50. Callie
Chapter 50
Callie
The crowd is deafening. The kind of roar that makes your bones vibrate, even from the safety of a VIP seat. I haven’t watched a single ride in over a month, but this is different. This is the championship. This is for the buckle. Everything they’ve been working for culminates into one event.
Excitement glints in the riders’ eyes. That feeling like anything is possible. Some of them are still gunning for that buckle, while others are just excited to be here. Unlike the usual small-town setups where it’s just bulls, riders, and bleachers, this arena’s enormous. The dome ceiling is sealed above us, making the noise twice as loud.
I watch as the top five riders are announced one by one, each stepping forward to the center of the dirt. Smoke cannons blast. Indoor fireworks spit sparks ten feet into the air behind them. Colt’s got that cocky mask on, the one he saves for moments like this, when everyone’s watching and he wants to remind them exactly who the hell he is.
Maverick’s the opposite, storm clouds and laser focus, jaw tight.
Even from here, I can tell they’re searching.
Their gazes sweep the crowd, sliding past VIPs and cameras and the hum of the arena until they find me.
Just like that, the act drops.
Colt’s grin shifts to something real, crooked and boyish.
Maverick’s scowl breaks, just a fraction, his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile he doesn’t want the cameras to catch.
The world zooms in like the noise dims and the crowd fades, and for one breathless second, it’s just us.
Possessiveness hits hard, fast and unforgiving. Because these boys are mine. Whether I deserve to call them that or not. Somehow, in some way, they’ve always been mine. And they’ll always be mine, no matter what.
Eight years apart taught me I needed closure, or I’d never stop thinking about them. This summer was supposed to be about making peace and saying goodbye. I was so naive to think I could show up here, spend a little time, and not give them a piece of myself. One that’ll rip me apart when I leave.
While I’m lost in my head, the riders disappear back into the tunnels, back to the chutes to get ready.
A few rides go by. Some good. Some bad. A lot of dirt gets eaten. At least no broken bones yet.
Anxiety skitters across my skin like static, crawling and everywhere at once. My heart punches at my ribs in uneven beats, like it’s trying to claw its way out. My fists clench in my lap, trying to breathe through it. In. Out. In. Out. But my lungs feel too tight, like the air can’t reach the bottom.
Maverick’s name blares from the speakers, and every nerve in my body lights up like a struck match.
I knew this was coming. It’s why I’m here. But that doesn’t stop the tremor that starts in my head and rolls all the way to my toes. The cheer that erupts is deafening. Maverick fucking Kane. Untouchable, unshakable, sitting on top of the leaderboard, but he’d be the first to remind everyone not to count Colt out.
God, that interview. Watching him defend Colt, hearing the quiet fury in his voice, the loyalty… undid me.
His face appears on the jumbotron. It’s at least fifteen feet tall and twenty feet wide. The camera zooms in until I can see his lashes, the creases in his sun-tanned eyes. He’s calm, steady, breathing in an even rhythm. I match it without thinking.
I can almost hear him, that low promise against my skin: “You’re okay, Wildflower.” And when he holds me like that, I believe him.
He runs through his checks. Strap. Glove. Grip. Each movement precise. Controlled. He’s doing everything he can to make this safe, even though it never is. Not really.
My hands fly to my face, pressing to my eyes like I can block out the whole world, like maybe if I can’t see it, I can’t lose him.
Eight seconds stretch into eternity.
The announcer calls out the end of the ride, but my palms are still glued over my eyes, like if I lift them too soon, I’ll see something I can’t unsee.
A calm, warm voice beside me cuts through the panic. “He made it through just fine.”
I turn to the woman. I’ve been too busy freaking out to notice her until now and blink at her in wide-eyed surprise.
She’s stunning.
Golden waves tumble over her shoulders, and her eyes are a clear, bright green. There’s something about her. She’s calm, grounded, welcoming. Like she knows exactly what it’s like to be in my shoes and isn’t in any rush to make me explain it.
She offers me a water bottle like we’ve known each other for years. “Here. Drink. Helps more than you think.”
Her tone is low and even, the kind people use when they don’t want to scare something skittish.
I accept the water with a muttered “Thanks” and take a long sip. The coolness is a shock, but so is the way my panic starts to dull around the edges, like her voice is smoothing out all the ragged parts of me.
“First time watching someone you love ride?” she asks, still in that even, reassuring tone.
I huff a quiet laugh. “If only it were that simple.”
She tilts her head, clearly curious, but she doesn’t press. Just nods, then pivots to something easier. “I’m Mia.”
“Callie.” I shake her hand, awkward and too aware of how tightly I’m still clutching the water bottle.
She doesn’t seem to mind, just smiles and keeps talking, like this isn’t strange at all. “So, who are you rooting for?”
“Colt and Maverick.”
Her brow lifts, and her lips twitch. “The rivals?”
I twist my fingers in my lap, the heat crawling up my neck. My brain immediately floods with memories that have nothing to do with rivalry. Maverick’s hand gripping Colt’s thigh, Colt’s low moan echoing against my neck, the way they moved together until I couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began. My face ignites, heat crawling up my neck until I can feel it all the way up to my ears.
Mia watches me closely, then grins. “Oh. So it’s like that.”
I open my mouth. Close it again. Try to find the words, but they scramble. “I mean—sort of. Yeah. We’re… together.”
“First time saying that out loud?”
I pause. “Technically second. If you count a group of girls in a gas station parking lot.”
She laughs, and the sound is light, not mocking. “These two”—she nods toward the men seated beside her—“are mine.”
My brows rise, reaching for my hairline. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she says brightly. “This one’s River.” She pats the thigh of the dark-haired, brooding man beside her. “And this charmer with the dimples is Alex.”
Both men glance over at me, curiosity in their expressions, but their attention never strays far from Mia.
“I’ve never met another throuple before,” I admit, still a little stunned.
She giggles. “And isn’t that a shame?”
I choke on a laugh because… yeah. It kind of is.
She chirps happily as she introduces them, telling me how they’re here to cheer on a friend who switched from hockey to bull riding. How they both play in the NHL, that they’ve been together for several years, and that she couldn’t imagine life without them. It’s all said so casually, like love like that is the most natural thing in the world.
The way Mia says it, like love that big isn’t rare or reckless, makes my chest ache.
I shift in my seat, pulse still fluttering beneath my ribs, but it’s not fear anymore. It’s the weight of wanting something I’m scared I don’t deserve.
“How did you make that work?” I ask, no filter. But Mia just smiles, easy and unbothered.
“Lots of talking. And a little stubbornness.” Her expression turns soft. “I cared about them so much I thought protecting them meant letting them go. Turns out, love doesn’t need protecting when you accept it for all that it is.”
There’s something about her open honesty that’s grounding. Even though we’re strangers, it makes me feel like I can tell her anything.
For some reason… I do.
The words pour out before I can stop them. Every worry that’s been stacking in my chest this summer spills out of my mouth in one breathless rush. The fear. The guilt. Everything that happened with my dad. The way he never chose us. No matter how many times he promised. The ache of knowing I’m falling—or, let’s face it, fell —in love with two men whose first love will always be this sport.
Who would risk everything for the ride. Who have risked everything before.
Mia doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t flinch. Just listens, her gaze steady on mine. She nods along, gives quiet hums of understanding, like she’s holding space for every jagged piece I hand her.
When I finally stop talking, my lungs feel tight, but my shoulders are lighter.
She places a hand over my wrist. “So let me get this straight. The three of you were best friends until your dad died in a bull riding accident. That trauma made you terrified to get close to anyone who rides, so you disappeared for eight years. You came back because staying away hurt too much, and you needed closure, needed to say goodbye. But somewhere along the way, the friendship turned into something more. And now you’re scared to ask if they’d ever give it up for you.”
Well, when you wrap it up that way… I nod, biting the inside of my cheek.
Then her boyfriend Alex leans forward. “Your dad was a fucking asshole, if you ask me.”
“Alex.” River elbows him, a sigh in his tone like this is regular behavior that he’s learned to put up with.
“What? It’s true. He promised he’d quit and then died doing the one thing he swore he wouldn’t. Sounds like selfish bullshit to me.”
My brain stutters, and I have no idea how to respond. No one’s ever talked about my dad’s death without romanticizing it. People love the notion that he died doing what he loved, like it somehow made it all okay.
Alex doesn’t take his side and doesn’t sugarcoat exactly what he thinks of my dad. Finally having someone understand, to acknowledge what he cost me, twists my gut, sending a wave of nausea up my throat. Ever since that day, I’ve never dared hope that I was worth choosing.
“See?” Alex says, looking smug. “She gets it.”
“Not sure that look means she gets it,” River mutters, but Mia continues like she’s heard it all before.
She squeezes my wrist gently. “So now you’re here, and leaving feels like tearing your own heart out, but asking them to choose you over the arena feels like stepping off a cliff and they’ll jump off with you.”
My throat tightens. “Exactly.”
“Are you ready for some tough love?”
No … “Yeah.”
“Why?” Her question is blunt.
It cuts sharper than I expect, and I lay it out there for her to dissect. “Because bull riding isn’t just something they do—it’s who they are. It’s in their blood, their bones. It’s the goddamn sun they’ve built their whole world around since they were kids. What kind of selfish idiot would I be to ask them to walk away from that for me?”
Mia doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t you think it’s a bit selfish not to give them that choice?”
Stunned, all I can do is blink.
“From the way they both lit up when they saw you up here?” Mia’s voice is gentle, but her words land sharply. “I’d bet everything they love you. That kind of love—real love—it doesn’t come around more than once.”
She glances toward the men beside her with tenderness.
“You know that, don’t you? Isn’t that why you came back?”
She gives me a second just long enough for the weight of it to settle.
“I say jump. Take that leap off the cliff, and give them the chance to catch you.”
God, I want to, but every time I inch toward believing it, my dad’s voice slips in, filled with easy confidence, full of promises he never kept.
I’ll quit next after this championship. I just need one more shot. One last ride.
He was like a gambling addict, but instead of money, it was his life on the line and the future I didn’t get a chance to have with him.
“ My dad loved us.” My voice breaks, unsteady. “I know he did, but he still didn’t choose us. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. How am I supposed to believe anyone else ever could?”
“If you don’t ask, you lose either way,” she says gently.
I swallow hard. “What if they don’t?”
“What if they do?” she counters, her voice still calm, still kind.
I look down at my hands, clenched tight in my lap. “It’s complicated. They love riding.”
“Callie, listen to me. Wanting to be with someone with people who don’t risk their lives every time they go to work? That’s not selfish. That’s valid. This isn’t about asking too much. It’s about knowing what you need. You’ve spent so long treating your boundaries like they’re flaws, but they’re not.”
She leans in, voice steady. “Everything you’re afraid of could still be true. They could love the sport more. They could say no. But it would still be worth asking. Because not asking? That guarantees you lose.”
I sit there, breath caught as my lungs compress. Hope is a dangerous thing, but for the first time, that flame my own father snuffed out flickers back to life.
“Believe me, I understand. Fear almost cost me everything,” Mia says. “I’ll be damned if I sit by quietly and let that happen to someone else.”
Alex squeezes her knee, River presses a kiss to her temple, and all I can think is:
I want that.