Chapter 1 Weston
Weston
Present day…
I lived for this. For the roar of the crowd, the slam of feet against bleachers, the rush that came as the chute flew open. Moments like this, I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to remember. I didn’t have to feel. I just had to hold on and ride.
And God, if I didn’t love to ride.
It was the only thing I’d ever been good at, the only thing I loved.
Well, the only thing besides her. I shook my head, forcing her out of my mind as I hopped into the chute.
I couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.
Being distracted was just asking for a death wish, and at the height of my career, I definitely didn’t have one of those.
The bull beneath me, Bodacious, shifted, bringing me back to the here and now.
He was a nasty fucker, but with a name like Bodacious, I couldn’t help but laugh.
His copper brown coat was rough beneath my hand, and the pissy thing jerked from my touch.
“Easy there, big guy,” I said with a grin, sliding on my gloves. “Save it for out there.”
He let out a huff as if he understood me and was telling me to get the hell off him. No can do, buddy.
The announcer’s voice blared through the speakers, my name sparking another roar from the crowd.
I clenched the bull rope handle tighter, checking the leather.
My heart pounded in sync with the rapid sound of boots hitting the bleachers.
All those people were here for me, and I was ready to give them a show.
Sweat rolled down my back, my body tight with tension that I had to force away, just like the thought of her. A tense, locked body was a dead body on the back of a bull. You had to roll with their movements like a surfer riding a wave: in control, but not stiff.
Bodacious slammed his hoof into the chute, his tail flicking. His patience was wearing thin, and so was mine. I was ready to throw myself into the chaos these eight seconds would bring. Craved it like an addict itching for his next fix.
There was nothing like it. The adrenaline, the high stakes, the satisfying feeling of mastering something so few could.
It made me feel invincible, like I was king of the world.
And there was only one other thing that made me feel that unstoppable.
But she was nothing more than a distant memory now, a memory I’d been too chickenshit to face this past month she’s been back in Wild Creek.
The chute hand reached for the lever to release the door. “You ready, Tate?”
I tapped my left bicep—a little pre-ride ritual. I inhaled deep through my nose, letting it out slow and controlled through my mouth. Then, I raked a hand through my hair, slapped my hat on tight, and gave him a nod. “Open ‘er up.”
In that same second, something in my gut had me glancing at the crowd. There was a flash of blonde. Wait. I had to check again, just to be sure. My breath caught, and the arena went silent. Jesus fucking Christ, it was her.
Savannah Hayes.
The love of my life. The girl who ripped my heart out at nineteen and took it with her to Stanford to chase her dreams. The girl who refused to see me or speak to me in the eleven years since then.
She was here, staring at me with those dark brown eyes.
They looked the same yet different, just like the rest of her.
Her hair was shorter and brighter. Less honey and more sandy.
She was in a light pink pearl snap and dark wash jeans.
She looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t know if it was because of me or the clothes.
It wasn’t my Sav who was looking at me now, but a woman who wore invisible armor. Armor specifically meant to keep everyone, especially my sorry ass, out.
But I didn’t give a shit, it felt like pure magic to look at her again, how I imagined looking at something like the Northern Lights or ancient ruins felt.
It was a mix of awe and bewilderment over how something so perfect could exist, how something so breathtaking could walk amongst us mere mortals. An angel, if I’d ever seen one.
I took half a second to look at her, and that was all it took for everything to come crumbling down.
Her eyes flew wide, and my body jolted as Bodacious busted out into the arena while I wasn’t paying attention. His back bowed like a string, hind legs in the air. My body snapped the wrong way. My grip on the bull rope handle slipped.
“Fuck!” I gritted my teeth, scrambling for purchase, but got none.
This couldn’t be happening to me. Not in front of her. Not now.
I’d been riding since I was twelve. Made it through championships, national qualifiers, and multiple tours. I’d been on bulls worse than this one in worse conditions. Not once had I fucked up this badly.
But I had never locked eyes with Savannah before the chute flew open, either.
By the next buck, I was airborne, spinning as I flew through the air. Dirt, crowd, sky, dirt again. It all blurred around me. The crowd let out a collective gasp. My heart lurched. My breath caught.
My arms flailed as gravity dragged me down right on top of Bodacious, my head meeting his hip as he bucked hard. Then there was pain. Blinding, exploding pain that tore through me quick like a lightning strike.
And in an instant, everything went dark.
I groaned. Everything hurt. I couldn’t move. My eyes ached when I tried to open them. Lights moved over my head.
“Am I dead?” I slurred. My voice sounded far away, weak. If I weren’t dead already, I was pretty sure I was actively dying. I’d never hurt like this. Not physically, anyway, and I’d gotten through broken ribs, concussions, and dislocated shoulders over the years.
“Weston?” The voice sounded like my Sav—soft, concerned, just like she had spoken the night of our first kiss.
But when I squinted up at the source, it wasn’t her. It was a nurse with a mask and gentle eyes, not the woman I thought I’d spend my life with. Maybe it was a memory, and my brain had scrambled everything together, trying to make sense of what had happened.
“Weston, honey, you’re at the hospital. We’re taking you into surgery.”
Shit, this was bad, then. I’d never needed surgery before.
I shut my eyes. I didn’t even want to know.
My head was a mess. Like those humid summer mornings before the sun came out and everything was drenched in a thick layer of fog. I pushed through it, going back to the last thing I remembered.
I was flying. And then I fell. Fell right on top of a bucking bull. But before that… Before that, there was her. My Sav. My angel with wide, terrified eyes.
My chest clenched. Something beeped next to me, the tempo growing faster.
“Angel,” I rasped. Where was she? Was she okay?
She had always refused to watch me compete live, terrified of what could happen. She said her anxiety couldn’t take it. She’d lie in the bed of my truck, wrapped in a pile of blankets, curled against my side while she watched video clips after the fact, when I was “safe by her side.”
And the first time she came to see me, this happened? Just my fucking luck.
Doors opened, and the low chatter of people rushed around me. Voices I didn’t recognize, not my people, not my girl. I needed to see Savannah, to tell her I was okay.
Was I okay? I didn’t know.
Then I was in the air, being set down on something.
The air was cold. Frigid even, and I started to shiver.
People were touching me. Quick and sure.
I only wanted one person touching me. But she wasn’t here.
She wasn’t here and was probably worried sick.
Or maybe she didn’t care at all. That thought hurt worse than whatever was wrong with me.
“Angel,” I said again, this time it came out broken. My eyes burned. Something hot and wet rolled down along my temple and into my hair.
“Don’t worry, honey,” the nurse said. “We’ll take good care of you.” She swiped the corner of my eye and stroked my hair. Oh. I was crying.
Maybe it was the pain, the meds, or the memory of Savannah sitting there in the crowd for the first time ever. Whatever it was, I couldn’t control it. The thought of her leaving that arena indifferent while I got carried away in an ambulance hurt worse than any injury could.
Someone put something over my nose and mouth. A mask. I took a deep breath, and everything went black again, Savannah’s face the last thing on my mind.