Chapter 10 #2
I wish I could see this through her eyes and not immediately think about everything that could go wrong.
Around us, the crowd settles back into its rhythm, conversations picking up, laughter mixing with the announcer’s voice as the next ride starts. It’s like the tension resets for everyone else, like what just happened is already behind them.
But it doesn’t feel that way for me.
Because now I know what it looks like when he’s out there.
Now I know exactly how quickly things can shift.
And I can’t unsee it.
Hadley leans into the fence again, completely focused, completely present, and I stay right where I am behind her, watching the arena, watching the riders, watching the way this world moves like it makes perfect sense to everyone inside it.
I’m not part of this.
Not really.
But she is.
Or she wants to be.
And that matters more than anything else.
My gaze drifts back toward the chutes without meaning to, searching for him again, even though I tell myself I don’t need to.
He’s already done his ride.
He’s fine.
That should be enough.
It isn’t.
Because now that I’ve seen him out there, now that I’ve felt what that does to me…
I don’t know how I’m supposed to pretend this part of his life doesn’t affect us.
Not anymore.
A ripple of movement near the chutes pulls my attention before I can stop it.
Jace just stepped away from the gate, still dusted in dirt, rolling his shoulder like he’s working the last of the ride out of his body. He looks… good. Too good for something that felt that dangerous a minute ago.
And then she steps in.
Blonde, long legs, boots and cutoffs, confidence that says she’s done this before. She slides up to him like it’s nothing, one hand brushing his arm as she leans in close, smiling up at him like she already knows what she’s going to get.
A buckle bunny.
Of course.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
Hadley doesn’t notice. She’s still watching the arena, waiting for the next rider, completely unaware of anything happening behind the scenes.
I wish I could be that focused.
Jace doesn’t lean into it.
That’s the first thing I register.
He doesn’t step closer, doesn’t touch her back, doesn’t give her anything more than a few words I can’t hear from here. His body stays angled away just enough that it looks like he’s already halfway out of the conversation.
That should be enough.
It should settle whatever just flared up in my chest.
It doesn’t.
Because the fact that she walked up to him like that, like it’s normal, like it’s expected… It says something about who he’s been with here.
About the life he’s been living when I wasn’t around.
And I don’t get to pretend that doesn’t matter.
I fold my arms, more to keep myself still than anything else, my gaze locked on them even when I tell myself to look away.
He says something short. She laughs, tossing her hair back like she’s not used to being brushed off. For a second, she tries again, stepping a little closer, hand sliding along his forearm this time.
He steps back.
Clear.
Definite.
Whatever he says next lands differently, because her smile slips just a fraction before she covers it, nods like she doesn’t care, and finally moves off toward another group of riders.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Relief hits first.
And then something else follows right behind it.
Something I don’t like nearly as much.
Because I shouldn’t care.
Not like that.
Not enough to feel anything when another woman walks up to him.
We’re not… anything.
Not really.
Last night doesn’t change that.
Or at least, it shouldn’t.
But standing here, watching him shake off that interaction like it didn’t mean anything while my chest is still tight from it, I can’t ignore what that says.
About how quickly things are shifting into something I don’t have control over.
I glance down at Hadley, her attention still fixed on the arena, completely untouched by any of this, and that grounds me faster than anything else.
This is why I have to stay clearheaded.
This is why I can’t let myself get pulled into something that isn’t steady.
Because this world…
his world…
comes with things like that.
With women who walk up like they belong there.
With a life that doesn’t slow down or simplify just because I showed up.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to fit into that.
Or if I even should.
The next rider swings up, settling into position with a confidence that looks practiced, controlled, the same way Jace did just minutes ago.
I try to breathe through it this time.
Try to tell myself, I've seen rodeo's before, I have seen all these guys rodeo back in the day. I used to watch Jace before I got pregnant and moved away. I understand the rhythm, that not every ride ends in disaster just because it could.
But the second the gate cracks open, something shifts.
It’s small.
Subtle enough that I almost miss it.
The rope doesn’t sit right.
I don’t know how I know that. I don’t know enough about any of this to be sure, but there’s something off in the way the rider adjusts his hand, the way his grip tightens a fraction too late.
Then the gate slams open.
The bull launches hard, twisting fast, and the rider jerks forward, his balance off from the start. The rope slips just a little, but it’s enough.
Everything unravels.
The bull bucks again, sharper this time, and the rider loses it completely, thrown sideways before he can recover. He hits the ground hard, the sound carrying even over the crowd as the bull spins back toward him.
The arena erupts.
Shouts. Movement. Panic just under the surface.
The pickup men rush in, fast and precise, pulling the bull’s attention away just enough for the rider to scramble, but he doesn’t get up right away.
He doesn’t move.
My stomach drops.
“Mom…” Hadley says, her voice quieter now, uncertain in a way it hasn’t been all day.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, my hand tightening on her shoulder as I instinctively pull her a step back from the fence.
This is the part she wasn’t seeing.
The part I couldn’t ignore.
The rider finally moves, slow and unsteady, and relief ripples through the crowd, tension easing just enough that the announcer starts talking again, filling the space like nothing just went wrong.
But something did.
And I can’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just bad luck.
Because as they clear the arena, my gaze shifts automatically back toward the chutes.
Toward Jace.
He’s already moving, stepping closer to the handlers, eyes narrowed, attention locked on something I can’t quite see from here.
Like he noticed it too.
And then it happens again.
Another bull hits the gate before it’s fully reset, metal rattling harder than it should, the latch catching late, just enough to make everything feel… off.
My pulse spikes.
That’s not normal.
Even I can tell that.
I scan the area without meaning to, my gaze dragging across the edges of the arena, the shadows beyond the lights, the places no one else seems to be watching.
And for a second, I catch it.
That same truck.
Parked just beyond the outer fence, far enough back to blend in, but not far enough to disappear completely.
My chest tightens as I look back toward the chutes, toward Jace, who’s now standing too close to the next setup, talking to one of the handlers with a look I haven’t seen before.
Something is wrong.
Hadley shifts beside me, restless now, picking up on the tension even if she doesn’t understand it.
“Is he going again?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer, but my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
Because something isn’t right.
Not with the ride.
Not with the equipment.
Not with the way everything suddenly feels like it’s slipping just enough to matter.
And as Jace steps closer to the chute again, hand bracing against the rail, attention locked in like he’s about to put himself right back into it.
My breath catches.
Because this time…
it doesn’t feel like a controlled risk.
It feels like something’s about to go very, very wrong.