44. Phoenix
Phoenix
—Seven months later?—
W e’re starting our rodeo season in Kentucky this year.
Not terribly close to home, but a lot closer than Wyoming, Montana, or Texas, and everyone made the trek to see Walker compete—including Colton and Alexis.
Hell, even Kevin is here, although that’s less surprising than it could be, considering he and Alexis have gotten cozy.
Walker’s done extremely well since getting back on a bronc several months ago, but I know part of him is still concerned about his wrist holding up even though we got the all clear from multiple sets of x-rays.
He trusts his surgeon and that’s what I remind him for the thirtieth time as I grip his shoulders before he climbs into the shoot.
“Baby, his job is to fix bones and know when they’re healed.
Your job is to get on the back of that bucking horse and show the temperamental fucker who’s boss.
Your wrist is ready. You are ready.” Of course, the other part of me knows Walker is nervous as hell because Colt is in the audience, watching his dad compete for the first time, so, I address that too.
“You’re already our boy’s hero, baby. All you have to do is climb on and have fun.
” Walker nods, finally starting to get in the zone.
“Good. Remember what I told you, this bronc initiates the buck from the right side every time, be ready for it with a counterbalance to the left.”
“Got it.”
I fight the urge to kiss him. Not just because what he loves to do is dangerous and I want to kiss him every chance I can before he climbs on the back of a bucking horse, but because he looks so fucking hot right now. His chaps and vest are both black today, as is his cowboy hat.
He looks like a dark, avenging, country angel.
But I don’t bring my mouth to his because it’ll distract him, and we’ve distracted each other enough in arenas just like this.
I give him a nod toward his waiting bronc.
“Go get ‘em, Quick Shooter.”
I climb the gate in front of me for a front row seat and wait for Walker to give the signal.
As soon as the shoot opens, I switch to coaching mode.
His form is flawless, he’s as fluid as water.
His rope hand is secure and his free hand is high in the air, helping him balance.
He’s driving hard through that left thigh just like I instructed, but I can tell his right thigh isn’t giving up any pressure either, keeping him centered so he doesn’t lose points.
He's perfection.
And he’s making my dick hard.
Once the pickup men have secured Walker’s safe dismount eight seconds later, he launches over the gate as they go back to release the flank strap on the horse and escort it out as well.
Now I kiss him.
Gripping his head, I plant a quick kiss on his lips, just needing to taste him. His sweat coats my fingertips as they brush through his hair and I smile, feeling his hands land on my hips.
“That was a fucking perfect ride , baby. Welcome back,” I praise.
“Same to you. I know you’re not riding, but it feels like your comeback as much as mine.”
As last year’s reigning champion, Jackson White rides next. I honestly would’ve offered a handshake and a good luck , but he was getting secured in the shoot while Walker rode, and nothing was going to tear my attention away from my boyfriend while he was in the ring.
Walker turns his attention to Jackson’s ride, but I’m too busy noticing the way Walker’s got his forearms resting on one of the top rungs of the gate while a cowboy boot is propped casually on one of the lower rungs. The stance makes his ass stick out and I’m about to come in my fucking jeans.
It’s going to be a long rodeo season.
Jackson has a good ride, but his bronc doesn’t perform as well as Walker’s which will cost him points, as will the fact that his spurs briefly lost contact with his horse at one point.
Thankfully, this rodeo isn’t a go-round, so we’ll know the winner in about five seconds when the judge announces it, but there’s zero chance it’s not Walker.
Sure enough, Jackson’s score comes in a whole two points below Walker, making Walker the victor in his first rodeo of the season.
Unsure how Jackson is going to respond, we’re pleasantly surprised when he comes over and punches Walker lightly on the shoulder.
“Helluva ride, man. Glad to have you back. I got a little lazy without you around, but you better believe that won’t happen again.
” Turning to me, he holds a hand out for me to shake.
“If you know of anyone that’s got even close to your level of knowledge, do me a favor and send them my way, yeah?
” I nod and take his hand, pumping twice before letting go.
Jackson tips his hat to us. “See y’all in Montana. ”
“Looking forward to it,” Walker replies.
The announcer calls Walker back out into the ring and he tries to drag me with him.
“This is your moment,” I tell him, trying to pry his fingers off my shirt.
“This is our moment, Phoenix,” he argues. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
Sensing that he won’t actually budge unless I’m with him, I relent and follow him through the gate into the ring.
I thought coaching would be a lot harder than it is.
I thought I’d be fraught with jealousy and anger over not being able to ride or that I’d do something stupid like try to get on just to see if I still could.
But as it turns out, coaching is really satisfying.
Well, coaching Walker is really satisfying.
The crowd’s cheers as Walker and I step into the dirt ring almost have me choking back a sob. Sure, there have been a few haters, but far less than we’d anticipated. Mostly, people just love to watch a good rider do what he does best…and Walker does it best.
LXR really wanted us to be the poster children for gay cowboys and we politely declined, choosing not to do any promotional shoots half naked with each other, or in questionable positions, but standing in this ring with the man I love, it’s hard not to give them what they want simply because I want to wrap my arms around him, bury my face in his sweaty neck, and lick the salt from his skin.
As soon as the announcer is done with the brief interview, throughout which he mercifully only asked me two questions, Walker does a ritual I haven’t seen in almost a year.
But this time, when he takes his hat off, flips it twice in the air, uses two fingers to tap it low over his eyes and kisses those same fingers…
he turns and presses them over my heart instead of his own.
Fucker.
Now I’m biting the inside of my cheek to prevent the tears from falling, and any of the media snapping away at this moment are going to catch my emotion with their lens.
“Fuck it,” I mumble a split second before pulling Walker into a hug and planting my face exactly where I want it.
Knowing I’m hidden by the brim of his cowboy hat, I let myself suck on his neck right there in the middle of the ring.
“I fucking love you, and I am so goddamn proud of you,” I tell him over the roar of the crowd and the announcer’s mic as he congratulates Walker on a fantastic return.
Someone started another bonfire tonight.
It’s a warm, clear night and Walker’s been getting all the attention.
While he enjoys it, and is appreciative, I can tell he’s getting tired.
Our friends stuck around for a good while after Walker’s win, but eventually they all needed to either start the eight-hour journey back home—Knox apparently has some job he has to be at early in the morning—or they headed back to their hotels.
Colton of course was mad he couldn’t stay the night in the camper, but to Alexis’s credit, again, she knew Walker and I would want to celebrate—and that it would be impossible to do that with a nine-year-old sleeping four feet away.
Since he’ll be on summer break in a short while, we promised him he could come with us when we travel to Texas, and Alexis will have a chance for alone-time for the first time since Colt was born.
He’ll be spending a week with Walker’s parents and a week with us.
Walker was right. As soon as his parents were made aware of their grandson, they hopped on a plane and couldn’t get him and Alexis into their arms fast enough.
Since then, they’ve made several trips to visit, they FaceTime him on a regular basis, and they’ve even set up a college fund for him.
It’s been incredible to watch everyone rally around Alexis and the little boy we all love so fucking much.
I’m already looking forward to that week.
But right now, my attention is focused on the man who is once again across the bonfire from me. This time he’s just tossing his beer bottle in the recycling can before coming back over to my side, but as he turns, our eyes lock, and it takes me back to the first time we ever met.
Discreetly, he nods his head behind him where all the trucks, trailers, and campers are parked in a huge field, turns his back on me, and starts walking away.
Wasting no time, I excuse myself from the conversation I’d been roped into and follow him into the darkness until we’re standing on the far side of my truck, facing away from the bonfire.
Pressing my body weight into him, I wedge a thigh between his legs and plant my hands on either side of his head.
“I’ve got something better than that beer you were drinking, if you’re interested,” I tease, recalling that first fateful night together.
Walker answers by sinking to his knees right in the grass. It’s dark out and my truck is huge, offering decent cover. Also, since I’m standing, I’ll see anyone approaching with plenty of time to pull Walker to his feet.
“I know exactly what you have to offer, and I want every fucking inch of it,” he growls, beginning to undo the button on my jeans .