Reckless Hearts (Reckless Love #1)

1. Colt

Chapter 1

Colt

Two thousand pounds of raging animosity twists and bucks between my thighs. My body’s coiled tight, every muscle locked and straining. I force myself to loosen up, to move with the bull instead of fighting him in a brutal ballet of instinct and grit. Each jolt threatens to send me flying, but I hang on.

It feels like flying, falling, and breaking all at once.

For these eight seconds, nothing matters but the connection between us. Every moment is an eternity, stretching and bending under the force of the ride. Sweat stings my eyes, mixing with the grit of the arena, and turns the world into a muted haze.

The best riders know, it’s not a fight. It’s a dance. And the bull leads.

My thighs burn, and the rope scorches my palm as Rampage kicks high, his rear legs reaching for the sky before he dips hard to throw me. I lose everything except the rhythm between us, fierce and unrelenting.

Time stretches, and the world grows quiet as each heartbeat pounds louder in my ears. Pure instinct takes over my body as I let myself go with him.

I pour everything I have into the final seconds. These endless, glorious, impossible seconds.

Then I see him. Maverick, waiting in the chute, tension crackling through the air as his gaze fixes on me with unsettling intensity. My focus, my determination, my bitterness. It all crashes together like a storm. I ride harder, fire burning in my chest, because I know he’s waiting to see if I’ll fail.

The bell goes off, marking my victory, but the milliseconds of distraction give the bull all it needs to throw me like a rag doll. My body’s weightless for a moment before I slam hard into the ground. The air rips from my lungs, pain sparking bright and white. Years of practice kick in and I roll fast, just in time to avoid a hoof to the ribs. The beast would like nothing more than to kill me, and I left myself wide open.

Hands pull me up and away, dust-coated and breathless. Bullfighters work together, taunting the beast into his pen. They save more lives than any of us can count. They’ve earned our respect ten times over.

It’s not until the gate closes that my senses return. The noise is staggering, the cheer of the crowd a wild, victorious thing that wraps around me. I look up to the sky, panting and alive, and let the triumphant, reckless surge carry me.

Cocky now, I turn toward the chutes. It’s chaos, wranglers shouting, riders settling onto their bulls. I don’t bother hiding my smirk as I find Maverick, daring him to do better.

He doesn’t look worried.

He looks satisfied . Like he’s proud of himself for getting in my head enough to almost get me trampled.

Heat crawls up my neck. My ears burn. Getting distracted like that was humiliating.

Knowing he was the reason? Fucking mortifying.

They announce my name over the speakers, and the bitter twist in my gut is replaced by electricity. Victory pulses through me, humming under my skin.

Bull riding is taunting death and walking away grinning. It’s the closest thing I’ll ever feel to invincibility.

Dust grits between my teeth as I smile, lifting my wide-brimmed hat high above my head to wave to the crowd.

Half of them cheer. The other half groan. Money changes hands in the stands, some spectators ecstatic, some licking their wounds. The fact that they were hoping I’d get crushed isn’t lost on me.

I dip my head to Rampage, still glaring from his pen. His fury earned us forty-five out of fifty points on top my own. In bull riding, both rider and bull are scored. Without him, my ride wouldn’t have meant shit. Every rider depends on the wildness of the animal beneath him.

I needed these points to rise up in the ranks, now three spots from the top. It’s proof that I’m still in this fight, still here despite it all. Annoyance threatens to take over, and I force myself not to search for Maverick, who’s ranked one spot above me.

Letting myself get hung up on that bullshit will only screw with my head, when I need every ounce of concentration to move me forward. Anything can happen during the circuit.

Nothing matters but the next bull. The next ride. The next win.

I duck under the railing and make my way through the bustling maze behind the arena, still vibrating from the ride, adrenaline sparking in every muscle. Metal gates clang. Voices echo. Sweat and dirt sting my nostrils.

I spot a kid hovering ahead. A gangly teen, wide-eyed, clutching a rodeo program to his chest. Must be working for a rider. No fans allowed back here.

“Mr. Lawson.” He steps forward, his words awkward but hopeful. “Can you sign my hat?”

“Sure thing, kid,” I say, feeling the lingering high from my performance seep into my voice, making it warm and easy as I scrawl my name across the brim.

“That ride was insane !” The kid’s enthusiasm is infectious, pulling a grin from me despite the exhaustion creeping into my bones.

“Keep cheering for me, you hear?” I laugh, tousling the kid’s hair, earning a toothy grin from him.

“I will, sir! Maverick Kane doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

I stiffen, then place the hat on his head, giving it a little squeeze. “He sure as hell doesn’t. Stay out of trouble.”

The kid beams and nods. “Will do!”

A few more people stop me, congratulating me on my ride. Their voices overlap like a chorus.

“Thought that bull was gonna eat you alive, Colt!”

“You showed ’em!”

“Damn good ride!”

I nod and smile, letting their words wash over me, feeling the exhilaration stretch into a satisfying ache. My body’s sore and bruised, each step a reminder of the wild dance with the bull, but I keep moving toward the dressing room, where I’ll be able to catch my breath.

Bone-deep exhaustion is settling in by the time I push through the swinging locker room door. My hat’s pulled low, my neck too tired to hold my head up. That fall definitely took a toll on my body, and it’s making itself known.

Then I hear it, a soft chuckle.

I freeze at the sound of the sweetest voice I haven’t heard in years, and my head snaps up, and there she is. “Oh fuck.”

She gives me a shy, tentative smile. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Callie Harper.

Her back’s against a wooden beam, trying and failing to look casual. Her hands fidget, wringing together as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Eight years.

I blink, trying to breathe past the punch to the chest her presence delivers.

“Callie?” Her name comes out like a question, laced with disbelief.

She finally looks at me. Those hazel eyes. God, those eyes, warm, familiar, devastating.

The sight of her here, in this world we once shared, knocks the wind out of me more than any bull ever has.

The woman in front of me, because that’s what she is now. All curves and seduction. Every inch of her calling to be touched. Her copper hair spilling out from beneath a black Stetson like something out of a dream I never expected to wake up to.

The last time I saw her, she was fourteen in a sundress, disappearing into the back of a black town car leaving a hole in my chest where she used to be.

I understood why she had to leave. Her dad had just died. She needed space.

I just didn’t think it would be forever.

“Are you just gonna stare at me, or are you gonna say hello?” Her voice wobbles at the end, like she’s not sure she belongs here.

“Hello,” I say dumbly.

God, I sound like an idiot.

Reduced to a singular word, still stunned, not quite sure if she’s actually here or if I hit my head harder than I thought. I’ve waited for her over the years, expecting her to come back from school for the summer. But she never did. If those memories of our friendship hadn’t been seared into me, I would have thought I made them up. There was a time Callie and Maverick had been like family. Now, even the thought of Maverick twists my stomach and makes me want to throw shit.

Her gaze darts around the room, landing everywhere but on mine, her teeth sinking into her lip. “I know it’s been a while… I probably should have let you know I was coming. If you’re busy, I get it.”

“Busy? Are you kidding me?” I ask, incredulous.

Fuck. I don’t know how she got it into her head that I’d be anything less than ecstatic to see her, but I’m going to end that right now.

She smiles, small, uncertain and for a second, I see the girl who used to drag Maverick and me into trouble with nothing but a grin and a dare. It hasn’t faded. It’s still there, just buried under nerves.

Before she can second-guess herself, I’m already moving.

“Geez, Callie,” I mutter, striding over.

I wrap my arms around her and lift her off the ground in a tight, full-body hug. My ribs scream. My shoulder protests.

I don’t give a damn.

She’s real. She’s here.

And I’m not letting go.

I don’t even know what I say after that just a rush of words, awe, and disbelief spilling out of me. I can’t stop touching her. Can’t stop looking.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Had to finally see you ride for myself.”

“When did you get here? How long are you staying? How have you been?”

It’s like every question that’s been building up explodes from me. Suddenly, that young boy’s hurt comes forward before I can stop it. “Why—why didn’t you come back?”

Rich hazel eyes glisten. Her hands tremble on my shoulders. But she doesn’t get the chance to answer.

Because then Maverick walks in.

And everything changes.

His boots scuff against the floor, halting just inside the doorway.

Maverick’s gaze lands on us, on her and the sound he makes isn’t a word, just a sharp, audible inhale that slices through the air like a whip.

He freezes, eyes wide, locked on Callie like she’s a ghost he never thought he’d see again. His steps stutter when he finally moves, cautious and slow, like approaching a wild animal.

His expression darkens as the pieces click into place, her arms around me , my hand low on her back, the way she fits against my chest like she’s never belonged anywhere else.

And yeah, I smirk.

Petty? Maybe. He’s ahead of me in the rankings, but she came to me first.

The satisfaction is short-lived.

“Callie?” His voice is rougher than usual, a little raw, a little shaken. Vulnerable in a way I haven’t heard in years.

Annoyance flares in my chest.

Of course he has the same reaction. The same stupid, stunned awe. As kids, she was the sun we both revolved around. Looks like that hasn’t changed either.

“Hi,” she says quietly, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to say more.

His head tilts as he searches her expression, reading what’s left unsaid. A line forms between his brows, as unhappy as I am with the way she’s unsure of herself with us.

Then he smiles, soft and full of wonder. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? What are you waiting for? Come give me a hug.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

She runs to him.

Runs.

My jaw tightens as he lifts her easily, pulling her into his arms like he’s done it a thousand times. One boot slides back to steady himself, and then she’s there, wrapped around him. His hand cradles her face, thumb sweeping gently across her cheek before he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

I stand rooted, the corridor’s noise fading as I watch them. That old dynamic of the three of us tangled up in ways no one else ever quite understood. It’s right here. Raw. Real.

We were always like this. Years of running wild on her family’s ranch, sneaking into the hayloft, falling asleep in a tangle of limbs after long days in the sun. Half the time, Callie was asleep on Maverick’s shoulder or poking at my ribs with her frozen toes, giggling while we tried to push her off the couch. It was messy and close and loud, and somehow, it always made sense.

Maverick shakes his head and pulls back a little but doesn’t let her go. His usually guarded demeanor cracks wide open, and the questions pour out of him, just like they did from me.

Callie doesn’t miss the similarities, glancing over her shoulder at me with a sparkle in her eyes. “Easy,” she laughs. “I will answer all of your questions. For now, I’m just happy to see you.”

My muscles lock up again when he keeps his hands on her waist a second too long. His palm spans the whole damn width of her back, and I hate how right it looks.

He meets my eyes.

There it is. The unspoken standoff.

No words. Just heat and history crackling in the space between us. What used to be friendship has curdled into rivalry in public and resentment in private. Quiet betrayals. Loud silences. All of it simmers beneath the surface as we stare each other down.

Callie shifts away, her brows drawn together as she glances between us. Her expression pinches. “What’s happening between you two?”

That’s right. She’s been gone so long she doesn’t know.

Doesn’t know how he threw me away for the sport like our years together didn’t mean a damn thing. Like I was just some stepping stone he could crush on the way to the top.

And the worst part? He walks around like he doesn’t get why I’m still pissed. Like I didn’t bleed for him too.

When Callie left, I lost her. But when Mav chose bull riding over everything else. We lost us.

We’ve been like this ever since. Two unmovable walls. No point trying to talk through it. Not when he still doesn’t think he did anything wrong.

Maverick raises an eyebrow.

I shrug.

“Same as ever,” I say, letting the bitterness slip into my tone. It’s not subtle. It’s not meant to be.

Callie’s brow furrows. She looks between us, clearly lost, like she’s walked into a story that kept going without her.

“Maverick Lincoln Kane and Colt Wyatt Lawson…” Her voice wavers, less a crack of thunder now, more a quiet plea. “How did it get like this?”

She stands between us, hands on her hips like she’s trying to summon the old fire, trying to be the girl who used to keep us in line.

The only one who could tame two reckless boys who thought they were untouchable.

But we fell apart without her.

Neither of us answers.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, because there’s no good place to start.

How do we explain that the boys she once knew don’t exist anymore?

That we’re men now. Wounded, angry, and competitive to the point of self-destruction?

That we burned the bridge between us and danced in the ashes?

“Didn’t you know?” Luke Williams drawls from the open doorway, perfectly timed. “These two hate each other.”