Chapter 8
Four Days Later
My history book falls from my locker, and I catch it just in time.
"Hey, I've been looking all over for you," Chelsea chirps in her overly-sweet voice.
I freeze, glancing at the metal locker, and release an annoyed breath. In my most neutral tone, I reply, "Hey, Chelsea, what's up?"
Desperate hope fills her expression. She bats her lashes at me and puts her hand on my arm. "Want to get together later?"
"No," I state, but I feel kind of bad. It comes out gruff, and I see her wince. So I sigh, grab her arm, and pull her over to the corner.
Dozens of kids filter past us, and I can see her hope rekindling. A wave of guilt hits me. But she has to realize the truth.
We're not an item.
She puts her hand on my chest. "I missed you this week."
I grab her hand and move it off me. "Chelsea, you're a great girl."
Her head jerks backward, and she gapes at me.
Just get it over with. Don't be a pussy, I tell myself.
I clear my throat. "Listen, I know I might have led you on."
"Led me on? What do you mean 'led me on'? You were all about me, and suddenly, you're just not. What's going on, Wyatt Houston?" she shrieks.
I inhale deeply, standing taller. "Look, it's just not going to work out between us, okay?"
Her eyes turn to slits. "Why not?"
I don't say anything.
Her face falls, and her voice shakes when she asks, "You don't find me attractive anymore?"
"Of course I do. It's not that," I say, trying to soften the blow.
"Then what is it, Wyatt? What made you go cold on me? Is it your training? Am I a distraction? Do I need to just back off for a few days and then we can get together this weekend?" she questions, her eyes widening with a desperation I find super unattractive.
"Chelsea, it's just not going to happen between us, okay?" I reaffirm. "You're a great girl. Tons of guys are dying to be with you."
"But not you?" she seethes.
I stare at her.
She demands, "Be very clear, Wyatt, so I don't waste any more of my time."
"It's not going to happen between us," I repeat.
Rage and hurt spark in her eyes as she glares at me.
I didn't mean to lead her on. But ever since I noticed the real Willow, I can't even look at anyone else.
Chelsea jabs me in the chest and snarls, "You're a lost cause, Wyatt," then she brushes past me.
I turn and lean against the wall, staring at the ceiling. When I finally look across the hall, my gut drops.
Willow stares at me, her books held tight to her chest, her face white as a ghost.
Jesus, my luck is horrible.
I move toward her, but she spins on her heel and saunters down the hall.
"Willow, wait up," I call out.
She stops.
I catch up to her and turn her to face me. "Hey."
"Hey," she softly replies.
"Nothing is going on between Chelsea and me," I assure her.
Her face hardens, and she averts her eyes.
I add, "I reiterated to her that she and I are never happening."
Willow meets my gaze.
"Tell me you believe me. One thing I've never done is lie to you," I remind her.
She bites her lip.
"Besides, sugar, she doesn't hold a candle to you." I wink.
Willow softly laughs.
Relief has the tension draining from me. "So, are we going to be able to do some barn chores together this week?" I waggle my eyebrows. All week, our timing has been off. Between riding practice and Jacob's sudden chores that I didn't anticipate, I've not done barn duty with Willow once.
"Depends. Are you going to actually be there when I am?"
I lower my voice. "That's the plan. But do me a favor."
"What?"
"Help me out."
"How?"
"Do your homework first, then eat dinner, then barn chores. I have practice, and I'll be devastated if I miss watching you toss manure all night." I grin.
She laughs, but then her expression turns serious. She asks, "Are you scared?"
"Scared?"
"Your new bull. You said at dinner last night that your coach is moving you up a level."
I puff out my chest. "Not scared. I got this!"
Her lips twitch.
"Don't worry," I tell her. I start to put my arm around her, then realize where I'm at and pull my hand back to my hip.
She pins her blues on me.
My heart stammers. I say, "Come on, I'll walk you to the parking lot."
"Okay."
We push through the thinning crowd and get outside. I lead her toward Jagger's truck.
"What time are you done today?" he asks me.
"I don't know. Coach Jax said it might be a little longer than normal," I reply.
"Gotcha. Maybe we can play poker before we go to bed tonight?"
Willow glances at me.
I shake my head. "I doubt it, man. I got barn duty, practice, and homework. Sorry."
He groans. "I'm sick of homework. I can't wait until we never have to do it again."
"Agreed." I nod, ready to never open another textbook again. Then I declare, "I'll see you two at home."
"Later," Jagger says and then gets in the truck.
I open the passenger door for Willow.
She flashes her semi-shy grin, and my heartbeat trips over itself. She gets inside, and I shut the door and then lean through the open window. "Have fun, and wish me luck."
"Have fun, and good luck," Willow says, beaming at me.
"Get it, bro," Jagger adds.
"I got this," I state again with a wink. I tap the hood and step back.
Jagger pulls away. I unlock my 1969 Ford Bronco. It's rusted and old, but Jagger and I rebuilt the engine. I slide inside and take off down the country roads, whistling. Today, everything good's happening. Tonight, I get to spend some time with Willow, and soon, I get to ride the next-level bull.
One more step, and I'm ready to compete professionally.
I turn up the country station on the radio, sing at the top of my lungs, and inhale the fresh air, feeling unstoppable.
The old windmill, grain silos, and battered wooden fence come into view. I pull through the rusted wrought iron gates, and zoom down the driveway. I park by the other vehicles and get out.
My coach, Jax McCoy, leans against a tree with ink-filled arms. His cigarette pack peeks out of his rolled navy-blue T-shirt sleeve, just like it does every other day. He turns his head, but his leather hat brim shields his gaze. His whiskey voice roars, "About time you got here."
I glance at my watch. "I'm fifteen minutes early, so I'm not late."
"Eh," he grunts, nodding.
Jax McCoy has a lot of qualities I admire. Besides Jacob Cartwright, he's the only other male I've ever had to look up to. And they're both everything my sperm donor isn't.
He orders, "Get stretching and warm up."
I don't argue. I move over to where the other bull riders are, and we exchange hellos.
There are eight stretches Jax makes us do, just like the eight seconds we're on a bull.
I hold each stretch for the eighty-eight seconds he requires, adding "Texas" after each number to ensure it's a full second.
Then, I run eight laps around the outside of the bullpen before stopping to stand against the fence.
Jax steps beside me, challenging, "Are you sure you're ready for the next level?"
"Of course I am," I arrogantly declare. I can't say I'm good at most things, but I know bull riding is my talent. If I work hard, I know I can win the world championships someday.
Jax's lips press into a thin line as he continues to stare at me.
I cross my arms and lift my chin. "Don't tell me you're going to hold me back and not let me ride Snarlhide."
He shakes his head. "Didn't say that, but you better get rid of your cockiness before you get on that backbreaker." He points at the big black bull that's kicking dust around in a circle.
My stomach fills with butterflies. They're nervous but excited. I admit, "I've been waiting for this. And I'm ready."
Jax's rugged smirk lifts his wrinkled cheeks. He pats my shoulders. "All right, then. Let's see what you got. My bet is you're off in two seconds."
"No way," I scoff, sure I'll stay on for all eight. If not all eight, then at least six or seven. There's no way Snarlhide's tossing me off like a rookie.
He chuckles. "We'll see, son."
In the adjacent ring, a newer rider gets thrown off a level-one bull. Jax shouts, "You're not going to make it, son. There's no point coming back tomorrow."
The ranch hands quickly rope the bull to ensure he doesn't charge the rider.
The guy takes way too long to rise, coughing as he gets to his feet. When he finally catches his breath, he says to Jax, "I'll get it, I promise."
Jax shakes his head. "No. Don't come back, son. This isn't a career for you. If I let you ride a bull one more time, you're probably going to end up dead or paralyzed."
"I won't," he argues.
"Consider it a blessing. You tried hard. I'm proud of you. But it's best if you get off the ranch now," Jax tells the guy.
Disappointment fills the rider's face.
I swallow hard, feeling bad for him, but Jax is right. He may sound like an asshole, but bull riding isn't something you mess around with. Wrong moves in the pen can land you in a wheelchair for life or in a casket.
I tear my gaze off the other rider, and focus back on Snarlhide. He's still kicking up dirt, which isn't anything new. I've had my eye on him since I started.
"Get him ready," Jax calls to his team.
Bucky and Matrix lasso him and push him into the chute.
Anxiety builds within me, but it's good. It makes me feel alive. I'm ready to conquer this bull, prove to Jax that I can do it, and move on to the next bull. Plus, I have no room to fail.
School's never been my thing. College isn't an option. This is the only dream I've ever had, and it's my ticket to success. I'm so close, I can feel it.
Once I master riding Snarlhide, there's only a few more bulls to conquer. After that, Jax will give me a spot on his team. And that's where the money and success lie.
The bull gets locked into the chute, and I step up the staircase, assessing the beast, my pulse beating between my ears.
Jax warns, "This one's been pissed off all day. You sure you want to do this?"
I grunt. "Yep. I was born to do this. Get Hellhorn ready. I'm riding him tomorrow."