out an earbud. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you wanted to stop for dinner. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” I deadpan. Jonas is thirty-five and he’s huge. Six-five and pushing two-sixty, he was too big to be a rider, but he loves the sport, so he became the best there is in analyzing technique and went the route of coaching.
Lucky me .
He tosses me a grin, undeterred by my unenthusiastic response. “You’re right. So, we’re stopping.”
“Whatever.” I go to replace my earbud when he catches my wrist.
“Hey, what’s going on? Ever since I mentioned competing here, you’ve been a sulking asshole…well, more so than usual. You didn’t even do your hat ritual before we packed up.”
Damn. He’s right. That doesn’t bode well for my ride here. Nothing’s sacred quite like a cowboy’s superstitions.
“I’m fine,” I grunt.
“Yeah, I believe that about as much as I believe you want Jackson White to win the championship. What is it about this state that’s got you so torn up?”
Jonas would keep my confidence, but I don’t want to share this story because if I share this one, then I have to share the other one and before I know it, the guilt will eat me alive.
If I’m going to get through this, I have to bury that box of memories so deep even I can’t find it, and try to focus on why I’m here.
To ride a bronc.
To collect a win.
To get the hell out.
You’re stronger than you think, and you’re going to be okay.
Irony slaps me in the face as Phoenix’s words are the ones chosen by my brain to help me deal with my proximity to the man himself. Unfortunately, my mind always replays them in his voice and my dick twitches against my will.
“I’m good, really,” I say, trying to appease Jonas. “Let’s get this win and hit the road one step closer to the championship.”
Jonas gives me a sideways glance, but doesn’t say anything else as he turns on the signal for the exit advertising a Cracker Barrel. The man loves his chicken and dumplings.