Chapter 34
thirty-four
JULIA
“If you bounce your heel any faster, you’re going to rattle the aluminum right out from under us, Wildflower,” August gently warned, reading my poorly disguised nerves for what they were—worry.
I winced sheepishly and forced my boot flat against the metal bleacher step. But the wired energy needed somewhere to go, which meant I immediately switched to picking at the chip in my pink polish. “Sorry,” I sighed. “I’m fine.”
That last part was mostly for me. Kind of. Fine… not really.
I didn’t want to be here, but the truth was, I didn’t want any of us to be here.
The guys had tried to talk me out of coming tonight.
All of them. Stetson had been diplomatic about it, citing the fact that my pre-heat symptoms were unstable and noting the size of the crowd.
August had quietly suggested I stay home and rest, offering to cook whatever I wanted if I’d just stay put.
Ransom had been the most creative, proposing a list of increasingly ridiculous alternatives that ended with “I’ll livestream the whole thing on my phone and you can yell at the screen from the couch. ”
I’d shut them all down with five words: “If you ride, I’m there.”
Nobody had argued after that, because they knew the deal. I’d made it crystal clear after my confrontation with Colt that I wasn’t letting any of them climb into an arena without me in the stands. If they were going to risk their necks, they were going to do it looking at my face.
So here I sat, pre-heat simmering under my skin, my blocker working overtime, surrounded by unbonded Alphas who pressed in from every direction, loud and hyped up on adrenaline and cheap beer.
The arena lights had kicked on an hour ago, turning the dirt floor into a bright, artificial stage surrounded by darkness. Beyond the bleachers, the Wyoming sky had gone inky black, dotted with stars that nobody was looking at.
August sat on my left, his broad shoulder serving as a solid wall against the rowdy grandstands.
Stetson sat on my right, his posture straight and alert as he watched after me and the kids.
Neither of them spared much attention on the dirt arena, too busy scanning the crowd, their protective instincts dialed up to eleven by the aggressive energy of the venue.
I pushed the brim of my sparkly cowboy hat up an inch.
The heavy silver belt buckle dug into the waistband of my jean shorts when I shifted.
Ransom had dropped the shiny present into my palm this morning with a wicked grin, calling me his exclusive buckle bunny.
The joke had made my stomach flutter, but right now it was a reminder of what was about to happen, and it made me feel more nauseous than flattered.
I fanned myself, trying to draw deep, soothing breaths despite the stifling air.
The mix of scents coming from everywhere all at once made me wrinkle my nose, but thankfully mine wasn’t among them.
The custom lotion I’d slathered on in the truck was doing its job to mask my heightened scent, keeping my carefully constructed yet ill-advised plan to attend the rodeo intact.
But I tugged my purse closer to my thigh anyway, reassured by the weight of the backup lotion bottle, the experimental lozenge I’d been developing, and the OMA’s synthetic blockers stashed inside the leather, just in case.
Ransom’s name rang out over the arena as the announcer read his stats.
My stomach rolled.
I’d known from the beginning that the twins were bull riders. Gideon had told me that on day one, casually, like it was no different from mentioning they liked fishing. But knowing it and watching it were two very different things.
The idea of climbing onto the back of a two-thousand-pound animal that wanted nothing more than to stomp you into the dirt seemed certifiably insane to me, but Ransom and River lived for it.
According to them, the adrenaline, the competition, and the roar of the crowd was in their blood.
And if the collection of winning buckles displayed in their rooms was anything to go by, they were damn good at it too.
Though that didn’t make it any easier to watch.
River was on one side of the chute with Gideon on the other, making sure Ransom was ready as he wrapped the rope around his hand, getting into position to the tune of their encouragement.
Then the heavy metal chute clattered open.
I wasn’t ready for the massive black bull that bolted out with my mate clinging to his back.
Ransom moved flawlessly with the violent, jerking spine of the animal.
One hand was up in the air for balance while his hips rocked fluidly as he kept his weight centered to the best of his ability.
It would’ve been sexy if I wasn’t terrified, gripping the edge of my seat hard enough that I could no longer feel my fingers.
Eight seconds felt like a death sentence.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
The buzzer blared. Gideon hung over the starting gate, cheering wildly and waving his hat through the dust-filled air as Ransom stuck the landing cleanly after bailing off the pissed-off bull.
Sunny, not loving the noise, scrambled over August’s lap and climbed onto my knees. She ignored the roar of the crowd, focused on separating a section of my dark hair. She hummed a little song, snapping a bright plastic butterfly barrette into the strands near my ear.
Then the chute cracked open again, this time with River flying through the air.
The bull was vicious, spinning and kicking and bucking more violently than Ransom’s had.
I held my breath as River did his best to hold on, his seat sliding sideways as he lost his balance.
He got bucked off after five valiant seconds, launching airborne.
I choked on dry air as he fell, but River rolled with the impact and ended up back on his feet in a fraction of a second.
“Holy shit!”
That was all I could get out, still unable to pull a new drag of oxygen into my lungs.
Once he’d hopped the fence and was safe on the other side, River scanned the bleachers, looking for me and shooting me a kiss and a wink. I smiled wryly at him and shook my head, but I blew a kiss right back. Which, of course, got Ransom’s attention.
My wild twin climbed higher on the fence than his brother, plucked his hat off his head, and waved it through the air with an exuberant “whoop!”
I couldn’t help the wide grin that took over my mouth even though I hated this.
I bet other Omegas would never put up with this shit.
How had they convinced me that this was okay?
I was a nervous wreck, my entire body literally vibrating with displaced anxiety, my face flushed, and my heart racing despite the fact that I was sitting on an inanimate metal bench that had no intention of trying to kill me.
But my smile was short-lived, because a little while later, the loudspeaker crackled again.
Colt Calhoun.
The name rang in my ears while the announcer spat out another round of impressive statistics, because at the end of the accolades, the man couldn’t hold back from mentioning Easton.
He announced the memorial buckle ceremony, dedicating tonight’s bronc riding championship to the memory of Easton James Calhoun, and the arena dimmed into a moment of silence for the lost cowboy.
Acid washed up the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, pressing my palm flat over Sunny’s small back to steal some much-needed comfort.
Down by the chutes, Colt stood on the lower rails, balancing above the narrow metal cage. He didn’t look at the rigging or the restless animal kicking the boards beneath his boots. He scanned the stands.
His storm-grey gaze locked directly onto mine across the dust and the blinding lights.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t offer a flashy wave for the crowd.
He simply lifted his leather-gloved hand and pressed two fingers flat against the center of his chest—right over his heart.
Right over the silver chain hidden beneath his shirt.
My throat squeezed tight. I lifted my free hand, pressing two fingers firmly over my own heart in return.
Colt gave a single, sharp nod.
The metal chute rattled, and Colt lowered himself onto the back of a restless bronc.
He kept his black hat pulled low, shutting out the crowd, shutting out the noise, shutting out everything.
He lifted Easton’s chain and kissed it for luck before tucking it back away.
No one else would know the significance, but I did.
I knew the name on the metal plaque out in our grove.
I knew the suffocating weight of the guilt driving him into that damn metal cage.
I dug my fingernails into the denim of my thighs. August reached over and squeezed my knee, holding onto me, probably to keep me in my skin.
The gate crashed open, and the bronc lunged.
And dammit… I had to admit that Colt was magnificent. He moved in perfect sync with the powerful, thrashing animal. It was total surrender—the absolute lack of control being the only place he allowed himself to let go.
The crowd was going wild, and we were all cheering, until time suddenly fractured.
The bronc twisted, kicking its hind legs out at an unnatural angle.
Colt separated from the saddle, then came down hard—all wrong.
He lost his seat, getting jarred, his body looking like a ragdoll on the back of the angry beast.
Gravity took him. One moment he was soaring through the air, and the next he slammed into the packed dirt.
The horse spun, hooves kicking up a thick, hazy cloud of dirt. Colt didn’t roll. He didn’t bounce back up like River. He just lay there, perfectly still.