Chapter 52
Knox’s truck smells like leather, his—aggressively over-sugared—gas station coffee, and the pine-tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
I rest my boots on the dash, my hat tipped low over my eyes, watching the highway unspool ahead of us in long, sun-bleached ribbons.
It’s still early enough that the world feels half-asleep.
Pale light stretches across the fields, catching on barbed wire fences and grazing cattle.
My body hums with the particular mix of nerves and anticipation that only an upcoming rodeo brings.
Knox drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re quiet this morning.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re brooding.”
“I don’t brood,” I snip.
He snorts. “You absolutely brood. It’s a family trait. One that skipped me.”
I don’t respond, because he might be right.
Easton’s face has been floating through my thoughts since we left the ranch just before dawn. He stayed behind with Deacon and Dad to help with a late calving and the other usual chaos that never seems to wait.
“You text him yet?” Knox teases, like he doesn’t care.
“No.”
“You thinkin’ about him?”
I turn my head slowly. “Do you ever stop?”
He grins. “Not when it’s this entertaining.”
I shove his shoulder lightly, but my smile fades as I look out the windshield. Because, yes, I am thinking about him. I miss him in a way that feels disproportionate to the few hours we’ve been apart.
It’s ridiculous to care about someone this much. Yet, I do.
When we pull into the rodeo grounds the following morning, the place is already buzzing. Trucks and trailers line the gravel lot. Horses stamp and snort in portable pens. The concession stand is in full swing, filling the air with the delectable smell of funnel cake.
This is my world. This is where I breathe easiest.
Knox hops out and stretches. “Let’s go make you famous.”
“I don’t want to be famous.”
“Sure, you do. Just a little.”
I shake my head, but my pulse quickens as I unload Daisy. She steps off the trailer with a familiar, contained energy, ears flicking and muscles taut under her glossy coat. I run my hand down her neck. “You ready, girl?” I murmur, and she tosses her head.
Same.
The stands are more crowded than usual by the time the barrel racing starts.
The announcer’s voice booms across the arena, echoing against the metal bleachers.
When he calls mine, everything else fades.
I nudge Daisy into the gate, and the world narrows to dirt and the three barrels in the arena.
My heartbeat syncs with hers as my fingers tighten on the reins.
The buzzer sounds, and we explode. There’s no other word for it.
Daisy surges forward like a bolt of lightning, hooves tearing into the earth.
Wind rips at my shirt and steals the breath from my lungs.
The first barrel looms, and we dive into it, tight.
My knee grazes the rim, lifting it off-center as dirt sprays behind us.
My body moves on instinct, shifting my weight and squaring my shoulders to maintain balance with Daisy automatically. When we round the second barrel, we’re so in sync with each other, it doesn’t feel like we’re two separate beings.
I hear the crowd, but it sounds distant, like thunder rolling far off in the hills. All I feel is the electric crackle of pushing us right to the edge and stopping before we teeter off the edge.
We clear the last turn, and Daisy launches for home.
The timer flashes when we cross. The sound that erupts from the stands hits me a second later.
I slow her gradually, my chest heaving and heart slamming so hard, I can barely breathe.
I look up at the board to see my name at the top, by a margin that makes my hands shake.
“That’s my sister!” Knox yells from beside the gate, his hat whooshing in the air.
I laugh breathlessly, patting Daisy’s neck. “You did that,” I whisper into her mane. “You did that.”
Even though I know he’s working and won’t see it for hours, the first thing I want to do is text Easton.
I won
You should’ve seen Daisy. She was incredible.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of congratulations and handshakes, carrying a buckle that is heavier than it looks.
Fittingly, the silver is engraved with flames curling around the edges.
A few girls from other circuits give me tight smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes, but I don’t care.
I feel untouchable as I grin for the pictures, pride swelling in my chest.
“C’mon,” Knox nudges. “Let’s go spend a little of your prize money on something irresponsible.”
We meander through vendor stalls set up along the edge of the grounds.
Country music drifts from the speakers overhead, and we wander through a sea of handmade leather goods, turquoise jewelry, ropes, hats, and old vinyl records.
I pause at a booth selling vintage western memorabilia—old rodeo programs, faded photographs, concert posters curling at the edges.
Knox keeps walking, distracted by a display of custom spurs a couple of booths away.
My fingers trail over a stack of worn posters, flipping casually through icons, like Dolly and Willie mixed with younger musicians whose names I don’t know.
You don’t exactly keep up on popular music and pop culture when you spend most of your days saddled up in the middle of nowhere.
I pause at a bold image with dark stage lighting, and a man at a microphone, his guitar slung low.
I know those eyes.
All the breath leaves my body as I pull the poster from the pile and read the name sprawled across the top in large, unapologetic letters.
EASTON SHAW
The Wild Rose Tour
My gaze is fixed on the photo as I try to convince myself this is just one of those things where you see someone’s face everywhere you look.
But the longer I stare at it, the more I convince myself this is real.
Unlike the usual clean-shaven face or slight scruff he has now, this beard is thick and full, less the tiny bald patch near his chin.
It’s the spot I’ve run my fingers over more times than I can count.
“Teag?” Knox’s voice sounds so far away.
I swallow hard, staring at the poster, and suddenly, I feel stupid. I’ve been building something with missing pieces on a faulty foundation, and I didn’t even know it.
“Teagan.” Knox steps closer. “What’s wrong?”
I try to answer him, but my throat feels impossibly tight. I lift the poster slightly so he can see it.
His brow furrows with confusion. “Okay?”
“That’s Easton,” I muster.
He leans in, squinting. “No way.”
“It’s him,” I insist.
Knox studies it longer. His easy expression fading. “Huh?”
Huh.
That’s all he has to say on the matter, like this isn’t a tectonic shift under my feet, about to destroy my whole damn world.
“Did you know?” I ask, hating how thin my voice sounds.
“About him playing music? Yeah.”
“Not that.” I gesture helplessly at the poster. “This.”
“No.” He shakes his head slowly.
I don’t understand…
“Teag,” Knox says carefully. “Maybe there’s an explanation.”
I laugh humorously. “For what? For the fact that the guy I’m fall”—the word catches in my throat—“seeing used to headline arenas and just forgot to mention it?”
A vendor behind the table looks up. “You interested in that one? Hard to find.”
I buy the poster before I can talk myself out of it, my hands shaking as I pass over the cash.
“He was something else live,” the vendor reminisces, rolling it loosely, slipping a rubber band around it. “I’m really hoping the rumors about his comeback are true.”
The drive home is quiet, except for the occasional buzz of my phone. I don’t bother answering it, because I know who it is. Easton is calling to congratulate me. But I have no idea what to say to him.
Knox glances at me a few times but doesn’t push. The buckle sits heavy in my lap. The rolled-up poster rests beside it, like a secret I never asked for.
I replay every conversation we’ve had about his past. The way he’d deflect gently. The way his eyes would shutter for just a second before he changed the subject. All this time, I thought it was pain—maybe it was—but I didn’t realize it was lies, too.
Something inside my chest fractures, the kind of break that makes every breath feel like I’m sucking in glass.
It’s not just the lie. Or the omission. It’s the trust I gave him without hesitation, and every moment I believed I knew him completely.
I want to be angry, but the anger won’t hold.
It keeps collapsing into something heavier.
Grief. Not from losing him entirely, but from realizing I may have never had all of him to begin with.
I’ve always known I was sharing him with Rosie; I just didn’t realize I was sharing him with this, too.
I stare out the window as the sky darkens, my reflection subtle against the glass.
The girl looking back at me looks smaller and quieter as tears silently trickle down her face.
She looks like she gave someone her whole heart, only to discover there were parts of his that he never handed her at all.
By the time we pull into the ranch, the stars are out, and the house is glowing warm against the dark. Easton’s truck is parked near the bunkhouse, a faint light glowing through the window.
Knox pulls to a stop and kills the engine before climbing out. I grab the buckle and the poster and reach for the door handle. My fingers brush over it, and I freeze, because I still don’t know what I’m going to do.