15. Walker
Walker
F or a brief second last night, Phoenix was mine again.
If I’d thought reliving our memories was distracting, it’s got nothing on making new ones.
The scruff on his face was intoxicating, but the way he gripped me?
It was like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch me for being there or worship me for existing.
I’ve never experienced anything like it outside of him, and I expect I never will.
“Walker!” Jonas yells, making me jump.
“ Jesus , Jonas, this camper isn’t big enough for you to have to yell that loud. What do you want?” I snap, looking at him from my spot on the couch.
“Apparently, I do have to yell that loud when you don’t answer me the first four times I say your name.”
Oh.
“Well, you have my attention now,” I tell him.
“Do you remember what I told you? You won’t be on the same horse today, so your insider tips won’t help you.
You need to lean back faster in preparation for the next buck.
Even with your questionable knowledge acquisition, you weren’t fully in position when that last bronc kicked out and he almost bested you. ”
“Why are you being so snarky?” I ask, untucking my legs and standing, moving through the camper to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’d figure you’d be in favor of anything that gives me a leg up.”
“Not if it’s cheating,” Jonas fires back.
“HA!” I scoff in disbelief. “ Cheating ? You’re just pissed because Phoenix had information you didn’t.
Had a lot of information you didn’t, actually.
It should have been you giving me that information because then it would have been coaching , not cheating.
” I don’t want to fight with Jonas, especially two hours before I ride, but he’s really grating on my nerves.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, sounding like a broken record.
“Nothing,” I reply, like a sulking teenager. “I just don’t understand why you went from practically wanting to suck Phoenix’s dick to this passive aggressive bullshit.”
Jonas slams his hands on the small kitchen table and stands up.
“You know what? I’m heading in. Get your shit together and I’ll see you inside in an hour.
You’ve been an asshole ever since we arrived, and I regret forcing you to ride here.
The faster we can put distance between us and Phoenix Harding, the better. ”
He lets the camper door slam shut on his way out. I slide into his vacated seat and drop my head into my hands.
I don’t want distance between Phoenix and I. In fact, I want to be so close to him we can’t tell where one body ends and the other begins.
That’s the real problem.
Needing a distraction, I pull my phone out and open social media. I’m always interested to see what the PR teams are spouting, what shots get captured from the riders during the events, and it’s always a good time seeing what crazy fans have to say when they pop into my DMs.
A message at the top of my screen catches my attention and I stop breathing as I stare at the username: @Alexis_TRU.
Alexis Truman.
My high school girlfriend. The nicest girl I’ve ever met. And one I royally fucked over.
Bile rises in my throat.
What could she possibly have to say to me after all these years? Curiosity is surging through me, but I can’t handle another distraction. Jackson is right on my heels on the leaderboard, and if I make one wrong move, I know he’ll capitalize on it.
The temptation to open Alexis’s message is strong, so I force myself to put my phone in my room without opening it, grab my show hat, and head inside the arena to watch the events taking place before mine.
Since Phoenix was here last night—and that went oh-so-swimmingly—I don’t expect him to be back tonight, and that sours my mood even further.
Obviously, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to kiss him back when his tongue found its way into my mouth, but I also should have considered using that time to apologize for the suffering he’s endured because of me.
I know our night together distracted him from his ride the next day…
even if I don’t fully understand what it was that got in his head so badly that he never stood a chance in that ring.
I’m waiting in the lower level close to the shoots with the other riders who have already competed or have yet to go. With one boot propped up on the rung of the gate and my upper body leaning on my forearms, I feel a slap on my back.
I turn in time to see the ugly face of Jackson White.
“Good luck out there, DeVille. Just know, I’m coming for you,” he says with a smirk .
“Aw shucks, do you come just for me, or for every guy that kicks your ass?” I ask, turning my attention back to the ring unamused, knowing he’s still listening.
“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” he snaps. “I meant I’m going to win this competition and you know it.”
I give him a wicked grin. “Hard to win from second place.” And then because I can’t help myself, I add, “Then again, maybe you prefer to come from behind.”
We’ve drawn the attention of those around us, so just to rub it in a little further, I wink at him and blow a kiss his way.
It’s just shit-talking. At this point, I’m well aware that I’m gay, but it’s not like being gay consumes every thought I have.
Just like hetero guys can joke about sex without constantly thinking I’m heterosexual, I like girls, gay guys can talk shit too without it being a serious come-on for dick.
Because let’s be honest, I’d rather get fucked by a cactus than let Jackson White anywhere near my pretty hole.
Before the situation escalates further, Jonas is at my side, gripping my elbow, pulling me away from the gate and the confrontation.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he barks, pulling me down one of the deserted back hallways.
“What are you talking about? I’m just fucking with Jackson like always.” Truth be told, our rivalry has become kind of fun.
Jonas drops my elbow. “Yeah, well, considering your recent confessions about Phoenix, maybe you want to back off on the gay banter a little bit?”
“It’s the same shit we always talk, Jonas. It would be weirder if I stopped making those cracks at him. Besides, what do you care?”
He looks pensive for a second, like he’s not sure he wants to say the next part.
“Out with it,” I demand .
“I ran into Phoenix on the other side. He’s here and he’s down below with the riders so he’s getting a lot of attention. I debated whether or not to tell you, but ultimately figured it wouldn’t help you any to find him surrounded by all his fans right as you climb in the shoot.”
He’s here? Again?
I ride in twenty minutes. No fucking way I can get my heart rate under control by then. Let alone my thoughts.
What does this mean? He kissed me. And now he’s back.
Before I can catch the dangerous thought, it takes hold…
maybe I’ll get the chance to apologize after all.
I’m swarming with jealousy over the hoard of rodeo participants getting to talk to him, stand next to him, clap him on the back, shake his hand, and take selfies right now.
Hell, he and I don’t even have a picture together and he’s been inside me.
Jonas snaps his fingers in my face. “ Godfuckingdammit , Walker. Pull your head out of his ass long enough to get through this ride before I pull you from this competition.”
My eyes slam into Jonas’s as I take a step closer to my coach who is quickly climbing to number one on my shit list.
“Let me make this very clear. You and I are supposed to be a team. You don’t get to push me around like this.
It’s because of you that we’re here in the first place, but now that we are, I’ll stay as long as I damn well please.
I’ll also think about who I damn well please, and I’ll talk to who I damn well please. You got that?”
“Your obsession with him is going to get you killed,” Jonas says, angrily waving his hands as he paces back and forth.
My obsession with him is the only thing that’s kept me alive, I argue in my head. Out loud, my argument is much simpler. “That would make your job a lot easier then, wouldn’t it?”
Jonas finally looks remorseful. “Shit, Walker. I’m sorry. I just need you to focus on those eight seconds. Focus on the bronc beneath you. Anticipate , don’t react. Toes out, hand up, stay relaxed. Fluid, like water.”
Jonas drones on, telling me the same things he tells me before every ride.
If only he knew how pointless it all is.
When I’m on that bronc, it’s not his words that play in my head, but images of Phoenix rolling his hips into me the night we were together, like he could withstand any buck, any wave, any thing that tried to knock him off balance, and honestly, that visualization was a game changer for me.
I blow out a breath, and just like every time I ride, I try blocking everything out around me. The crowds, the announcer, what’s going on in the ring…and across from it. I’m greeted at the shoot by the same guys who worked here last night as I climb up and into the cage with the horse.
Wrapping my hand under the rope, I get a good hold, dig my heels in the animal’s sides, and nod for them to let her loose.
This horse takes off straight for the other side of the arena, bucking high and fast the whole way.
Three seconds in, I’m bouncing around pretty good, but it’s nothing I can't handle. This bronc almost has a stutter-step. Like she trips before she bucks. I’ve never felt a rhythm like this and my body is too slow to adjust. When her step falters, her head dips low and my center of gravity is too high, pitching me forward.
This is exactly where I don’t want to be because when she jerks upright, my body will follow, and my spine will catch the brunt of the impact as my tailbone crashes with her solid, unforgiving back when she kicks her legs out.
I brace for the dangerous collision, not knowing what else to do, when above the crowd, I hear a voice I’d recognize even if I was in a coma.
“ BAIL, WALKER! BAIL!”
The sheer panic in Phoenix’s voice causes me to let go of the rope and try to let my body go slack as I’m catapulted from the bronc’s back.
We practice how to fall, but honestly, we don’t get much say in the matter.
I try like hell to get my feet under me, but I land on my right wrist and side instead.
My wrist gives way beneath me as a sharp pain lances up my arm.
Around me, the pickup men corral the horse back into the shoot and before this can get any more embarrassing, I pick myself up out of the dirt, limping to the ring’s exit, cradling my arm.