Chapter 12 #2
Hadley cheers, loud and proud, bouncing beside me like she can’t hold it in. I manage a breath that feels like it’s been stuck in my chest since the gate opened.
He’s more than fine.
And still…
Something about it doesn’t settle the way it should.
Because as he straightens and turns, his attention doesn’t go to the crowd.
It goes to the edge of the arena.
To the same place mine keeps drifting.
And even from here, I can see it in the way his posture shifts, just slightly, just enough to tell me this wasn’t just another ride for him.
It was part of something.
And whatever that something is…it’s not over yet.
Another name comes over the speakers before the noise from Jace’s ride fully settles. The shift in the arena is almost immediate, like the night is determined to keep moving whether anyone is ready for it or not.
I try to follow that rhythm, to let the crowd pull me back into the flow of it. The tight feeling in my chest doesn’t ease. If anything, it sharpens, because now I know what I’m looking for, and that makes everything harder to ignore.
The rider steps up, confident, familiar with the routine, and nothing about him looks off as he swings into position. The crew moves around him, hands quick, practiced, doing exactly what they’re supposed to do.
Except they’re not.
I see it before it happens, in the way one handler adjusts the rope and pauses a fraction too long.
My pulse spikes.
“Mom…” Hadley says, softer now, her fingers curling tighter around the rail.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, my hand sliding down to cover hers, grounding her even as my focus locks in.
The gate is set.
The rider nods.
And then it goes wrong.
It sticks. Just enough to throw everything off and when the gate finally snaps open, the bull doesn’t break straight. It surges out crooked and hard, the timing off in a way that looks small if you don’t know what you’re seeing.
I know.
The rider doesn’t have a chance to settle.
His weight shifts wonky from the start, his grip fighting to catch up instead of leading. I can see it on the rider's face. This was not right.
The bull twists, violent and fast, and the rider goes with it for half a second before everything unravels.
He’s thrown hard.
The sound of him hitting the ground cuts through the crowd in a way that doesn’t belong in something meant to be entertainment. For a split second everything stalls, like the entire arena feels it at the same time.
Then it explodes.
Shouts. Movement. The pickup men charging in, pulling the bull’s attention away as the rider scrambles, not fast enough, not clean enough.
Too close.
Way too close.
I pull Hadley back a step without thinking, my arm tightening around her as the chaos unfolds in front of us. My heart hammering so hard it drowns out everything else for a second.
“That’s not right,” she whispers, her voice small against the noise.
“No,” I say, my eyes locked on the arena. “It’s not.”
Because this time it isn’t a feeling.
This isn’t a bad ride.
It’s the same thing as before.
Only worse.
My gaze snaps to Jace before I can stop it. He’s already moving, already halfway toward the chute, his posture sharp, focused in a way that tells me this confirms something for him, not surprising him.
He suspected this.
And now it’s not a question anymore.
Around us, the announcer tries to smooth it over, his voice steady but strained, filling the space while the rider is helped up and the arena resets like nothing just went wrong.
But it did.
And this time, everyone felt it.
I can see it in the way people shift, in the murmurs that ripple through the crowd, in the way the energy doesn’t bounce back as easily as it did before.
My pulse spikes, sharp and relentless, because I’m standing here with my daughter in the middle of it.
That thought hits harder than anything else.
I glance down at Hadley, brushing a hand over her hair, grounding myself in something real for half a second. “Hey,” I say softly. “You want to go grab a drink?”
She looks up at me, surprised. “Now?”
“Just for a minute,” I tell her. “It’s loud down here.”
She hesitates, glancing back toward the arena, then nods, trusting me even if she doesn’t understand why I’m suddenly pulling back.
I take her hand and guide her away from the rail, weaving through the crowd, putting distance between us and whatever is about to happen next.
But it doesn’t feel like enough.
We stop near one of the vendor stands, my chest tight and my focus still locked on the arena.
The noise shifting into something more scattered, less focused, but my attention doesn’t follow it.
It stays locked on the arena, on the space I just walked away from.
On the man still standing in the middle of something I don’t fully understand.
And then I feel it. That awareness.
The same one from yesterday.
Like someone’s watching.
My gaze shifts without thinking, scanning the edge of the lot again, and the truck is still there, still angled toward the exit, too still for comfort.
A chill moves down my spine.
Because now I’m not just noticing it.
I’m reacting to it.
“Riley.”
His voice hits before I see him.
I turn, and Jace is there, close enough that the noise drops away just a fraction, his presence cutting through everything else like it always has.
Up close, the tension in him is impossible to miss.
“What are you doing?” I ask, the question coming out quieter than I expect.
“Making sure you’re not standing by that rail right now,” he answers, his gaze flicking briefly past me, checking the surroundings before coming back.
Something in my chest shifts hard at that.
Because this isn’t casual.
This isn’t coincidence.
“You knew,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Something’s wrong.”
His jaw tightens just enough to confirm it.
“Yeah,” he says. “And I need you to listen to me.”
The seriousness in his tone cuts through everything else, leaving no room to argue, no space to brush it off.
I nod.
“Stay away from the chutes,” he continues, his voice low and controlled. “Stay where I can see you. Don’t go near the outer lot.”
My stomach drops slightly at that. “That truck.”
“I know,” he says, cutting me off gently but firmly. “I’ve got eyes on it.”
And that matters more than he’s saying out loud.
Hadley shifts closer to my side, looking between us, picking up on the tension even if she doesn’t understand the words.
“You’re scaring her,” I murmur.
His gaze softens just a fraction as it drops to her, then lifts back to me. “I’m trying to keep you both safe.”
That lands harder than anything else.
Because now it’s not just a feeling.
It’s real.
And standing this close to him, with the noise of the rodeo still pulsing around us and something darker moving just beneath it, I feel that pull again, the one I’ve been trying to ignore since the moment I saw him yesterday.
Stronger now.
Because danger has a way of stripping everything else away.
Leaving only what matters.
And right now…
He's the only thing that feels solid.
“Jace…” I start, not even sure what I’m about to say.
He steps closer, just enough that I feel the heat of him, the tension in his body held tight like a line ready to snap.
“We’ll talk,” he says quietly. “Just not here.”
My breath catches slightly, because I hear what he’s not saying.
I nod again, slower this time.
Because whatever this is between us…
it’s about to collide with everything else.
“Mom?” Hadley’s voice pulls me back just enough to remember she’s still right here between us. She is watching everything with eyes that are far too aware for her age tonight.
I force myself to breathe, to pull something steady back into place. “Hey,” I say, crouching slightly so I’m closer to her level. “Why don’t you go find Aunt Piper? She's right over there, remember?”
She hesitates, glancing between me and Jace, clearly picking up on the shift even if she doesn’t understand it. “You’re coming?”
“In a minute,” I tell her gently. “I just need to talk to him.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer, then she nods, trusting me, even now. “Okay.”
Jace watches her go, his expression tightening just slightly until she disappears into the crowd, and the second she’s out of reach, the space between us changes.
The noise is still there.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, my voice quieter now, but steadier.
His jaw shifts, like he’s weighing how much to say, how much to keep back. “Enough to know you shouldn’t be anywhere near the arena right now,” he answers.
“That’s not good enough,” I push, stepping closer before I can stop myself. “You’re out there anyway. You rode anyway. So don’t stand here and tell me to stay back without telling me why.”
Something flashes in his eyes at that, something sharper than before, but it’s not anger.
It’s conflict.
“Because if I tell you everything,” he says, low and controlled, “you’re going to leave.”
My chest tightens. “Maybe I should.”
“Maybe you should,” he agrees, and the fact that he doesn’t fight me on it hits harder than if he had.
For a second, neither of us moves.
The space between us feels charged, stretched thin by everything we’re not saying and everything we are.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say finally, the words coming out before I can second guess them. “Not without understanding what’s happening.”
His gaze locks on mine, searching, like he’s trying to decide if I mean that or if it’s just the moment talking.
“I saw the truck,” I add quietly.
That does it.
Something in him shifts, something more decisive.
“Then we need to move,” he says.
Before I can ask anything else, his hand closes around mine, firm and certain, and he pulls me with him. Not back toward the arena, but away from it, cutting through the edge of the grounds toward the line of rigs parked behind the pens.
My pulse kicks up again, but this time it isn’t just fear driving it.
It’s him.
The way he doesn’t hesitate.
The way he doesn’t let go.
We don’t stop until we reach his trailer. The side door is already unlatched. He pulls it open and guides me up the steps, his body close behind mine as we step into the narrow hallway that leads toward the living quarters.
The noise from the rodeo drops to a distant pulse the second the door shuts.
It’s more quiet in here.
Safer in a way that doesn’t quite feel real.
Jace turns to me in the tight space, his hand still wrapped around mine, his other hand finding my waist again like he needs to anchor himself as much as he needs to anchor me.
“You should go home,” he says, softer now.
I shake my head. “Not until you stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something you have to protect instead of something you want,” I answer, the truth slipping out before I can filter it.
His grip tightens just slightly, his gaze dropping to my mouth for half a second before coming back to my eyes.
“Then make me,” I push.
The tension snaps.
One second we're standing there arguing around everything we're not saying, and the next he's pulling me closer, his hand sliding from my waist to my back, closing the distance between us like it was inevitable from the start.
The kiss hits hard.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. Like he's been holding it back and doesn't have the space for that anymore.
I respond before I can think, my hands finding his shirt, grounding myself in something real, something solid, something that isn't uncertainty or fear.
He backs us deeper into the trailer without breaking contact, guiding me toward the living quarters. His hand steady at my waist, my body moving with his without question. Our mouths are locked together
The door clicks shut behind us and the rodeo disappears entirely.
He pulls back just far enough to look at me, chest rising and falling hard, jaw tight. Waiting.
Giving me the same out he always gives me even when I don't want it.
I reach for his shirt and pull it over his head.
That's answer enough.
His hands move like he's been thinking about this, unhurried but certain, sliding my jacket off my shoulders, finding the hem of my shirt.
When his palms drag up my sides I shiver despite the heat and he notices. His mouth finding the curve of my neck while his hands keep moving, unclasping, uncovering, moving quickly like he's determined not to miss any of it.
"Jace." His name comes out unsteady.
"I hear you," he murmurs against my skin.
He lays me back on the narrow bed and works his way down with his mouth, his hands on my breasts.
Then his mouth and tongue, teasing and sucking. My body is arching with pleasure. He gives me his full attention, reading every sound I make and every move my body makes using the information ruthlessly. I stop being quiet about it. There's no point.
The way he touches me makes restraint feel like a waste.
I am so wet and ready for him, and by the time he finally settles over me and I can feel how hard he is, I'm not thinking in full sentences anymore.
I am waiting for him anxiously. He teases me with the tip and then pushes in. It takes my breath away quickly.
We find a rhythm that is satisfying to both of us. My body arches into his. I can feel him inside me and my walls are tightening on him.
Slow at first. Then faster and faster, harder and harder. In one heavy breath I say, "I'm so close." He notices as he moves one more time and I lose my breath. He holds me through it and closely follows.
When it broke it broke for both of us, his forehead against mine, neither of us making any effort to be quiet about it.
Afterward the trailer holds us in the dark, both of us breathing slow, his arm heavy and warm across my waist.
Outside, the rodeo goes on without us. I tell him we need to get back to Hadley and Piper. We get up and start dressing.
And then it stops.
Not because we want it to.
Because something else interrupts it.
Jace see's it first, his body going rigid in a way that has nothing to do with me. His head turns slightly, his focus snapping past me toward the narrow stretch of floor just inside of the living quarters door.
“What is it?” I ask, breath uneven.
He doesn’t answer right away.
He steps around me, slow and controlled, and that’s when I see it too.
A piece of paper taped low against the doorframe, placed where it wouldn’t be noticed until you were close enough to see it, deliberate and waiting.
My stomach drops.
Jace reaches for it, peeling it free with careful fingers, his expression tightening as he unfolds it.
“What does it say?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
He reads it once, then again, like he’s making sure he didn’t get it wrong.
Then he looks up at me.
And whatever’s written there…
It just made this a whole lot worse.