12. Phoenix
Phoenix
N othing I do will make tonight any easier.
Despite the run-ins I’ve had with Walker, I’m a nervous fucking wreck because yeah, I watch his rides…
but I never watch them live. I’ve always made sure there were no major injuries before scouring the internet for footage of his events.
Despite the history between us, I can’t stomach the thought of him getting injured.
Tonight, however, I have no choice but to keep my eyes glued to him and his bronc, praying it’s one of mine. He can handle all of my horses with ease.
It’s still blazing hot, but thankfully the rodeo is inside and the air conditioner in the arena stays cranked.
I tug a pair of Wrangler’s on and slip into my boots, and just to indulge myself a little, I wear my championship belt buckle.
I’ve long since given up button downs in favor of plain white t-shirts, and I shake my head thinking about the shit Jake gives me for it.
You look like the love child of the hot Hemsworth brother and Glen Powell .
I can admit I’m blessed genetically, but I still work damn hard for the shape I’m in.
When I can’t stall any longer, I grab my keys and hop in my truck.
The guys and I all live in different parts of town, so we agreed to meet at the arena because there’s no easy way to carpool.
Jake and Dylan will bring Cassie with them.
Hudson and Shannon have the longest drive, and although Knox could ride with me, he prefers to drive himself.
My truck may be bigger, but his is way nicer.
As one of the stock contractors, I have a pass to be able to park in the back by the stables. It’s nice because after the rodeo, I’ll get to avoid the traffic.
Pulling into the gravel lot, rocks crunching under the tires of my dually, I give up the fight to not look for Walker pretty early on. I convince myself that a glimpse from afar couldn’t hurt, but I search in vain, not finding him.
“There you are!” Cassie exclaims as I walk toward my group of friends gathered by the entrance.
“Good! Now we can go in!” She grabs ahold of my arm this time instead of Shannon’s as we get our tickets scanned, and starts peppering me with questions.
What’s the order of events? Are the animals actually ever hurt?
How does the scoring work? And the last one’s the kicker.
“Who’s the best cowboy here?” she asks while we stand in line, waiting to order our artery-clogging brisket baskets.
“Me, obviously,” I answer with a grin.
This earns me a semi-serious answer despite my teasing tone. “I know you are. And if you were competing tonight, I have no doubt you’d win. But I meant who’s the one we should watch tonight?”
Suddenly, my absence from this sport feels like a tangible thing.
I know she didn’t say I’m irrelevant, but that’s sure as shit how it feels.
The men and women who compete here tonight are celebrities among this crowd, and although people recognize my face, it stings knowing this isn’t my world anymore.
Before I answer Cassie, Shannon nudges her shoulder. “Look, Hud just bought this program for me. It has all the riders in it.”
“Oh, let’s find the hottest ones!” Cassie giggles.
Dylan leans down to get a closer look. Chewing on a French fry—because apparently the hot dog line was way shorter than this one—and he points a greasy finger at a cowboy I don’t recognize. “He’s cute,” Dylan says.
Jake and Knox are standing in the front of the group with me since we’re the ones ordering, when Jake mumbles, “Remind me not to bring my husband to a rodeo where the dress code is painted on, and the activities all involve extreme hip thrusts and tying things up.”
I feel you, buddy.
Jake doesn’t know I’m bisexual. None of the guys do. It was hard as fuck to stay quiet when Jake came out. Mostly, because I didn’t want him to think he was alone or that we wouldn’t understand, but there’s no point in telling the truth since men are no longer an option for me.
I mean, sure, I tried hooking up with a couple guys after that night with Walker, but I could never follow through.
Regardless of who I was with, I’d see him, hear him, wish it was him.
So, I shut that part of my life down, and I was a terrible friend to Jake.
Add it to the list of shit I’m still pissed at Walker for.
“Yo, Phoe, you’re up.” Jake’s voice breaks me out of my reverie of self-loathing and serves as a reminder that tonight is supposed to be about Cassie.
I place my order and move to the side right as Shannon says, “Him!” and slaps a finger onto the page. “He definitely wins the hot cowboy award.” The girls break out into a fit of giggles as Cassie pulls the program from Shannon’s hands.
“Let’s see who you’ve picked,” Cassie squeals in delight.
“Him, right there.” Shannon’s finger makes a dull thud as she taps the program a second time.
“Walker DeVille,” Cassie reads out loud. “Hey, Phoe, doesn’t this look like that guy that from the bar?”
I don’t even glance at the program before I answer. “It is the guy from the bar.”
“Oh no way! Do you know him? Can we meet him?” Cassie asks.
Her enthusiasm makes me smile even in the shittiest of moments. “Yes, way. Yes. And no.”
Disappointment only clouds her features for a second before our number is called and we’re busy dispersing baskets of food, grabbing beers, and heading for our seats.
“I read about the best places to sit, and I thought it would be fun to sit right next to the gated area where they pen the bulls and horses. So, we’re right next to that,” Cassie explains.
“The bucking shoot, babydoll. It’s called the bucking shoot,” I correct, giving her the term for the area she’s referring to.
“Yeah, that!” Her smile is so bright and excited that she pulls me out of my funk just enough to be able to take it all in.
We walk through the small concrete walkway and step out into the open arena and the breath is stolen from my lungs.
Hell, my knees almost buckle. Usually, I drop the animals off and get them situated in the stalls and then get the hell out of Dodge.
I haven’t seen a competition ring since the day of my last ride.
I take a deep breath, letting the dust enter my lungs, and the smell of dirt, sweat, testosterone, and fear fill my nose.
“Phoe, you coming? ”
I look up at the sound of my name and see Knox waiting for me as the rest of our party climbs the stairs to our seats.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped in the middle of the landing, blocking traffic. When I get to our aisle, a guy in the row in front of us twists in his chair to get a better look at me. I give a polite head nod, but I know as soon as he sees my buckle, he knows who I am.
“Oh man, you’re Phoenix Harding.”
It does wonders for my soul to be recognized in this arena tonight. I smile and give another nod. “Yessir, I am.”
“Honey.” He taps the shoulder of the woman seated next to him who is still facing the ring. “Hon, look here.”
She turns and her eyes go wide. “Why, Phoenix Harding! You’re even more handsome in person.”
“Thank you,” I say politely.
I feel all my friends watching this interaction. They didn’t know me when I was somebody, and they’ve never seen me in this environment. God, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve ever actually let my friends know the real me at all…but that’s a topic for a different time and place.
The man holds up his phone. “Would you mind if we got a picture?”
I cock a half smile. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“Oh, do you want me to take it?” Cassie asks from down the row. She made sure she was sandwiched between Shannon and Dylan, leaving me with Hudson on one side and Knox on the other.
By the time the events start, I’m having so much fun being back in my element that I’ve almost forgotten Walker’s riding tonight.
At some point, Cassie made Knox switch seats with her so she could keep asking me questions.
I love how into it she is, and I do my best to explain everything she wants to know.
But when the announcer says Walker is up next, my heart stops beating as the crowd noise amplifies. Everyone’s here to see him and Jackson. My balls retreat inward as I watch Walker climb the gate to get seated on the back of a tan bronc with a black mane.
That’s my horse, Aberdeen . Which means Walker drew forty-two.
I sit up straight, nearly clocking Cassie in the jaw as I do. “Shit, sorry, Cass,” I murmur, totally distracted. I catch a glimpse of Walker swinging his leg over the gate into the shoot and onto my bronc, praying the whole time that the horse gives him a perfect ride.
I watch as Walker tucks his hand under the rope, adjusting, then readjusting until it feels just right. My fingers twitch with muscle memory as if I were preparing my own rope.
I’m vaguely aware of someone talking to me, but as soon as that gate is opened, every molecule of my being is glued to Walker and the horse.
Aberdeen comes out with short, jerky bucks.
If Walker is going to get a high score, he needs the horse to really kick out.
Walker’s driving his spurs into his sides, toes out like they’re supposed to be—looks like he learned his lesson from Wyoming—when Aberdeen kicks once and I see him gearing up for that second kick I warned Walker about.
Heeding my advice, Walker stays locked in position, not rolling his hips forward and relaxing as if Aberdeen’s going to land.
I swear this eight seconds is longer than any eight seconds I ever rode.
Walker leans back when Aberdeen juts forward, in beautiful sync with the animal, his left hand high in the air as he continues to anticipate the beast’s moves. When the horn finally blows, Cassie leans over and yells, “You can breathe now,” over the roar of the crowd .
I look at her, realizing far too late that I’ve got my right hand in a vice grip around her forearm.