24. BECKETT
BECKETT
The fairgrounds hum with the kind of restless energy I used to live for.
The smell of dust, leather, and fried food hangs heavy over the arena.
Kids are darting between legs, balloons bobbing in the sunlight, as the announcer’s voice crackles through the loudspeakers, booming about the schedule of events.
For years I’ve stood outside of this, shut out, banned and whispered about.
Now, standing here with my number pinned to my shirt, I feel every set of eyes on me.
I roll my shoulders back, trying to loosen the knot that’s been sitting in my gut all morning.
It’s just a charity ride, I remind myself.
I’m not chasing points, not chasing glory.
But it doesn’t matter, because it’s my first time back in the chute since they threw me out.
Every sound is sharper, every smell stronger.
The only consolation I have is that my family is here with me.
The Morgans don’t just show up—they show out.
My old man is already working the crowd, shaking hands with ranchers, laughing that deep belly laugh of his that carries over the arena.
People respect him. Hell, they always have.
Him standing here with me today says more than I could ever ask for.
“Son,” my father grips my shoulder when I pass him. His voice is steady, proud. “It doesn’t matter how long you last on that bronc. Just get on, ride clean, and hold your head high. That’s all anyone needs to see.”
It’s not much, but coming from him, it might as well be a standing ovation. I nod, swallowing hard, but my throat still feels dry.
“Don’t look so nervous,” Jace says, clapping me on the back. “It’s for charity, not a damn world title.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, adjusting the strap of my glove. “You weren’t the one who got paraded out of here in handcuffs last time.”
He gives me a look—half stern, half brotherly—before smirking. “Fair point. But you’ve worked your ass off to be here. Don’t let the past steal this from you.”
Zane joins us, a bit tanner than when he left for his honeymoon, looking more smug than a man has any right to. “Try not to eat dirt, brother. Ava already made me promise not to laugh too loud if you do.”
“Appreciate the support,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. But the grin slips out anyway.
And Ava—of course she couldn’t just sit pretty in the stands.
The announcer calls her name, and the crowd goes wild when she steps into the arena, mic in hand.
She’s dazzling in jeans, one of Zane’s shirts to hide her ever-growing belly, cowboy boots, and a hat.
She gives the crowd an electric performance from one of her albums, voice smooth and confident.
The kids scream, the ranch wives clap along, and even the old-timers who usually only care about livestock are whistling. Zane is staring at her, entranced—his superstar wife who can turn a rodeo arena into a damn concert stage with nothing but a smile, all while seven months pregnant.
I shake my head, muttering under my breath, “Show-off.”
Quinn slides up next to me, close enough that I feel her shoulder brush mine. She’s got that teasing look in her eyes—the one that says she’s about to cut me down a notch and enjoy every second.
“Think you can top that performance, cowboy?” she asks, lips quirking.
“Not a chance,” I admit, tugging my hat lower. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up eating dirt in front of all these people.”
She tilts her head, studying me in that way that makes me feel like she sees more than I want her to. Then she lowers her voice so only I can hear. “It doesn’t matter what happens out there, Beck. You’ve already proven yourself—to your family, to this town… to me.”
My chest tightens, and I have to look away before the emotion shows too plain on my face. Her words mean more than the cheers of a thousand strangers.
The announcer calls the next rider, the crowd roars again, and I know my turn is coming fast. The noise, smells, and colors all blur, but Quinn’s voice sticks. Steady. Certain.
For the first time, I think I might just be able to ride for the right reasons.
The air shifts when they call my name. All the chatter, laughter, Ava’s last note fade into a hum that presses against my ribs. It’s just me, the bronc, and the chute gate.
I pull my gloves tight, fingers trembling with nerves I’ll never admit to.
My heart hammers like it’s trying to break through bone.
I used to chase this rush, used to let it eat me alive until the only way to come down was through something stronger—pills, powder, poison.
Not today. Today, I’m sober. Today, I’m here for the right reasons.
The bronc shifts under me, muscles twitching, pure power coiled and waiting. I grip down hard, jaw clenched, and mutter, “Alright, boy. Let’s give ’em a show.”
From the rail, I catch Quinn’s face—eyes locked on me, steady and fierce, like she’s willing me to hold on. Dad’s arms are crossed, proud but tense. Zane is grinning like a fool, Ava beside him clapping in rhythm with the crowd.
“Ready when you are!” the chute man hollers.
I nod. One sharp breath. Then the gate flies open.
The bronc explodes out—sun flashing, dirt spraying, the roar of the crowd like thunder rolling over me.
My body jolts, every muscle straining to stay centered.
The rhythm is wild, unpredictable—back, twist, slam.
My hat nearly flies, but I grip tighter, teeth bared in something between a grin and a growl.
Eight seconds have never felt so long, or so short.
By the time the buzzer blares, I’m still upright, still breathing, still riding. I let go, half-flying as I hit the dirt, rolling with the fall. Pain sparks through my side, but when I spring to my feet and throw my hand in the air, the noise of the arena nearly splits me in half.
They’re on their feet. Cheering for me. Not because I’m Hank Morgan’s son. Not because I’m Zane’s brother. For me.
And when my eyes find Quinn again—her smile wide, hands clapping, tears glinting in the sun—I know I didn’t just ride for the crowd. I rode for her.
My family reacts fast. Zane barrels toward me with a grin wide enough to split his face, slapping my back so hard my teeth rattle.
“Hell yeah, brother! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he shouts, laughing loud enough for half the arena to hear.
Ella squeezes through next. She throws her arms around me without a care that I’m coated in dust and sweat. “You were incredible, big brother! They love you out there!”
I laugh, breathless, still buzzing from the ride. “I think I remember how to stay on now.”
Father comes slower, measured, but when he reaches me, his hand clamps down on my shoulder, firm and steady. His eyes say more than his words ever could. Still, he gives me both. “Proud of you, son. Real proud.”
It nearly undoes me, hearing it from him. My throat tightens, heat stinging behind my eyes. For years, all I wanted was this moment—his approval, his faith in me.
But then Quinn is in front of me, weaving through the others, her smile making my chest ache. She doesn’t stop to think—she just launches into my arms. I catch her, hold her tight against me, and the noise of the arena dims to nothing.
“I thought my heart was going to stop right there,” she murmurs against my neck, voice shaking. “But you… God, Beck, you were amazing.”
I pull back just enough to look at her, dirt-streaked and breathless, and for a heartbeat, it feels like the rest of the world has finally let me go. No judgment. No shadows. Just her.
“I didn’t do it for them,” I say quietly, only for her. “I did it for you.”
Her eyes soften, glisten, and she doesn’t answer with words—just leans up and presses her lips to mine, quick but sure, right there in front of everyone. And when the crowd erupts again, I can’t tell if it’s for the kiss or the ride. Doesn’t matter.
For the first time in a long damn time, I’m not ashamed of who I am.
The cheer of the crowd still rolls over me like a wave, loud enough to shake the bleachers. But it’s not just noise—it’s something heavier, warmer. Acceptance. Forgiveness.
For so long I braced myself against their whispers, the pointed looks, the ones who turned their backs when my name came up. I earned that scorn. I gave them every reason to believe I was nothing but wasted potential.
But right now, none of that matters. They’re clapping, whistling, stomping their boots against the stands—for me.
It feels like shackles snapping loose one by one.
Quinn’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight, and I can’t stop staring at her. She’s been my anchor through all of this, the reason I didn’t drown in the shame. I see pride in her eyes, not pity. That alone steadies me.
I wrap my arm around Quinn, pulling her close as the applause slowly fades. My chest feels lighter than it has in years. The darkness that used to cloud everything—it’s still there, but it doesn’t own me anymore.
I glance down at her. “Thank you,” I murmur, voice low so only she can hear.
She tilts her head, brows knitting. “For what?”
“For not giving up on me. For fighting when I didn’t think I was worth fighting for.” I swallow hard, my throat thick. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make up for the past, but I promise you this—whatever comes next, I’m going to make sure it’s worthy of you. Of us.”
Her eyes soften, shining in the fading light, and she doesn’t need to say anything for me to know she believes me. That’s enough.
I draw her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. For the first time in a long damn time, I feel like I’m standing on solid ground.
I’ve got my family. I’ve got her. And I’ve got a future that doesn’t scare me half to death.
For a man like me, that’s more than redemption. That’s freedom.