Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Back in the Arena
Jace
The first thing that hits is the noise.
It rolls over me the second I step out of the truck, crowd already building, speakers crackling. The low rumble of bulls shifting in the chutes somewhere behind the arena. It’s been a couple of months, but my body doesn’t forget it.
The rhythm of it settles in fast, heartbeat lining up with something familiar and dangerous at the same time.
Adrenaline.
I drag a hand over the back of my neck and take a slow breath, letting it fill my lungs before I let it go. Dust hangs in the air, thick and dry, clinging to everything, and for a second it feels like I never left.
Which is exactly what I didn’t want.
“Thought you might chicken out,” Wade says as he comes up beside me, clapping a hand on my shoulder hard enough to jolt me forward a step.
I don’t look at him right away. “Not your best bet,” I answer, voice steady, even if everything under it is already keyed up.
He snorts. “We’ll see.”
Behind him, Brooks leans against the fence, arms crossed, eyes already scanning the setup like he’s assessing more than just the ride. Luke stands a few feet off, calm as ever, but I don’t miss the way his attention tracks everything around us.
They showed up. And with their families.
Of course they did.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Brooks says, which is his version of support.
I huff out a breath. “Helpful.”
“It is if you listen,” he shoots back.
Luke’s mouth tips just slightly. “Ride clean. That’s it.”
I nod once, because that’s the only part that matters. Eight seconds. In and out. No mistakes.
Simple.
Not easy.
I turn toward the arena, boots crunching over gravel as I head for the back where the riders check in.
A group of buckle bunnies lingers near the fence line, loud and bright, denim cutoffs and boots, eyes tracking every rider that walks past like they’re picking their next target. One of them looks my way, smiles slowly and knowing, like she already decided I’m worth her time.
I don’t break stride. That used to be something I leaned into. Now it just feels like noise I don’t have time for. The closer I get, the louder it gets, the energy building in layers until it presses against my chest like something alive.
It’s been a while since I’ve stood here.
Since I’ve felt this exact mix of control and chaos sitting side by side, waiting for me to decide which one wins.
“McCallister.”
The voice cuts through the noise, and I glance over to see one of the officials motioning me forward. “You’re up third.”
“Got it,” I answer, signing off where he points without hesitation.
Third means I don’t have time to think too much.
That’s probably a good thing.
I move toward the chutes, the smell hitting harder here, sweat, dirt, animal, everything sharp and real. A bull slams into the gate a few feet away, metal rattling with the force of it, and something in me shifts, focus narrowing down to a fine edge.
This part I understand.
This part makes sense.
I grab my rope and start working it through my hands, muscle memory taking over without effort, each movement automatic, precise. The noise fades just enough to the background, not gone, just… managed.
“Didn’t think I’d see you back out here.”
I glance up at the voice, already knowing who it is before I see him.
Colt.
He leans against the rail like he owns the place, clean hat, controlled smile, everything about him exactly the same as I remember.
“Yeah,” I say, not giving him more than that.
His gaze flicks over me, assessing. “Heard you’ve been busy.”
“Something like that.”
He studies me for a second longer, like he’s looking for something he hasn’t decided how to name yet, then nods once. “Good to have you back.”
It sounds right.
Feels off.
“Still riding like you’ve got something to prove?” another voice cuts in, louder, rougher.
Ryker Vale steps in like he owns the space, grin sharp, energy all over the place. He claps Colt on the shoulder, then looks me over like he’s already decided how this is going to go.
“Didn’t think you had it in you to come back,” Ryker says. “Heard you went soft.”
I don’t rise to it. “Heard a lot of things,” I answer, keeping my tone even.
He laughs, tipping his hat back. “Yeah, well, tonight’ll sort that out.”
Colt doesn’t say anything right away, just watches the exchange, quiet and controlled in a way that used to read as calm. Now it feels more like calculation.
“Just ride your ride,” Colt says finally, like he’s offering advice instead of a warning.
“I always do,” I reply.
Ryker smirks. “We’ll see if that holds.”
He moves off toward the next chute, loud and careless, drawing attention with him. Colt lingers a second longer, eyes on me like he’s trying to read something I’m not giving him, then pushes off the rail and follows.
I go back to my rope, tighter this time, slower, letting the motion settle something that doesn’t sit right. Old dynamics. Same players. Different stakes.
And none of it feels as simple as it used to.
I don’t respond, just go back to my rope, tightening it, checking it, giving myself something to focus on, that isn’t the way his words sit wrong in my gut.
A bull crashes into the chute again, harder this time, and I glance over instinctively, watching the power in it, the way it moves like it’s built for one thing and one thing only.
Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
Honest.
“Rider up!” someone calls, and the first guy swings into position, crowd noise spiking as the gate slams open and the ride explodes into motion. The crowd roars.
I watch it without really seeing it, mind already shifting forward, lining up what comes next.
Third.
That’s me.
I roll my shoulders once, loosening up, and step closer to the chute, boots planting firm as I grab hold of the rail.
This is where everything else drops away.
No Riley.
No questions.
No waiting to see what comes next.
Just the ride.
Just the moment.
And the eight seconds that decide everything.
“McCallister, you’re up,” the handler says, and I nod once, already moving.
Because whatever else is waiting for me after this…right now, this is mine.
Wade’s voice cuts through the noise again before I can step into the chute. “Hey.”
I glance back. He’s got Hudson on his hip, kid half-asleep and clinging to his shirt, Quinn right beside him with that steady, watch-everything look she always has.
“You good?” Wade asks, quieter this time.
“Yeah,” I answer.
He studies me like he’s deciding if I’m lying, then nods once. “Don’t make me come down there.”
I huff out a breath. “You’d get thrown faster than me.”
“Debatable.”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “It’s not.”
Behind them, Brooks steps in, Wyatt already climbing the fence like he’s been doing it his whole life, Abby on Summer’s hip with a fist wrapped in her shirt.
“Uncle Jace!” Wyatt calls, grinning like this is the best thing he’s seen all week. “You’re gonna win, right?”
“Gonna try,” I say, tipping my chin at him.
“That means yes,” he declares, completely sure of it.
Summer laughs under her breath. “Don’t let him hear you say maybe. He doesn’t believe in it.”
Luke moves up last, Emma tucked against his side, Addie right there with him, calm but focused in a way that tells me they’re all tracking more than just the ride.
“You’ve got this,” Luke says, simple and solid.
No big speech. No extra weight.
Just trust.
Emma leans forward, hands gripping the rail. “Don’t fall,” she says, completely serious.
I grin despite myself. “Solid advice.”
Addie shakes her head. “She’s not wrong.”
For a second, it all settles.
The noise. The crowd. The bulls hitting the gates.
All of it fades just enough that what’s left is this.
My family.
Showing up like they always do.
It hits different than it used to.
Before, this was about the ride. The adrenaline. The win.
Now there’s something else tied into it, something heavier and steadier at the same time, and I don’t ignore it.
I don’t want to.
“Eight seconds,” Brooks says, stepping closer, voice low so it doesn’t carry past us. “Ride smart. Not fast.”
“I know,” I answer.
He nods, satisfied.
Wade shifts Hudson higher on his hip. “We’ll be right here.”
“I know that too.”
Quinn gives me a look that says she’s already running through every possible outcome, filing it away, ready to act if she needs to.
Summer smiles, soft but sure.
Addie doesn’t say anything, just meets my eyes for a second like she gets what this means without needing it spelled out.
Luke claps a hand on my shoulder once, firm.
Grounding.
I take a breath, deeper this time, letting it settle all the way down.
Then I turn back to the chute.
Because they showed up.
Now it’s on me to do the same.
I swing up onto the rail and drop into position, boots braced, one hand gripping tight as I settle over the bull. The animal shifts under me, muscle rolling, power coiled and waiting, and everything in my body locks in with it.
This is it.
The handler nods, quick and sharp. I set my grip, lean forward just enough, and when the gate snaps open, the world explodes.
The first jump hits hard, violent and fast, the kind that tries to throw you before you’ve even found your rhythm. I stay with it, hips moving, arm loose, riding the motion instead of fighting it.
Second jump. Twist. Kick.
I adjust, center, hold.
The noise disappears, replaced by instinct and timing, every second stretching and snapping back at the same time. Dirt flies. The bull spins, changes direction, tries to catch me off balance.
Not today.
I ride it out, staying clean, staying sharp, letting muscle memory do exactly what it’s supposed to do. One second. Two. Five.
Almost there.
The final kick hits, and I release at the right moment, dropping clear as the buzzer cuts through everything. Boots hit dirt hard, knees bending on impact before I push up and move out of the way fast as the bull clears past.
The crowd surges back in all at once.
Sound. Movement. Heat.