Chapter 41 Willa
FORTY-ONE
willa
Two months later
Thousands of people are packed into the Fort Worth Convention Center, all of them on their feet, all of them screaming. The noise is deafening—a wall of sound that makes my ears ring and my heart pound.
This is it. The final ride of the National Championship.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, “Beau McCrae has drawn Hellfire for his championship ride!”
The crowd roars at the name. Hellfire is legendary—a massive brindle bull with a 95% buck-off rate and a mean streak a mile wide. He’s never been ridden to the buzzer at a championship event.
“Oh god,” I breathe, my hands going clammy.
“He’s got this,” Charlie says beside me, his hand finding mine and squeezing tight. But I can feel the tremor in his fingers, smell the anxiety bleeding into his scent. “He’s got this.”
On my other side, Jake’s knee is bouncing so hard it’s shaking the entire row of seats. “Come on, come on, come on,” he mutters under his breath like a prayer. His scent is sharp with nerves—chocolate going bitter with stress.
I can’t speak. Can barely breathe. Because this is it, Beau’s final ride of his professional career—win or lose, he will never be here again.
If he stays on for eight seconds, if he scores high enough, he’ll be the National Champion.
The first rider in APbrA history to win ten back-to-back championships.
And if he doesn’t—if Hellfire throws him like he’s thrown everyone else—Knox Wilder takes the title.
Through the bond, I can feel Beau. Feel his focus, sharp and absolute. Feel the adrenaline singing through his veins.
“He’s ready,” I whisper, more to myself than to Charlie and Jake.
Down in the chute, I can see Beau settling onto Hellfire’s back. The bull is massive, easily the biggest bull to compete today.
Beau wraps his hand, threading the rope around his palm. His lips are moving—probably counting, making sure the wrap is perfect. One mistake, one moment of carelessness, and his hand could get caught. Could break bones. Could end his career.
My Omega whines in the back of my mind, wanting to go to him, to protect him, even though I know he doesn’t need protecting. This is what he was born to do.
The arena goes quiet—that breathless hush before the storm.
Beau nods.
The chute door flies open.
Hellfire explodes into the arena like a derailing freight train. He’s all violent motion—twisting, spinning, trying to shake off the weight on his back. His first move is a vicious left-hand spin that sends Beau’s body whipping to the side.
“Oh god,” I gasp, my free hand flying to my mouth.
But Beau corrects, his core engaging, his body flowing with the motion instead of fighting it. His free hand is high in the air, not touching anything, perfect form even as Hellfire tries to murder him.
“Two seconds!” someone shouts.
The bull switches directions, a move that catches most riders off guard. Right-hand spin now, faster, tighter. Beau’s body sways, but he stays centered, stays balanced, reading the bull’s movements like he’s reading a book.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “Come on.”
Hellfire bucks—a massive, bone-jarring kick that launches Beau forward. For a heart-stopping second, I think he’s going over the front. I think I’m about to watch my Alpha get trampled by 1,800 pounds of pissed-off bull.
But Beau catches himself. Sits back. Finds his seat again.
“Three seconds!” Jake’s voice is strangled beside me.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Hold on, I think at him desperately, knowing he can’t hear me but sending it through the bond anyway. Hold on, please hold on.
“Four seconds!”
The bull tries a different tactic—rapid-fire bucks, one after another, trying to shake Beau loose through sheer repetition.
“Five seconds!”
The crowd is losing it. The noise level is inhuman—thousands of people all screaming, all willing Beau to stay on, all witnessing what might be the ride of the century.
Hellfire switches tactics again. Left-hand spin, but this time he dips his shoulder low—a move designed to throw riders over the side. I watch in horror as Beau’s body tilts, pulled by momentum and gravity toward the arena floor.
“Get your ass up!” Jake is half out of his seat.
Beau shifts his weight at the last possible second. Uses the bull’s motion against him. Pulls himself back to center with core strength that shouldn’t be possible after five seconds on a bull like Hellfire.
“SIX SECONDS!” The announcer’s voice is barely audible over the crowd.
My grip on Charlie’s hand is so tight I’m probably breaking bones, but I can’t let go.
You’ve got this. You’ve got this. Just two more seconds.
Hellfire kicks out his back legs in a move that nearly sends Beau flying over his head. Beau’s free hand dips—almost touches the bull, which would disqualify him—but he catches himself, jerks it back up.
“SEVEN!”
One more second. Just one more second.
The arena is on its feet. Everyone is screaming, stomping, and the entire building is shaking with the force of it.
Hellfire makes one last desperate attempt, a full 360-degree spin combined with a massive buck. It’s the move that’s thrown every other rider. The move that earned him his reputation.
Beau stays on.
His body moves with the bull like they’re dancing. Like nothing in the world could shake him loose.
The buzzer sounds.
EIGHT SECONDS.
The arena explodes.
I’m screaming—I don’t even realize it until my throat goes raw. Charlie is shouting, Jake is on his feet, pumping his fist, and I’m crying and laughing and shaking all at once.
He did it. He actually did it.
Beau dismounts in one smooth, controlled motion, landing on his feet like a cat despite eight seconds of being rag-dolled by a demon bull. The bullfighters rush in, moving Hellfire away, and Beau pulls off his helmet.
Even from here, I can see the grin splitting his face.
The scoreboard flashes: 97.5 points.
The highest score of the night. Possibly the highest score of the entire season.
He’s won. He’s the National Champion.
“Holy shit,” Jake breathes beside me. “Holy shit, he did it!”
Charlie is on his feet, pulling me up with him, and suddenly we’re all hugging and jumping and laughing at the same time because my Alpha just won the biggest title in professional bull riding, and I get to be here to see it.
Beau is in the center of the arena, surrounded by reporters and cameras, but his eyes are scanning the crowd. Searching.
Looking for us. Looking for me.
Our eyes meet across the distance, and the bond between us flares, hot and right. I feel his triumph like it’s my own, feel his joy and relief and overwhelming love pouring through the connection we share.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t stop for the reporters shouting questions. He just runs—straight toward the stands, toward us, vaulting over the barrier like it’s nothing and taking the stairs three at a time.
“Beau!” I’m laughing, crying, trying to get to him, but there are too many people in the way.
He doesn’t care. Just pushes through the crowd, his focus locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters in this entire arena.
When he reaches our row, the railing blocks his way, but he doesn’t stop—just grabs the railing and jumps, pulling himself up and over until he’s right there, right in front of me.
And then his hands are on my face, and his mouth is on mine, and he’s kissing me like he’s drowning and I’m air.
The crowd goes absolutely insane.
Confetti is falling from the ceiling—gold and silver catching in the arena lights, coating everything in glitter.
Cameras are flashing. People are screaming.
The announcer is saying something about champions, but I can’t hear any of it over the rushing in my ears and the feeling of Beau’s lips on mine.
He tastes like victory and leather and mine.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are bright, pupils blown wide, and his scent is overwhelming—leather and bergamot and salt mixed with triumph and joy and pure Alpha satisfaction.
“I love you,” he says, loud enough for half the section to hear. “I fucking love you, Willa.”
“I love you too,” I manage, and then he’s kissing me again, softer this time, tender despite the chaos around us.
“Congratulations, you showoff,” Jake says, appearing beside us with a huge grin. He pulls Beau into a one-armed hug, careful not to dislodge me. “National Champion. Again. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“Someone has to keep the McCrae name in the headlines,” Beau shoots back.
With his arm wrapped around my waist, he lifts me high enough that my legs go around his waist automatically, his arms keeping me pressed against him. Everything fades to black except these men, my Alphas, my pack.
Charlie leans in to press his lips to my cheek, his expression caught somewhere between pride and exasperation. “You couldn’t wait until you were off camera to maul our Omega?”
“Nope.” Beau grins, shameless. “Wanted everyone to know exactly who I was riding for.”
The cameras are definitely still on us—I can see at least three news crews filming, and the jumbotron is showing our faces to the entire arena. My cheeks are flaming, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when Beau is looking at me like I hung the moon.
“Come on,” an official says, appearing at Beau’s elbow. “We need you down in the arena for the ceremony.”
“Give me a minute,” Beau says, not looking away from me.
“Beau—"
“I said, give me a minute.” There’s command in his voice now, the Alpha authority that makes even other Alphas back down. The official hesitates, then nods and steps back.
Beau cups my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “You okay? I know this is a lot of attention.”
“I’m perfect,” I tell him honestly. “You were amazing. Absolutely amazing.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you.” He presses his forehead to mine, and I feel the bond between us settle, warm and content. “Knowing you were up here, watching me, cheering for me—that’s what kept me on.”
“Liar. You would have won regardless.”
“Maybe. But it wouldn’t have meant as much.” He kisses me again, quick and sweet. “Love you, baby. So fucking much.”
“Love you too, big guy.”
He grins at the nickname, then reluctantly pulls back. “I have to go do the whole winner thing. But don’t go anywhere. I want you down there with me, after the frenzy.”
“We’ll be right here,” Charlie promises.
Beau nods, squeezes my hand one more time, then heads back down to the arena floor where they’re setting up for the trophy presentation. I watch him go, my heart so full it feels like it might burst.
“He’s ridiculous,” I say, but I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.
“He’s in love,” Jake corrects. “There’s a difference.”
We settle back into our seats to watch the ceremony. Beau stands on the platform while they present him with his buckle—massive and ornate, with his name engraved on it. The crowd is still going wild, chanting his name, and he soaks it all in with that confident grin I know so well.
But his eyes keep finding mine in the crowd. Like he needs to check that I’m still here, still watching, still his.
My Omega purrs with satisfaction. My Alpha. My champion.
“You know he’s going to be insufferable after this,” Charlie says, but there’s affection in his voice.
“He was already insufferable,” Jake points out. “This just makes it official.”
I laugh, leaning into Charlie’s warmth on one side and Jake’s steady presence on the other.
My pack. My family. My home.