48. Colt
Chapter 48
Colt
The press tent buzzes with the usual noise: camera shutters, caffeine-fueled whispers, the hum of too many voices pretending to be polite.
It smells like dust, leather, and nerves. I lean into it like always.
Rolled sleeves, soft-worn jeans, brace still visible under the denim.
I take my seat behind the mic, flashing that dimpled, easy grin they all eat up. Country-boy charm dialed just right. Enough cockiness to remind them who I am, who I still am, even if I haven’t been on a bull in weeks.
This weekend will be the second event I’ve missed since we got back from the ranch, and it’s eating me alive.
No one here needs to see that though.
Like sharks smelling blood in the water, they start in, not wasting a second before they take a bite.
Are you worried about reinjury? Do you think your riding style contributed to the injury? How’s the leg?
I answer with the same charm I’ve always used to keep the media happy.
“Aww. You worried about me?” I lean into the mic, voice smooth as butter. “Leg’s not as bad as you all seem to think.”
“You’ve been out for a while. Will you ride again this season?”
“I’ll be ready for the championship,” I say, letting my voice curl into a confident drawl. “That’s what matters, right?”
What if I’m not ready? The thought weighs on me less than I thought it would.
The next question turns the tide, really going for blood now, aiming for the kill shot to get that juicy headline.
“What about Maverick Kane pulling further ahead while you’ve been benched? Considering your… history, that’s gotta sting.”
I stiffen before I can stop myself, but I school it quickly, raising a brow, sitting back like I’ve got all the time in the world.
“Mav’s always been a strong rider,” I say evenly. “He deserves the lead, but you better believe I’m going to take it from him.”
“Last question,” the marketing coordinator says, holding up her hand.
Tension eases from my shoulders, grateful for the save. Don’t think I could take much more of this.
Displeasure rumbles through the crowd, but they know the rules, and they know what happens if they break them.
She points at our reporter from Rodeo Weekly , and I have to fight against clenching my teeth. He’s always been a little weasel.
“You say that, but your odds are mighty slim now. That’s got to be getting to you.” His smile is cutting. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Fucking asshole.
I take a beat, then lean into the country-boy bravado on the outside, shoving down the fury underneath.
“I wouldn’t bet against me just yet. We all know the championship is where it counts.”
There are enough points in that one tournament that leads are won and lost every year. Someone can come in as a favorite and not make it out on the other side.
I search myself for the ruthlessness that’s always burned hot. The drive to take Maverick down, no matter the cost, and I find it missing.
My gaze sweeps the crowd, landing on Callie. There’s no sweet sunshine in her now. She’s staring down the reporter like she’s ready to take him out and hide the body somewhere out back.
A genuine smile hits my lips at the gleam and fire in my girl’s eyes.
If looks could kill, he’d already be six feet under.
The attention shifts to where Maverick’s sitting in front of a mic, being interviewed by a different circle of reporters.
He’s giving his standard stoic, no-bullshit answers in that short-clip tone of his, the kind that doesn’t waste a single word, but when my name comes up, his voice cuts across the space like a damn whip crack.
“He’s not out of the race,” Maverick says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Not even close. You don’t write off a man like Colt Lawson. Not unless you’re ready to eat your words in front of a stadium.”
The air shifts.
Maverick’s always been calm, unshakable in front of the press. Now, there’s an edge to his voice, and the tendons in his neck stand out.
A brave reporter speaks up. “You’ve got to admit, you’ve got this in the bag whether he comes back or not.”
Maverick just looks straight into the cameras like he means every damn word. “If I want to be the best, I have to compete against the best. There’s not a man in this tent I’d rather face in the arena,” Mav replies. Sharp. Calm. Fiercely loyal. “Because when Colt rides, the rest of us are just trying to keep up.”
It’s not a sound bite.
It’s a statement of fact.
The words hit me harder than I expected. Not because they’re flattering, but because they’re real.
Maverick’s not just backing me.
He just declared his respect. Publicly.
He just showed everyone that if anybody wants to take me down, they’ll have to go through him too.
I meet Callie’s eyes. She’s biting the corner of her lip, giving me an all-knowing smirk, like she’s known this version of Maverick all along.
I sigh and shake my head, because of course she has.
She’s been pushing us together since the day she came back.
They finally give the signal that Maverick’s done, and the reporters thin out.
I make my way toward him, trying to keep my cool, but my throat’s thick with emotion, slurring my words.
“What the hell was that?” I say with fake indignation.
I’m sure happiness is written all over my face.
Maverick keeps his voice low, just for us. “Had to set the record straight.”
I look away as the heat crawls up my neck, flushing my cheeks. I mumble, “Appreciate it.”
He shifts, stepping into my line of sight, gaze locking with mine like he’s trying to brand the words into me.
“You’re not out of this, Colt. I meant everything I said.”
It’s a rush. A tidal wave. An electric current snapping straight through my chest.
Every doubt I’ve been dragging behind me disappears under the weight of that stare.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Callie’s shoulder bumps into mine. “You two done flirting? I’m hungry.”
Suddenly, I’m starving, and it has nothing to do with lunch.
Maverick darkens, his thumb running along his bottom lip.
He’s thinking the same thing I am.
“Fucking ravenous.” Lust drips from my tongue.
Callie swallows hard, her cheeks a pretty pink. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” I wrap my fingers around her waist and tug her closer to me, dropping my mouth to her ear. “Yeah, oh. ”