Chapter 18
Wyatt
Before my mind can spiral into another round of what-if scenarios, Willow's phone buzzes. She glances at it, her expression unreadable, but the second she answers, I hear Jax's voice on the other end.
He booms, "Got good news. Just landed Wyatt a slot for Whispering Junction's Boots, Bucks & Mistletoe Rodeo."
My adrenaline level spikes.
Did I hear that right?
Willow's voice pitches high, sharp with disbelief. "That's not possible. The entry deadline has passed."
This is my chance!
I lock my gaze on her, my chest tightening, and I order, "Put it on speaker."
She rolls her eyes but obeys.
"Full rider slot. Promoter owed me a favor," Jax explains.
Willow rubs her temples. Her shoulders tense, and hesitation creeps behind her eyes. She's calculating every angle, and it makes my nerves stand on edge. She says, "Jax. He can't ride in the show."
"What are you talking about?" I blurt out.
Jax adds, "Don't be ridiculous. I've got a few days to sharpen him up."
"No. This isn't happening," Willow snaps, harder than a bull's horn to the ribs.
The words hit me like a fist. I jerk back, caught off guard, not just by the tone but by the finality in her eyes.
Jax's voice crackles from the phone. "Willow, don't start."
She fires back, "I'm not starting. I'm ending it. Wyatt isn't riding. He's not ready. Not mentally. Not physically. He hasn't competed in months."
I stare at her, trying not to explode. "I can handle it," I insist.
"No, you can't," she fires back.
"He'll be fine," Jax interjects.
Willow points at me. "You're not just out of practice, you're reckless. You got into a bar fight two nights ago. You're nursing a swollen face and a bruised ego. That doesn't exactly scream rodeo-ready."
"You think I can't ride anymore?" I grind my teeth.
She doesn't even flinch. "I think you're too much of a wild card. You want to prove something? Fine. But not at Whispering Junction. Not when we have major sponsors considering you."
I huff. "Which is why I need to ride. You heard them. Until they see me ride again, they won't make any offers."
"You aren't ready," she repeats.
It takes everything in me not to raise my voice. I wonder where the girl is who used to believe in me wholeheartedly.
"I'm not asking for your blessing, Willow. I'm going to ride."
She looks at me like I'm already the failure she predicted. "Then find another agent. I won't let you put my career at risk."
"She's serious," Jax mutters through the speaker, mostly to me, but Willow hears him too.
She asks, "Do you realize how much drama this adds? We're barely getting the sponsors to stay open-minded."
Jax counters, "Drama sells, Willow. You know that. Besides, you know how to keep him in line."
She glances over at me. I know that look. She's reading me, searching for any sign that I might self-destruct and take her with me again.
"Wake up, Willow. He needs this. We need this," he pushes.
She snaps her head toward the phone, venom in her voice. "You know nothing about what I need."
"Then fill me in," Jax orders.
She declares, "I need to know my riders are focused."
"I am," I claim.
She continues, "They need to be sober, not out every night drinking until God knows what time."
"Seriously? You're holding me going out with Jagger over my head?" I hurl.
Jax states, "You're overreacting, darlin'."
Willow scoffs. "Don't even get me started on you, Jax."
"Meaning what?" he growls.
"I don't need my career to implode because some bull-headed cowboy thinks a rodeo slot will magically fix his life."
After a moment, I try again, this time softer. "Willow—"
"No. You're not riding. Not under my name," she asserts, cutting me off before I can finish.
"I'll see you at practice tomorrow. You're riding," Jax states, then hangs up.
Willow's eyes flame.
I stare at her, splintering apart, piece by piece. My voice drops into something dark and bitter. "You're doing this to punish me."
She crosses her arms like a goddamn judge at sentencing. "No. I'm doing this to protect what matters. The only thing I care about right now is that my riders don't end up in a cell, the hospital, or the morgue."
"And what about me?" I ask, hating how hollow the question sounds as it leaves my mouth.
She meets my gaze. Hers is flat, cold, and unreadable. She spouts, "You? You're a complication I should've left behind a long time ago."
Her words sting, but hell if they're not fair. I deserve her doubt. I've given her every reason to question me. But this is my shot. And I'll be damned if I don't take it.
With certainty, I tell her, "I'm ready. I can do it." I look her right in the eye and add, "You may not trust that yet, but I do. And I'll prove it."
She exhales, her chest rising and falling. "Don't push me, Wyatt."
I warn, "Don't deny me my opportunity. I'll be ready, and you know it."
For the first time in too long, I see it. The flicker in her eyes. The part of her that still believes in me. Even if she doesn't want to.
She turns to leave. But I can't stop myself.
My next words chase her, smooth like silk, sliding straight through her defenses. "You can pretend all you want, Willow. But we both know neither one of us wants to be denied."
She freezes.
Her back stiffens, breaths coming short and fast.
Bullseye.
This isn't over. Not even close.
Barely above a whisper, I state, "I'm riding that bull, sugar. And I'll be damned if you're not riding me again soon too."
She swallows hard and glares at me.
I leave her office, and go over to Jax's place, where I get thrown off the bull so many times, I have to sit in an ice bath half the night.
The next morning, I beat the sun to her office.
I couldn't sleep. Hell, there was no point in trying.
My brain wouldn't shut off. Her scent was still burned into my nostrils.
And the scared look in her eyes when I left haunted my thoughts.
I spoke the truth yesterday, and nothing she could say or do would lead me to ever believe otherwise.
And the lack of sleep gave me wisdom about how I could win her back. So I sit behind her desk like I own the place, ready to go to war with her.
When she finally walks in, her eyes narrow the second she sees me. She snaps, "You're early. Make yourself comfortable."
I kick my feet off the corner of her desk and stand. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd check on my favorite agent-in-denial."
"I'm not in denial."
I take a step toward her, keeping my voice low and steady. "You are. But you'll be out of it soon. I know you, Willow Cartwright."
She folds her arms, raising her chin high. "You don't know me like you think."
I move closer, breathing her in, letting every ounce of my restraint pull tight. "I know every inch of you, sugar. Every breath. Every murmur. Every part that still belongs to me."
Her breath hitches. She chokes out, "I told you business only, and I meant it."
I close the last few inches between us. My hand hovers near her waist, not touching but close enough. I can feel the heat rolling off her. "You're a liar."
Her head jerks backward.
I chuckle. "I'll prove it."
"Yeah? How?" she hurls.
"One kiss. That's all it would take. One kiss, and you won't be able to deny you still love me," I taunt.
Her lips part. But nothing comes out. She glances at my mouth with eyes full of fear and want.
I take it as her answer. I walk forward, one step at a time.
She's forced to move backward with my stride until her back is against the wall. Her eyes widen.
I graze my thumb across her cheek, mumbling, "Do you have any idea how many times I've watched our videos?"
Her cheeks flush bright red as she gapes at me.
"You thought I'd delete them?" I chuckle, but it's laced with nerves. I admit, "They're my prized possessions. The only things I'd never pawn or destroy. They're what kept me going all these years."
"Wyatt—"
"Shh," I order, putting my finger over her lips.
She stills.
"You gonna stop me?" I ask, my breath mingling with hers.
She blinks hard but doesn't move.
I lower my finger and press my lips against hers.
It's not gentle. It's a violent thunderstorm with seven years of anger, lust, and unfinished business crashing between us.
Her gasp melts in my mouth as I deepen the kiss. My tongue sweeps against hers, claiming her the way I always did.
She tries to fight it, but only briefly. Her hands fly to my chest, pushing me, then gripping the cotton of my shirt. She drags me closer, as if she hates herself for needing it but can't stop.
I press her harder against the wall, my thigh slipping between hers. She arches into me with a soft, desperate moan that shreds my control.
My hand slides into her hair, yanking her head back just enough to drag my mouth down her neck. I push her blouse to the side, exposing the curve of her collarbone and kissing her skin.
"Damn you, Wyatt," she breathes, barely able to speak.
"I've already been damned, sugar," I growl against her throat, teeth grazing just enough to make her tremble. "Might as well enjoy the fire."
I kiss her again, harder this time, vowing to make her remember this moment every time she tries to pretend she's over me.
She kisses me back with the same fury, her nails digging into my shoulders, hips grinding against mine, and I swear she wants to set me on fire and burn with me.
Her breath comes in sharp gasps when we finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, our bodies still tangled in heat.
"I hate you," she whispers, lips swollen, eyes glazed with want.
"No, you don't," I murmur, brushing my thumb over her mouth. "You hate how badly you still want me."
She doesn't deny it, and that's the real danger.
This kiss isn't just heat.
It's a warning shot.
"Still think we're finished?" I taunt.
She closes her eyes.
I mumble against her lips, "We're far from finished, sugar." I kiss her again, then step back. "I'll see you in a few days."
She tilts her head in confusion, still breathing hard.