2. Callie
Chapter 2
Callie
His voice drops like a bomb in the room.
“These two hate each other.”
“Bullshit,” I say, the word slipping out sharp, reflexive. For a second, heat flares in my chest, anger, frustration but it’s gone just as fast, swallowed by something heavier. Confusion. Dread.
“Luke, back off,” Maverick says, voice a warning.
Neither of them corrects me. Neither denies it. They just stand there, Colt clenching his jaw so tight it’s a wonder he can breathe, Maverick wound up like a live wire. Both of them staring anywhere but at each other.
My heart stutters.
I crossed an entire state for this. For them. And now they won’t even look at each other?
“Maverick?” I manage, barely above a whisper. “Colt?”
They still don’t answer.
I glance between them, stomach twisting. The two people I trusted most in the world, who used to finish each other’s sentences, who used to feel like home but now?
Now, they look like strangers.
“What the hell happened to you two?”
What could have possibly changed in eight years to cause… whatever this is? I’m struggling to wrap my head around the fact that Colt looks like he could punch a hole in the wall, and Maverick’s shoulders are drawn so tight I’m surprised they haven’t snapped.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” I say softly, my voice catching. “But… you’re best friends. Aren’t you?”
Colt snorts, sharp and humorless, and mutters something that sounds a lot like, Not friends with that bastard.
“Best friends?” the guy, Luke, says, shoving his hat back on. His rich black skin and warm undertone contrast sharply with the pale khaki of his rolled-up sleeves. He leans in, his voice low and conspiratorial. “They’ve been at it for as long as I’ve known them.” His eyes crinkle with amusement, and he chuckles. “I don’t think they’re capable of getting along.”
I don’t move. I just stand there between them, between Maverick and Colt as silence wraps around us like barbed wire. I glance from one to the other, and for the first time since walking back into their lives, I see it. Really see it.
The distance.
The anger.
The hurt.
My arrogance smacks me straight in the face.
Did I really think I could just show up after eight years and everything would fall back into place?
They don’t look at each other. They don’t look at me. Just two statues carved out of old memories and silent resentment.
When I left, they were brothers in everything but blood. Colt with his reckless grin and go-all-in energy. Maverick with his sharp focus and relentless drive. We were a mess of scraped knees and big dreams, each one of us balancing the other two.
Now, they’re standing like strangers. Enemies.
They don’t answer.
Of course they don’t.
Colt’s expression is a wall of indifference, but his hands are fists at his sides. Maverick just watches me with that unreadable intensity that always used to scare the hell out of other kids and make me laugh.
I take a step back and cross my arms, forcing them to look at me instead of each other.
“I need one of you to please start explaining,” I say, lost in confusion and needing to understand.
They flinch— both of them —like they’ve just been caught breaking a window instead of shattering a ten-year friendship.
Still, silence.
It presses in on us like a weight. I can barely breathe through it.
God, I knew coming back would stir up memories. But this? This is carnage .
I can’t help but wonder. Is this my fault?
If I hadn’t left… would they still be like this? Could I have fixed whatever it is that came between them?
Back then, I packed what little was left of me and buried it under textbooks and dorm rooms and years of silence. I convinced myself it was better that way. Cleaner. Safer.
Telling myself that at least they had each other. That even if I left, even if I missed them so much it hurt, they would be okay. That they’d still be them.
But standing here now, watching the tension vibrate between them, I know that was a lie.
They’re not fine.
And they don’t have each other anymore.
My stomach twists, guilt blooming like a bruise across my ribs.
The only thing keeping me grounded is knowing it’s not too late.
My time here is limited, but I’m going to spend every damn minute of this bull riding season making sure they sort their shit out. That they find their way back to each other.
I can’t stay, not when I know what staying would do to me.
“You two used to be glued together. Now you’re acting like you don’t even recognize each other.”
Our conversation’s cut off when several riders crash into the locker room, breaking the tension between us. The old wooden door slams shut, causing the fluorescent lights to flicker.
The sudden movement jars me, reminding me of the reasons I came back in the first place.
I’ve done a lot of work to come back here. Therapy. Time. Distance.
This season is my last window. I just graduated. I’ve got a job offer waiting in the fall, real life breathing down my neck.
But before I can move on, I needed to come back. To see them. To know they are fine without me. To face the part of myself I left behind when I ran.
I’ve missed them more than I can put into words.
I have just long enough to say goodbye to who we used to be. To lay it all to rest before I step into whatever comes next.
Because when it’s over. When I leave again. These moments are all I’ll have.
“Hello, darlin’,” a man drawls as he saunters over, the cocky tilt of his mouth all too familiar. I vaguely recognize him from watching events on TV. He’s older, a little weathered around the edges, but he’s still wearing the same smug grin that seems stamped onto every bull rider’s face. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Not that I’m complaining.”
I open my mouth to reply, but Maverick cuts in sharply, his voice hard as steel. “Watch it.”
The man raises both hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, didn’t know she was taken.”
And just like that, an idea starts to form. A risky one. If I’m going to get these two to start acting like friends again, I need to force them into situations where they have to be around each other. This guy just handed me a perfect opportunity.
“I’m not,” I say sweetly, flashing my best smile. “We’re friends.”
The tension spikes instantly.
I’m playing with fire, and I know it. Colt and Maverick have never liked sharing my attention. Not when we were kids, and definitely not now. But maybe they need a little push. Maybe I need to rattle them enough to get a reaction.
Colt makes a low sound in his chest, more growl than breath, but he doesn’t argue.
The room goes quiet for a beat, then erupts into rowdy laughter and jabs, the other riders catching on to the shift in energy. It’s like someone flipped a switch. I can practically feel the heat of the unspoken challenge: Who’s going to get the girl?
“In that case,” the stranger says, grinning wider, “you should come out with us. We’re hitting up a local bar. Wouldn’t mind having a pretty face like yours tag along.”
I feel a little like prey, but I can hold my own. They don’t know I grew up around boys just like them. Boys who think they’re all that just because they had a good ride.
I know my plan will work when I catch Colt and Maverick glaring at the guy, arms crossed, jaws tight. Well, at least one thing still brings them together, and I’m going to use it to my advantage.
“I’m in,” I say easily, swinging my hair back over my shoulder. “Meet you outside?”
“I don’t think so,” Colt says, stepping forward. His hand lands gently but firmly on my shoulder, and when I look up, I meet those sky-blue eyes of his, like a punch to the gut. My stomach tightens, but I force myself not to get swept up in it.
Stepping away, I shoot him a mischievous smile. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you.”
Maverick goes to say something, but I shake my head, pushing the door open. “You can keep whatever you were about to say to yourself too.”
The door swings shut behind me with a satisfying click .
I hesitate for half a second, tempted to press my ear to the wood as a flurry of muffled voices breaks out on the other side. They’re probably trying to figure out who I am and what the hell just happened.
Instead, I move through the maze of corridors, past rows of gear and echoes of the past, and out the back toward the trucks.
Time to stir the pot.
I lean against the hitching rail, boots scuffing the ground as I set a three-minute timer on my phone. If Colt and Maverick are anything like they used to be, that’s all it’ll take.
While I wait, my thumb hovers over my mom’s latest message.
Mom: How are you doing, sweetheart. I know this is hard on you.
Me: All good here. Made it in time to see Colt and Maverick’s rides.
Mom: They did well. Tell them both I say hi.
She still doesn’t watch the events live. Instead, waits for the results and then watches a recording. If it were up to her, she probably wouldn’t watch at all, but as the owner of Harper Ridge Ranch, it’s her job to stay informed.
Mom: You sure you’re okay? I know your therapist said it was a good idea, but I’m still not sure.
Me: You promised me you’d trust me this summer. I’ll be fine.
I’ll be fine … I type it with more confidence than I feel. Coming back was something I needed to do, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the shit out of me. Not that I’ll tell her that.
Mom: You’re right. You’re all grown up now. I love you, kiddo. Just take care of yourself.
Me: Always do. Love you too.
Mom: Text me when you get back to your motel.
Mom: Alone.
I roll my eyes, because of course she’d tack that on. She’s never hidden what she thinks about bull riders. Nothing but a bunch of reckless, arrogant boys who wouldn’t know how to put a woman first if their lives depended on it. To them, becoming a champion isn’t just a goal. It’s the ultimate high. Nothing and no one will ever come before winning that gold buckle.
She doesn’t need to warn me. My dad already taught me what happens when you fall in love with a bull rider.
“You promised to quit when Callie was born.” My mom’s pleading voice still echoes in my memories. I’d overheard my parents repeatedly having the same argument. Back then, I’d been naive enough to take my dad’s side, convinced she was trying to take away something that mattered to him.
“Just one more.” Dad cups her chin, drawing her attention.
My mom’s gaze searches his, hoping he’s telling the truth. “You’ve been saying that for years.”
“This time, I really mean it.” He places a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Just like that, all the fight washes out of her. “Do you promise?”
“I promise, sweetheart. One more ride and I’m done. Then you won’t know what to do with me. You’ll be complaining that I’m under your feet all the time.”
I can still hear the laugh she gave, full of relief, like he’d finally untied a knot she’d been carrying in her chest for years.
I didn’t understand then, but I do now.
The heartbreak of loving someone who chooses danger over family.
My dad knew she was terrified every time he got on a bull, knew it was tearing her apart. She begged him to stop. If not for her, then for me. And he promised. Over and over, he promised.
But in the end, those promises didn’t matter.
In the end, my dad chose the ride.
He kept competing until the day he was killed. Trampled in the arena while we watched it happen on TV.
My mom’s gut-wrenching screams as she watched the love of her life bleed out still haunt my dreams.
So no. I don’t need to be told what happens when you get too close to a bull rider.
I already know.
When my dad died in the arena, something inside me shattered. Not just because I lost him. But because in that moment, I understood, really understood that he never chose us. Not me. Not my mom. Not the promises he made about quitting.
He said one more ride a hundred times. He told us he’d walk away after the circuit, after the season. After nationals.
He never meant it.
And when the bull bucked him and he didn’t get up, I realized what had always been true.
The bulls came first. The ride came first. It always did, and it always will.
I breathe through the ache in my chest until it settles into something dull, manageable. I’ve had years to practice pushing it down. I decided long ago, I was never going to beg anyone to give up riding. Because how can I expect anyone else to choose me when my own father wouldn’t?
That’s why, when Maverick and Colt told me they were serious about competing, I did the only thing I could.
I ran.
Maverick comes out with Colt hot on his heels, his voice heated as he says, “She’s coming with me.”
“Like hell she is,” Colt responds just in time for my alarm to go off.
“Perfect timing.” Smiling at the way matching creases form between their brows, I turn off the alarm and tuck my phone into my back pocket.
“Tell him you’re coming with me,” Colt says, then instantly backs off at the look I give him. “I mean, will you please ride with me?”
My breath comes out unevenly as I chuckle, taking them in then it catches in my throat. So much was happening earlier that I didn’t get a chance to really look at them. And now, standing side by side under the setting sun, I’m not sure I’ll recover from this.
There’s handsome , and then there’s… this . Them.
Colt’s all sun-soaked charm and magnetism. Those blue eyes and that dimple could coax the panties off a nun.
Then there’s Maverick quiet, controlled, unwavering. There’s a steadiness in him that makes you feel safe without even trying. When his dark eyes meet mine, half-hidden beneath the messy fall of brown hair, there’s depth there, a hint of something that tempts me to dig deeper and uncover all of his secrets.
They’re opposites. Sun and moon. Fire and water. Yet somehow, always orbiting each other.
And right now? They’re both looking at me .
Their attention on me sends an electric shiver dancing down my spine, sparking a tingling sensation.
I always did have a secret crush on them. How could I not when they were… them ?
It’s painfully clear time hasn’t changed a damn thing.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to get full of myself,” Colt teases.
Heat climbs up my neck, coloring my cheeks, but I can’t seem to look away. Their gazes stay locked on me, long lashes lowered just enough to veil their expressions, but not enough to hide the pull between us. It feels like a rope drawn tight, humming in the space between us.
“Like you aren’t already,” I murmur, swallowing hard. This is not how we feel about our friends.
Colt tilts his head, grin deepening, that damn dimple appearing again. “I could be worse.”
“Jesus Christ, let the girl breathe,” Luke says as he walks out, arriving just in time to break the spell. My relief must show on my face because he turns to me with open arms. “You can hug me as a thank-you.”
“Not a chance,” Maverick snaps, his voice low and rough.
His whole energy shifts, darker, more intense, as his gaze drags from me to Colt. There’s tension in every line of his body.
We’re at a standstill, no one moving, like we’re all waiting for something to drop.
I nod once, mostly to myself. “Okay. Fine. You hate each other. Great. But I didn’t come back to walk into the middle of some pissing contest. I came back to see you. Both of you. And while I’m here, you’re going to act like you don’t loathe each other’s existence. Got it?”
They don’t respond.
But they don’t say no either.
I take that as a win.
This isn’t over. Not even close.
But I’ve got time.
Time to remind them of who we were.
Time to fix what I broke.
And if I can’t?
At least I’ll know I tried.