Chapter Twenty-One
Royce
I finish my last lesson of the day with a group of bull riders, watching tape in one of the classrooms, and head straight for the clinic for my therapy session with Jovie.
I’m passing the arena when something—or someone—catches my eye.
Marina.
I slow, then stop at the rail and lean against the top board, watching her work with a group of female barrel racing hopefuls gathered just outside the gate. Three barrels are set in the dirt, spaced in the familiar cloverleaf pattern.
The girls are listening intently as Marina stands in front of them, animatedly explaining something I can’t hear from this distance.
Marina walks toward a horse waiting nearby. She swings into the saddle in one smooth motion, settling her hands on the reins.
Her assistant moves into position beside the gate.
Marina looks toward the timer, and I can see her focus snap into place.
A horn blows, and she charges through the gate like lightning.
The horse surges beneath her, dirt exploding from its hooves as they fly toward the first barrel. Marina leans into the turn, tight and controlled, barely giving the horse an inch of wasted ground.
They round the first barrel and power toward the second. The horse digs in, hindquarters dropping as Marina shifts with it, her body moving like she and the animal are one as she clears the third barrel.
Then she straightens for the run home.
Fast as a bullet.
The dirt sprays behind them as they tear across the arena, Marina low over the horse’s neck, hair whipping around her face, eyes locked ahead.
She commands that horse without even looking like she’s trying. The ride is smooth as hell. Effortless.
And, fuck, she looks good.
There’s a smile on her face when she crosses the line, and something about it catches me square in the chest. She looks alive. Like she never stopped competing.
The girls outside the gate erupt when the time flashes across the monitor.
They’re shouting and clapping, some of them practically bouncing on their toes.
Marina laughs, patting the horse’s neck as she circles back toward them.
The girls crowd around her the second she reaches the gate, peppering her with questions, and she answers them with that same easy confidence, pointing toward the barrels and explaining something about her turns.
They’re looking at her like she hung the damn moon.
I get it.
“Damn, she’s good.”
Micah’s voice beside me makes me glance over.
He’s climbed up beside me, forearms folded over the top railing, eyes following Marina as she works with the girls.
“Good? She’s fucking amazing.”
Micah looks at me, and his mouth curves. “You really do like her, don’t you?”
I keep my eyes on Marina.
She’s laughing at something one of the girls said, one hand resting on the horse’s neck.
I don’t answer.
Micah’s smile fades, replaced by something more serious. “You think you can break through those walls?”
I watch Marina for another long second.
She used to be so open and carefree. But now she seems determined to keep everyone—me in particular—at arm’s length.
But she remembers our time together, and she enjoyed it, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.
I don’t know if I can get through to her.
“I have no idea,” I say.
Micah nods.
I grin, turn back toward the arena, and add, “But I’m gonna have a damn good time trying.”
I walk into the clinic, and Jovie is waiting for me.
“I was about to come looking for you.”
“Sorry, Jo. Got distracted at the arena.”
She sighs and points toward one of the treatment tables. “How did it go today?”
“Good,” I say as I remove my hat and take a seat. “We got a good group of kids this time. Eager to learn.”
“Shirt off.”
I remove my T-shirt, and she starts poking around my shoulder. Digging her fingers into the muscles.
“Easy …”
“Don’t even think about complaining,” she says. “And I was asking how your shoulder held up. Think I got my answer.”
“Actually, it’s pretty good too. Started aching a little by the end of the day, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”
The next hour is a slow, methodical reminder that I am, in fact, human. And my body requires a lot more attention than I’ve been willing to give it.
Jovie starts me with pendulums, having me lean forward and let my injured arm hang loose while I use the momentum of my body to gently swing it in small circles.
“Relax the shoulder,” she says.
“This is relaxed.”
“It’s sitting up around your ear, Royce. Let it drop and keep it loose.”
I glance to the left. She’s not wrong. I release the tension I didn’t know I was holding.
“Happy?”
“Keep going,” she says.
From there, she moves me through passive range-of-motion work, supporting my arm and guiding it through movements while I keep the muscles relaxed.
That part messes with my head more than I expected. There’s something humbling about having somebody else move a limb you’ve spent your entire life taking for granted.
Then come scapular squeezes. She has me sit upright and pinch my shoulder blades together, hold, and release. Over and over and fucking over again.
“Shoulders down,” she reminds me.
I exhale.
“Shoulders down,” she repeats.
Next are isometric rotations. I press gently inward and outward against resistance without actually moving the joint. It sounds easy, but it sure as hell isn’t.
By the time she has me lying on my good side for external rotations with a ridiculously light weight in my hand, I’m done.
“This weighs what, two pounds?”
“One.”
I stare at it. “One?”
“Yep.”
“Now you’re just fucking with me,” I say.
By the end, my shoulder is burning, and my upper back feels like somebody lit a match between my shoulder blades.
Jovie stands at the foot of the table, watching me carefully. “How do you feel?”
“Like a tiny drill sergeant tortured me for the last hour and enjoyed it.”
She pats me on the back. “She did.”
I laugh.
She makes a few notes on her tablet before looking back at me.
“You did really well today, Royce. Your range is better than I expected, and you’re doing a good job keeping the movements controlled.”
“Great.” I sit up and grab my shirt. “Same time tomorrow?”
“We can let it rest tomorrow. You may be a little stiff. And since you don’t have any swelling, I want you to get in the sauna. It’ll help relax the tight muscles and improve blood flow to the joint.”
Sauna instead of torture? Sign me up.
“Anything you say.”
I pull my shirt over my head and hop down from the table.
I wipe down the table for her while she closes everything down for the night. We leave the clinic together, and I glance toward the dining hall.
“You wanna grab dinner at the hall?”
Jovie shakes her head. “Nope. Heading to the main house. Evelyn invited me for pot roast. I think she feels bad for me because Axle flew out to shoot that commercial and didn’t get to come this week.”
I stop walking. “Pot roast?”
Grandma Evelyn’s pot roast is legendary. I look toward the dining hall. Whatever they’re serving can’t possibly compare.
“I’m coming with you.”
Jovie laughs. “I didn’t invite you.”
“I don’t need an invitation.”
She shakes her head. “Fine.”
The walk to the house doesn’t take long. We step through the front door, and the first thing I hear is a familiar voice coming from the living room.
“And then he misses the bull. See?” He points at the screen and then at his head. “He should’ve waited.”
I look around the corner.
Ryder is planted on the floor in front of the television between Uncle Albert and Grandpa Earl, both old men sitting in their chairs with patient expressions, listening intently to the four-year-old.
A rerun of a Pbr Teams event is playing on the screen, and Ryder is providing commentary.
Not just commentary.
Analysis.
He points at the television. “His feet ain’t right.”
Albert nods solemnly. “They’re off.”
“And now he’s gonna fall before the buzzer goes off.”
The rider on the screen gets bucked sideways and hits the dirt.
Ryder throws both hands in the air. “Told you.”
Grandpa chuckles. “I think we’ve got ourselves an announcer.”
“Color commentator,” Albert agrees.
Ryder doesn’t hear either of them. He’s too busy dissecting the next ride.
I lean against the doorway for a second, watching him.
The kid could sit behind the broadcast desk tomorrow and probably give half those announcers a run for their money.
He may not fully grasp it yet, but he’s catching mistakes and noticing positioning. He understands enough about what he’s seeing to recognize when something doesn’t look right.
I move into the room and sit on the arm of the couch.
Ryder glances over, and his eyes light up. “Royce!”
Before I can answer, he’s scrambling off the floor and climbing up and sitting beside me.
“Did you ride bulls in the Pbr Teams?”
“Nope. Never did teams.”
“Why not?” he asks.
I shrug. “Just preferred individual. That way, I could control my own schedule and keep all my winnings.”
“Do you win a lot?”
Albert laughs into his fist.
“I’m pretty good.”
“How many bulls have you ridden?”
“A whole lot.”
“Have you gotten bucked off a bunch?”
“Sometimes.”
Ryder’s eyes go wide. “Did it hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you cry?”
Albert is full-on chuckling now.
I look at Ryder. “No, I didn’t cry. Cowboys don’t cry when we get hurt. We cuss.”
“My mommy doesn’t let me cuss.”
Jovie, standing behind us, snorts.
I glance at her.
She mouths, Really?
I ignore her. It’s not like I’m gonna sit here and lie to the kid.
Ryder studies me for a second. Then his face settles into complete seriousness. “When I get big, I’m gonna be on a team and cuss when I get bucked off.”
“You are?”
He nods. “I’m gonna ride the rankest bulls too.”
I glance toward the television, then back at him. “Then you’d better start practicing. We’ll have to get you on the back of some sheep.”
His little eyebrows shoot up. “Can I?”
The front door opens, and Marina steps inside.
“Can you what?” she says.
Ryder hops off the couch and runs toward her. “Mommy! Mommy! Royce is gonna let me practice buckin’!”
She pauses mid-step, and he crashes into her.
“Oh, really?”
Her eyes lift. Straight to me.
I grin. “The boy’s got the fire in his belly. Better to start letting him train sooner rather than later.”
“Um …”
Ryder grabs her hand. “Can I?”
Marina looks down at him. And I have to give the kid credit. He widens his blue eyes and gives her his best pleading face.
“Please?”
She glances at me and raises her eyebrows.
“Please, Mommy?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Her eyes narrow.
Ryder adds, “Pretty please?”
Marina looks down at him and back to me. She mouths the words, I’m going to kill you.
I’d enjoy her trying.
I stand and give her a slow grin. “I’ll take my chances.”
She rolls her eyes.
And before she can answer the question, Grandma Evelyn walks into the room. “Dinner’s ready.”
Ryder immediately forgets about his begging and takes off toward the dining room.
Marina reaches for his hand before he gets far. “We’re having dinner at home.”
“You all stay,” Grandma says.
“Oh, no. I don’t want to impose,” Marina says.
Grandma waves her off. “Nonsense. There’s more than enough food.”
Marina opens her mouth but is cut off with another wave.
“My pot roast could feed half the county around here. And all my girls are scattered now.”
I glance at Marina. “Yeah. Stay.”
She looks at me and back to Ryder, who’s nodding enthusiastically.
“I helped cook.”
“He did help me knead the biscuit dough.”
He raises his hands and wiggles his fingers. “It was squishy.”
“Well, now you have to stay,” I say.
Marina sighs. “Okay. We can eat here tonight,” she says. “But we’re eating at our house from now on.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
Everyone starts moving toward the dining room. I hang back just enough that Marina has to pass me.
She brushes by my shoulder and lowers her voice. “I see you weren’t able to talk anyone into having dinner with you.”
I smirk. “I just did.”
Her eyes flash.
She shakes her head and keeps walking. “Sneaky bastard.”
I follow her toward the table with a grin I can’t quite wipe off my face.