Chapter 15 Emma
T hor looms before me, steel and leather gleaming under the harsh floodlights. I climb over the barrier, my pulse pounding in my ears. Across the room, my eyes find Eric’s. Concern shadows his face, but his worry only strengthens my resolve.
Ten years ago, I conquered this beast, and tonight, with the whole town watching, I’m going to do it again.
"Come on, Emma! You've got this!" Annabelle's voice cuts through the noise, grounding me like an anchor in a storm. I flash her a quick smile, letting her confidence fuel my own.
I swing my leg over the bull, gripping the worn leather strap. Thor feels bigger and more menacing than I remember. My muscles tense as I settle into the saddle. The leather is rough against my palms, the mechanical beast humming beneath me, vibrating through my bones. The crowd roars, but their cheers barely register.
The operator smirks, tapping the control panel. "Ready?"
I take a deep breath. "As ready as I’ll ever be."
A button clicks and Thor lurches to life beneath me, jerking violently to the side. My body reacts on instinct, tightening my grip as my thighs clamp down hard. The sudden movement knocks the wind from my lungs, and I grit my teeth, fighting to stay centered.
He wasn’t this wild last time.
The bull bucks harder, twisting in sharp, unpredictable jerks. My breath hitches, my heartbeat hammering in rhythm with the machine. Every nerve in my body screams, but I push through, muscles burning with the effort.
"Come on, Emma! Show that bull who’s the boss!" Misty shouts from the crowd.
The rhythm shifts and I adjust my grip, finding the pattern, and feeling the movement beneath me. The rough hide rubs against my skin, heat and friction sparking a sharp ache between my legs. I squeeze harder, determined to hold on.
Eric’s voice cuts through the chaos, calling my name. I barely hear him over the roar of the crowd, but then I see Caroline. She stands too close to Eric, smirking, and watching me.
She’s already taken my title. Now, she wants him.
Over my dead body.
I grit my teeth and hold on tighter, ignoring the fire in my thighs. This isn’t about a championship anymore. This is about winning. This is about proving, not just to her, but to myself, that I belong here.
Annabelle’s voice carries over the speakers. "You’re so close to breaking your record!"
I risk a glance at the timer.
Thirty seconds left.
I can do this. I will do this.
A sharp jolt shoots through my ankle, pain radiating up my leg, but I push past it. My body locks into the rhythm, my grip unrelenting. The cheers swell around me.
Then, in the sea of faces, one stops me cold.
A ghostly figure stands near the back of the bar, half-hidden in shadow. His hollow eyes lock onto mine.
My breath falters. The overhead lights flicker and the sound warps, muffled and distorted.
"Emma, watch out!" Eric’s voice pierces through the haze.
A metallic screech rips through the air and the lights cut out. The mechanical beast bucks one last time and I lose my grip.
The world tilts.
And then—impact.
Pain explodes through my body as I slam onto the mat. The leather strap slips from my fingers, along with my record. Air wheezes out of my lungs as my body lays sprawled across the floor. Stunned silence follows.
And just like that, the lights flicker back on.
I blink up at the spinning ceiling, chest heaving, and disappointment slamming into me harder than the fall. My title is gone.
Sharp pain shoots through my ankle as I try to stand. My stomach twists as I catch sight of her.
Caroline, all smug and gloating. I grit my teeth, swallowing down the bitter taste of humiliation as I limp toward the exit.
"Aw, too bad, Emma," Caroline purrs, flicking her braid over her shoulder. "Guess city girls just don’t belong in Lords Valley."
I freeze, rage crawling up my spine.
“Shut up, you twat,” I bite out. “The power went out. I’m getting another turn.”
I take a step forward, wincing as my weight shifts onto my bad ankle.
"Emma!" Eric’s voice is thick with concern as he pushes through the crowd.
But before I can turn to him, Caroline steps closer. Her lips curve into a sickly sweet smile. "I’ve got your title…" Her gaze flicks to Eric. "And soon, I’ll have him too."
My stomach churns. Something inside me snaps, the bile rising before I can stop it.
And in one glorious, unfiltered moment, I vomit all over her designer cowboy boots.
The room gasps.
Caroline lets out a horrified shriek, stumbling back as my beer splatters across her pristine leather. " You bitch! " she screeches, eyes wild with fury. "You did that on purpose! "
I wipe my mouth, my knees wobbling beneath me. "Not everything’s about you, Caroline."
The crowd erupts in laughter. She spins on her heel and runs for the bathroom, gagging.
"Emma!" Annabelle grabs my arm as I sway. "You’re falling over."
"Sorry," I mumble, blinking hard. "Still dizzy."
Warm hands catch me before I hit the floor.
"Christ, sweetheart," Eric murmurs, holding me up like I might crumble. "Are you alright?"
No. I’m not alright.
My body aches, my pride is in shambles, and my stomach just waged war against Caroline’s boots in front of half the damn town.
But the worst part? Eric is seeing me like this.
I push against his chest, trying to untangle myself from his arms. "I don’t want you seeing me this way," I mumble, my voice raw. "Just… give me a second to clean up."
His grip tightens, like he doesn’t want to let me go, but after a hesitant beat, he nods.
I slip from his hold, my ankle protesting every step as I limp toward the back door. "I’ll be right back," I toss over my shoulder, though I’m not sure I believe it myself.
Misty and Annabelle follow without a word, flanking me on either side like bodyguards as we slip into the cold night air. The bite of frost stings against my overheated skin, burning through the haze of humiliation. The crisp scent of firewood lingers in the air, mixing with the distant sounds of laughter and music from inside the pub.
Each step sends fresh agony through my ankle, but I grit my teeth and keep moving. Misty guides me toward a water hose. "Don’t let that wench get to you," Annabelle says, cutting the water as I rinse my mouth and splash my face. "You’ll get another shot. She’s not worth it."
I straighten, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It’s not her," I mutter.
Misty snorts. "You did puke on her, though. I gotta say, that was the highlight of my night."
A small, tired smile tugs at my lips. "Not my finest moment."
Annabelle huffs. "The ride wasn’t fair, Emma. Marty cranked Thor up to full speed. Probably a Caroline special for services rendered."
My stomach churns again, though this time, it’s not from the beer.
"You would have won if the power hadn’t gone out," Misty chimes in, looping her arm under mine.
I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. "It’s not just the bull riding. It’s…" I hesitate, the words tangling in my throat. "I think I saw him."
Misty and Annabelle exchange a look.
"Saw who?" Annabelle asks, voice cautious.
"There was an old man in the crowd," I say, my heart hammering as the memory resurfaces. "He looked at me like he knew me."
Annabelle’s grip on my arm tightens. "What did he look like?"
I close my eyes, trying to summon the image. "Older. Hollow eyes. Bushy brows. Sunken cheeks. Long earlobes. Slimy. " My stomach twists. "I think it was Huntz."
Misty’s face pales.
Annabelle exhales sharply. "After we set up the barn today, I thought I was being followed. And I constantly feel like I’m being watched."
Misty shakes her head. "Huntz never stays in town. He picks up his mail and disappears. But if he’s still here…"
A shiver runs down my spine, my blood turning to ice. "Why now ?" My voice trembles.
Annabelle swallows hard. "Tomorrow’s the anniversary of our kidnapping."
A sick, foreboding weight presses into my chest.
He’s stalking us.
The distant sounds of the festival feel a million miles away, the warm glow of the pub suddenly foreign and untouchable. The night stretches around us, filled with unseen dangers and old ghosts.
"Back home, we’d call the police for this shit," I mutter. "Can you imagine the sheriff going after Huntz?"
"No," the girls say in unison.
Fuck.
Pain pulses from my ankle, each throb in sync with the racing of my thoughts. If Huntz is here, I need to be able to run. Instead, I can barely walk.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, my stomach flipping as I read Greg’s message.
Found something. Property deeds hidden under shell company. Owner: Skylar Bishop.
My blood runs cold.
Skylar Bishop. The same name as the recipient of the Waters’ weekly account transfers.
My hands tremble as I connect the dots. Hidden money. Mysterious withdrawals. Huntz.
I lick my lips, pulse racing. " Does the last name Bishop ring a bell? "
Misty opens her mouth, but Annabelle beats her to it.
"It’s my landlord in San Francisco. Why?"
I inhale sharply. "Eric’s been sending money to your landlord?"
Annabelle’s face twists. "What?"
I shake my head. "Just something I was looking into."
Misty shifts uncomfortably, her expression unreadable.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says, but her voice wobbles. "We should get back. Eric’s gonna be worried."
Annabelle nods. "If that was Huntz, we need to stick together. Nobody stays alone. Got it?" She points a finger at us like she’s the eldest sister, and I don’t even have the energy to argue.
Flanked by my friends, I limp back toward the warm glow of the pub, every step reminding me of my swollen ankle. The neon sign hums in the darkness, casting eerie shadows across the gravel lot. The festive buzz of the crowd washes over me, but I feel miles away, still stuck in that moment when Huntz’s eyes found mine.
Eric is waiting just inside the door, his expression shifting the second he sees me.
"Where have you been, my darling?" His voice is low, rough, and laced with something possessive as he closes the distance, his hands finding my waist. He turns me gently, studying my face like he’s searching for answers.
I wince. " I’m fine. Just needed air after that disaster. And I think I twisted my ankle."
His gaze drops to my foot, jaw clenching. "We should get ice on that."
I shake my head. "I can still ride."
"The hell you can."
Before I can protest, he scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
"Eric!" I gasp. "Put me down!"
"Not a chance," he murmurs. "It’s late. We’re going home."
I barely manage a glare before my head falls against his shoulder, exhaustion pulling at me.
Eric places a soft kiss on my head as he carries me to the truck. "Emma, don’t let Caroline get to you."
I let out a breath, shifting slightly to ease the throbbing in my ankle. "I wasn’t even thinking about her."
Not entirely true. But right now, the sharp, pulsing pain shooting up my leg is a bigger concern than Caroline’s existence.
He side-eyes me, his lips twitching at the corners. "What are you thinking about?"
"I miss having a dog," I say, mostly to distract myself.
Eric arches a brow. "Are you telling me a dog would make this night better?"
“A dog makes everything better.” I laugh, despite myself. "Barring that, I’m sure you’ll find a way."
The truck rolls along the quiet country road, the canopy of stars stretching endlessly above us, lower and brighter than in New York. Out here, the night feels vast, wrapping around us in a stillness that makes everything—pain, exhaustion, Caroline—seem small.
Suzy rumbles to a stop in front of Eric’s house, the warm glow of the porch light casting soft shadows over the driveway. Eric hops out first, rounding the truck before I can even reach for the handle. He pulls the door open and leans in, his arms strong and steady as he helps me slide out.
"You’re getting good at this whole rescue thing," I tease, draping my arms around his neck as he lifts me effortlessly into his arms.
He grins. "Not my first rodeo, sweetheart."
The heat of his body seeps into mine as he carries me up the porch steps, the scent of leather and firewood clinging to him. At the door, he shifts me slightly, balancing my weight with one arm while unlocking the door. The keys jangle softly in the night.
"You locked up this time?" I murmur.
His gaze flickers to mine, something unreadable in his expression. "Thought I should. Harvest Fest is tomorrow."
I study his face in the dim porch light. "Because of Huntz?"
His hand slides gently over my hair, resting on my shoulder. "No," he says, voice steady. "Because I want you to feel safe."
Something in my chest tightens at that.
The door swings open, and warmth spills over us. The rich scent of pine, and the faint trace of a fire has long burned down. He carries me inside, straight to the couch, lowering me gently before slipping off my coat and hanging it by the door. His movements are careful, and precise, like he’s handling something fragile.
"Now," he says, crouching in front of me, "let me see that ankle."
"It’s just a little sprain," I downplay, but the moment he starts easing off my boot, fire shoots up my leg. I bite back a hiss, fingers gripping the couch cushion.
Eric frowns, his jaw tight. "This is worse than I thought."
I follow his gaze to my ankle. The swelling is bad, purpling at the edges, and a pang of disappointment settles deep in my chest. Tomorrow is Harvest Fest. I should be dancing with Eric under fairy lights, not hobbling around on a busted ankle.
"I’ll be right back," he murmurs, disappearing up the stairs.
I let out a shaky breath, my body sinking into the couch. The night turned my high hopes and playful competition to gut-wrenching disappointment. But as I glance around the cozy living room, something inside me settles. The fireplace, the scent of pine, the sound of Eric’s footsteps overhead, is not what I planned, but it’s safe . And right now, that’s enough.
Eric returns with a t-shirt that makes me blink. It’s a faded navy blue with a cartoon cow in a cowboy hat riding a rocket, and the words “Yeehawdyssey: Space Ain’t Big Enough for My Boots” scrawled across the chest. He tosses me a pair of sweatpants, his smirk barely contained.
“You have an interesting collection of t-shirts.”
"I got this one in Texas three years ago," he explains.
I roll my eyes but let him help me change, shivering as the warmth of the fabric replaces the cold stiffness of my jeans.
He disappears into the kitchen, and moments later, the sharp scent of vinegar fills the air. He kneels in front of me again, soaking a bandage in the solution before carefully wrapping my ankle. His fingers are firm but gentle, his touch radiating a quiet patience that makes my chest ache.
I watch him in silence, studying the way his brow furrows in concentration, and the way his hands work with quiet efficiency. There are so many layers to Eric Waters, and I’ve barely begun to peel them back.
The kettle whistles, sharp and piercing. He rises smoothly, moving to the kitchen, and a few minutes later, he returns with two steaming mugs and a bottle of ibuprofen.
"Chamomile tea," he says, handing me a cup.
I wrap my fingers around the warmth, breathing in the soothing scent.
"Thank you for taking care of me," I say softly.
Eric settles beside me, his arm draping over the back of the couch. "It’s the least I can do," he murmurs. "Not every day I get to rescue a damsel from Thor."
I snort into my tea, nudging him playfully with my elbow. "I had that bull."
He chuckles, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. "I know you did, sweetheart."
We sip our tea in comfortable silence, the flickering glow of the fireplace casting soft shadows on the walls. The steady warmth of his arm around me, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing makes the moment feel easy and right.
I don’t remember closing my eyes, and I don’t remember drifting off, but somewhere between his body heat and the lull of chamomile, sleep claims me.
And for the first time in a long time, I dream of nothing but him.