Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bailey
Itell myself that, if nothing else, this is the second last time I have to watch him ride.
It’s the silver lining I cling to when I feel as though my body is barely being held together by my skin anymore.
When I feel like every single atom that makes up my person is vibrating at a frequency unfamiliar to me.
Beau’s drawn a famously mean bull. Great for his score, potentially, but I don’t really care about his score right now.
I watch the first half of the event, expression relaxed, but with tension mounting inside of me the closer and closer we build to his turn.
Two riders are thrown, badly. One of the journalists covering tonight calls it a ‘blood bath’ and I don’t disagree.
I can’t wait for it to be over. Beau’s suggested we go straight back to the hotel, says he’ll give his family the slip as soon as he can and meet me in my room.
Time is not our friend, so the chance of getting back to our little world as soon as possible is a mirage I am racing toward.
In the break, I slip out to get a soda, taking it back to my seat and clutching it like a lifeline as the lights dim and the announcer’s deep voice booms around the arena.
There are four riders ahead of Beau. I watch without seeing.
My focus is split. The second he climbs up on the chute rail, my heart slams against my ribs.
I stare at him, my blood pounding at the familiar sight, the way his face is held in a line of focus and concentration.
I close my eyes and mutter a prayer. Please, let him be okay. Please, let him be okay.
I hate that I care so much, but how can I not? How can I watch him get onto a bull’s back and not feel as though my whole world is being held in a tenuous grip?
I have seen him do this a number of times, but even if it was only once or twice, the visual would be imprinted in my brain. One leg first, then the other, so he’s on the bull’s back, stretching the rope back and forth, in a silent communication with the animal.
Time stretches. The crowd goes silent—or as silent as a stadium filled with thousands of people can go.
He shifts his head in an understated nod; the chute opens, and the bull bucks the second he’s out, twisting in the air, left then right, throwing his head down before launching up, every movement a stab of panic, an act of malice.
The bull turns and seems to be looking right at me.
One second. I dig my fingernails into my palm as the bull bucks forward and Beau seems to roll toward the thing’s head, almost like he’s going to come off over the top.
I make a sound of panic, but otherwise don’t move.
I can’t. It’s as though by sitting as still as stone, I can somehow save him. Help him. Do something for him.
Two seconds. The bull twists in the air again, landing with so much heft I practically feel the vibrations. Another twist, a dive. Three seconds. Four. My pulse is hectic, my hands trembling. I stare at Beau, silently muttering a plea in my mind, over and over. Five seconds.
There’s a sound, loud and high pitched. A horn.
It’s instantly audible above the din of the stadium.
I’m briefly aware of a commotion in the stands, but I can’t look away.
The sound is like a red rag to this bull; it infuriates him.
He runs hard across the arena, then jumps up, bucking before twisting.
The bullfighters are moving in, even though there’s only seven seconds gone.
Everyone’s holding their breath, I swear.
I’ve never seen a bull quite this big and quite this bad.
‘Come on, baby,’ I whisper, not caring who hears, not caring about the tears that spring to my eyes. Not caring about anything except the next second, and the moment he jumps off.
Eight seconds.
The buzzer sounds. The bull bucks. The bullfighters run in, but right as Beau goes to jump off, the bull bucks again and he loses his balance, falling to the side, hard. I lift my hand to my mouth, catching the strangled cry as it forms, staring at his body in the dust.
Get up. Oh, god, please, get up. All I can see is the footage I’ve watched on the internet, of him after that first godawful accident.
The bullfighters get between Beau and the bull, drawing him away to the exit pens—but not easily. The bull fights it to the very end, stomping and dragging his feet on the ground. Medics run toward Beau and another cry forms in my mouth; this time I can’t hold it back.
Only now do my eyes flit to the stands. I’m already moving to the edge of the rails, right on the floor of the arena, but Beau’s family has beaten me to it.
They’re a few rows of seats over, but I can clearly make them out.
Austin, Mackenzie, Nash, Caleb, Cole, Beth, Cassidy and someone else.
A striking woman with flawless skin and cherry red hair.
She’s poured her stunning curves into a pair of jeans and a halter-neck top, but I barely notice any of those details.
All I can see is the angst on her face. The pain. The love.
I know it’s Ash straight away, even before Cassidy puts an arm around the redhead’s shoulders and draws her close. Ash is moving though, jumping the barrier and running over the dusty arena floor toward Beau. My Beau. Her Beau.
Tears stream down my cheeks but I’m panicking now, history repeating itself, reminding me of Kirk and that damned party, of how mortifying it was to realise I’d fallen in love with someone else’s husband.
Realising I’ve done exactly the same thing now.
They’re not married, and I know Beau was telling me the truth about their relationship. At least, about whether or not they’re still together. But he clearly left out one very important detail: Ash Callahan is obviously and completely in love with Beau, and yet again I’m the other woman.
Beau shifts, holding a hand up; the crowd goes wild.
Ash falls to her knees at his side while the medics swoop in, checking him for concussion.
I step back behind a row of reporters and wait just long enough to make sure he can walk.
For a second, I think he’s looking for me, his eyes scanning in my direction, but Ash is there, drawing his focus, walking beside him, head bent, shielding her emotion.
I grab my bag and duck out of the arena, into the balmy night air, my heart more torn to pieces than I would ever have thought possible.
Because in seeing Ash, and how much she clearly loves Beau, I’m forced to accept the truth of my own heart, the truth I’ve been fighting, all this time.
I’m in love with him too, exactly like I promised I never would be. And I will protect that secret with my dying breath—he will never, ever know how I feel.
Beau
‘It’s not a broken wrist,’ I say, frustrated beyond all get-out, no doubt completely failing to keep the thunderous expression off my face.
I know it’s important to the managers of the tour to ensure rider safety.
That’s why they make us jump through all these hoops.
But right now, the protocol is making me itchy.
‘We’ll need X-rays to confirm, either way,’ the doc says with a shake of the head.
I look from him to my wrist, biting back the stinging retort that’s on the tip of my tongue.
‘Just go get the screen done,’ Cole says.
‘We have a machine on site,’ the doctor adds. This is one of the bigger stadiums on the tour, and the facilities are second to none.
I look around, half hoping to see Bailey, but she’s nowhere. My stomach dips when I think about what she saw. The accident, and then Ash. My mouth turns to dust.
‘I just wanna get this over with.’ My tone is dark, sharp.
‘Honey, just get an X-ray.’ Ash rubs her hand over my back, eyes solicitous. My chest feels heavy.
‘Glad you came?’ I ask, even through my irritation.
She rolls her eyes. ‘Glad to be reminded why I never want to see you do that ever again, sure.’
‘This way, Beau.’ The doctor now takes my agreement as guaranteed, and gestures down the corridor. ‘Y’all will have to wait in the dressing rooms for now.’
‘This won’t take long,’ I say vaguely in their direction.
And then, with blood pounding through my ears, and my tongue feeling all heavy because of how much I want to know where she is, but also to seem casual, I say, ‘Can someone check on Bailey? I’m sure she’ll want to cover this for her story.
’ I try to make it sound like I don’t care either way.
Nash nods. ‘I’ll go.’
I’m too distracted to more than fleetingly notice the way Cole’s eyes narrow.
‘Thanks, bro. I’ll be right back.’ I step away from Ash, that heaviness back in my chest, then wave my non-injured arm in the air.
Forty minutes later, my wrist is bandaged up, a bad sprain confirmed.
My arm, thankfully, is fine, which means I can still ride, so long as the doctor signs off.
He won’t like it—I know from experience that even a sprain should be rested, but I think he’ll come around.
Everyone will love it—it plays right into the whole Comeback King message they’re building around me.
Riding with a bandaged wrist? Fantastic PR.
I grimace, unable to give that more than a passing thought. I get back to the waiting room, my eyes falling on my family.
‘He returns,’ Austin says with a grin. He pats my back with about a tenth of the force he’d usually employ.
‘Cut it out,’ I growl. ‘I’m not made of glass.’
He winks at me, shrugs his broad shoulders. ‘Anything else you need to do here?’
I shake my head. ‘I just want to get back to the hotel, to be honest.’
‘If it’s any consolation, you scored huge for that ride. You’re in the lead.’
I haven’t even thought to check the results. ‘Yeah?’
Cole nods. ‘Shame you’ll miss tomorrow.’
I move my arm out for everyone to see. ‘Who said anything about missing it?’
‘You can’t be serious?’