Chapter 31 – Jensen
The roar of the Charlotte crowd is still bleeding out of my ears when I duck into the locker room, gloves half off, shoulder singing in a familiar key I've gotten really good at ignoring. Just a few more days out from San Diego.
“That was a nice one,” Joel says, coming up behind me as I finish peeling off my riding gloves.
He gives my bad shoulder a squeeze—firm enough to remind me he hasn’t forgotten I’m still riding half-busted and only barely got cleared to get back on the bull tonight.
“Might’ve ridden nice,” I mutter, rolling my shoulder carefully, “but it only counts if I take it all the way to the finals in four days.”
Micah appears at Joel’s side, sweat-streaked and unusually serious as he gives me a nod. “You’ll do it because you're the best in the series. And we've got your back now that we're both out.”
“Appreciate that. Did you see how Raf finished?” I ask, reaching for my bag.
He’s the only other one from our team who made it to the last ride here in Charlotte.
He didn’t get in the semis ride, but he’s still sitting pretty to take fifth overall and some sort of award money home.
He's also got a new, potential sponsorship waiting for him if he pulls it off.
Some fancy technology company that makes cameras and a men's cologne brand.
Two things I don't think Raf gives a shit about.
“Yeah,” Joel says. “He did good. Think it’s ‘cause June was hanging off the gate the whole time, flirting with some cowboy from one of the competing teams. Raf wanted her to notice him, maybe even take his picture.”
I huff out a laugh. “Did it work?"
He shrugs. "I don't think so. He got some photos, but not her focus."
"For a guy with exactly zero pictures on his phone, it’s wild how bad he wants her taking his.”
Micah smirks. “Ain’t the photos he wants. It’s her eyes on him.”
“That tracks.”
"You think he'll ever give it up?" Joel asks.
"How much he wants June? Nah."
"The chase of someone who clearly doesn't even notice him."
I rub at my jaw, thinking about Raf with his wild, dark brown, almost black hair and his quiet spirit.
And then I think about June. A woman who's about as outgoing and sunny as her name.
They're fire and ice. Rafael loves his privacy.
June loves the attention. I don't see how it could work when she spends all her time either in front of or behind a camera lens.
I wonder if people think that about Catalina and me. If they knew the way I was gone for her, they’d understand better how we worked. The sad thing is there was never an us to the outside world looking in.
"If you want someone badly enough, you'll do everything possible to get them to notice you. Even if you think they're too far out of your league."
Joel studies me for a second longer than necessary. “You seem… better,” he says carefully. “Compared to a few days ago.”
Micah snorts. “That’s because he had a girl on his mind. I'm taking it he got her off it. Or he got off.”
I shoot him a look. “There’s only one woman on my mind, and she’s not leaving anytime soon. Also, I saw the way you were hitting on Catalina’s sister Isla in Whitewood Creek.”
"Fuck off. She’s smart. So, sue me for having a weakness for smart women." He stomps to his locker door and opens it.
That makes two of us.
I don’t bother denying his comments about Catalina.
I shove the last of my gear into my bag.
But I'm also going to have a talk with him later, and maybe Catalina too, about the way he was eyeing her younger sister over a glass of whiskey. Knowing Micah, if he’s got his eye on her, I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up in Whitewood Creek during the off-season.
With the semis done, we get two free days before we need to be in San Diego—warming up, prepping, psyching ourselves up for the finals. There will be press interviews, sponsorship meetings and all the things that go into a series finale on one of the biggest stages I've ever ridden on.
Frankly, it's the pinnacle of any professional bull-rider's career.
Normally I’d hop a flight back to Tennessee tonight, reset in my own space, and spend some time with Grandma ahead of my final ride. Or I’d head to San Diego early with the guys, gamble a little, burn off nerves while soaking up the beach and the sun.
But all I want—hell, all I need—is to be with Catalina right now.
And I know that’s not happening quite yet.
I know she's not ready to spend time with me alone. She said as much. She admitted that her reaction wasn’t entirely about what I said, and there was something deeper at play.
She’s probably already on her way back to San Jose to finish that surgery the little girl's counting on.
I check my watch. Dani said her flight leaves in two hours, which means my Pulse's likely already long gone. Knowing her, she’d want to head out as soon as she could to get settled before the procedure in a few days.
Probably go through everything that went wrong the first time and getting some practice in before the big day.
I guarantee she's spiraling, overthinking every cut and doubting herself when she shouldn’t.
I pull my phone from my pocket for what has to be the thousandth time, even though I know there won’t be anything there.
We don’t text. We never have. I don’t know whether that’s because she didn’t want that from me, or because she took me at my word the first time that I told her I hated texting.
That I’d rather look someone in the eye and be holding them to say what matters instead of risk saying the wrong thing.
I check my messages anyway. Surprisingly, the screen isn’t blank. There’s a text message from her. Sent thirty minutes ago.
I open it nervously.
Catalina: You rode well tonight.
I smile wide. In Catalina-language, that means she was paying attention. That she still cares about me. That she’s proud of me. I text her back instantly.
Jensen: Thank you. I’m glad you watched. I miss you.
It goes to read immediately, but she doesn’t reply. That’s all right. I’m just glad she was thinking about me.
I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find when I went to her office before my ride.
A sign that she still cared, maybe. Forgiveness.
Reassurance that we weren’t done. I think I’d gotten something better than that.
I saw change in Catalina. I saw perspective.
And I saw her giving me a chance while being at war with her own feelings and fears. I feel a lot better now.
She said she wasn’t going back to her ex.
She said she could forgive me. She also said she knows I wasn't completely to blame for what happened. And that’s enough for now.
I just hope it doesn’t take as long as I told her it might.
Because damn… I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it through the next few months without her.
“So,” Micah says, breaking into my thoughts, “you really staying behind instead of leaving with us tonight?”
“Yeah,” I answer, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Figured I’d grab some tips from Hayes in Whitewood Creek before I fly out to San Diego. He wanted to show me around the farm he and his wife own.”
“Tips?” He chuckles. “Man, you’re riding better than he ever did.”
The way he says it tells me he knows I’m not asking for bull riding lessons.
And he’d be right. I’m not looking for tips on the finals.
I don’t need someone to tell me how to sit on a bull, how to time a kick, how to read the roll of a shoulder or the twitch of a flank strap.
I’ve been doing this long enough to know my way around a ride and a series.
I know what it takes to win as much as Hayes does, and we’ve got the buckles to prove it.
At this point, winning comes down to luck.
Whether it’s riding shotgun with me Saturday night or leaving me in the dirt.
Whether the bull decides to cooperate for eight seconds or decides he’s got something to prove to the crowd.
That’s always been the gamble. However, the wind blows and whatever bull I pick. And just how badly I piss him off.
What I’m really hanging back to talk to Hayes about is something else entirely.
I need tips on how to walk away from this life.
From the wild, fast-paced, reckless, non-committal existence I’ve been living for years.
The one where tomorrow is never guaranteed, and everything feels temporary by design.
I need to know how to do what Hayes did.
How to hang it up without feeling like I’m losing my identity.
How to enter the next phase of my life where I'm no longer the cowboy looking for something to prove; I’m a man who knows his worth outside of the arena.
Hayes was about my age when he retired. Maybe a year younger. At the time, I thought he was crazy ending in his prime. Thought he was quitting too early when there was still money to be made.
I told myself I had another season in me after my surgery. Maybe two.
But the truth is that I think I always knew this was it. After my heart surgery, I needed one more. One last rodeo. One final summer to prove something. Not to the fans. Not to the judges. Not even to the guys. To myself.
To prove it wasn’t my heart that made me consider hanging up the buckle and walking away from the sport I love the most. The sport that gave me purpose, that never made me feel like less—like that little boy wishing a girl would notice him, never feeling smart enough—that sport was never my problem. My heart was.
And not in the physical sense. The heart that I handed over to Catalina without realizing how permanent that kind of thing can be.
“Yeah,” I say finally, meeting Micah’s eyes.
He nods. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t need to. He can tell that these last few rides my mind's been somewhere else, and that's a dangerous thing for us. You get distracted on a bull, and you’re at risk of being severely injured, or worse.
“Ready to go?” Hayes’s voice cuts in as he steps into the locker room. One of the best bull riders to ever do it, and now a respected doctor, standing there like he belongs anywhere he chooses to be. “It was a good ride.”
I shake his hand, firm and steady. I used to respect him as a rider. Now, I’m realizing I respect him as a man even more. It’s easy to walk away when you’re broken. It’s harder when you’re still winning.
More than respect, I envy him. The life he built.
The wife. The kid. The small town that feels like home instead of a pit stop between arenas.
I want all of that. I always have, and I've never been shy about my desire for commitment and a family.
I know now I'll only ever want that with Catalina. I just hope she wants it too someday.
Maybe that’s what I’m really hoping he can teach me tonight. How to build something that proves to her I'm reliable and steady and the guy she should want it all with. Not only impulsive and unpredictable guy who’s been hopping on the back of bulls and calling it a career for two decades.
“Yep,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I follow him out of the locker room, down the long concrete hallway, and toward the mouth of the arena. The noise builds the closer we get. I check my phone again, even though I know there won’t be a response to my last message.
I want to check on Pulse. I want to hear her voice. I want to see her face. Make sure she’s okay. I want to reassure her that she has what she needs inside of her to make this surgery a success.
But she asked for space. And I’m trying like hell to respect that. Even if every instinct in me wants to force my way back into her orbit, I know there are things she needs to do first. Problems she has to carry alone. Wounds I can’t fix for her, no matter how badly I want to.
I just hope that when she’s done—when the dust settles and her world steadies again—she’ll still want me.
Because I’ll be right here... waiting for her.