Chapter Thirty-One
Marina
Harleigh finds me in the bathroom and proceeds to drag me back out into the bar and toward a table before I can even finish washing my hands.
“I was wondering where you’d disappeared to,” she says, hooking her arm through mine.
“I needed a minute.”
“Well, are you done? The bull riding is about to start.”
When we step back into the crowd, I immediately spot Royce.
He’s watching me.
His eyes follow us as Harleigh steers me toward the table, and before I can decide where I’m sitting, she shamelessly maneuvers me into the empty chair beside him.
I glance at her, and she gives me an innocent smile.
The band finishes their song, and the lead singer steps up to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re taking a short break, but the bull riding is about to begin!”
The crowd erupts.
He points toward the enormous monitors mounted above the center of the bar. “Let’s see what our hometown boy has got for us tonight!”
The music cuts, and surprisingly, the entire place settles down.
Not quiet exactly. But quiet enough that I can hear the announcers coming through the speakers.
My stomach tightens. I reach across the table and squeeze Jovie’s hand.
She looks at me, and I know she understands.
There’s nothing quite like watching someone you care about climb onto a bull.
You’re excited. Proud. Terrified. All at the same time.
She gives me an appreciative smile, and I squeeze her fingers once more.
Suddenly, a pair of hands wraps around my shoulders, and I look up to see Shelby standing behind me, slightly breathless.
“Did we make it?” she asks.
“Just in time,” Royce says. He immediately stands, giving Shelby his chair.
“Thanks,” she says as she settles in.
Harleigh slides her sister her glass, and Shelby downs what’s left.
Royce steps back and ends up standing with Waylon directly behind me.
And, annoyingly, I’m far too aware of where he is.
I can feel him there.
But before I can let myself think too much about it, the announcer’s voice rises over the speakers. “And here comes our first rider.”
My attention snaps to the screen.
Then I stiffen.
Blaze’s picture fills the monitor. His name and stats flash across the bottom.
The camera cuts to the chute, where he’s already settling onto the back of a massive bull.
Beside me, Jovie’s fingers tighten around mine.
I look down. I didn’t even realize I was still clutching her hand.
She follows my gaze and gives a little shrug.
I almost laugh.
“I don’t get nervous watching Blaze anymore,” I whisper.
And I don’t.
If he wasn’t Ryder’s father, I probably wouldn’t care if a bull stomped him straight through the arena floor.
The chute opens.
Blaze holds on for eight seconds, the buzzer sounds, and a decent score flashes across the screen.
Behind me, Royce lets out a quiet snort.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from doing the same.
The next rider gets tossed at five seconds.
Then, “Next up, your Pbr World Champion, Axle Trust!”
The bar seems to hold its breath.
Axle is riding Widow-Maker. One of the meanest bulls on the circuit.
The camera cuts to him in the chute, and even from the screen, I can see the beast underneath him coiling with barely contained fury.
Axle drops onto its back. The gate bursts open, and the bull explodes into the arena.
The entire bar erupts.
Widow-Maker twists violently, launching his massive body sideways before dropping his front end and kicking his hind legs toward the rafters.
Axle whips right along with him.
My heart climbs into my throat, along with every other patron’s in The Soused Cow tonight.
The buzzer finally screams.
Axle releases his grip, hits the dirt, and immediately rolls away as the bullfighters rush in.
The bar goes absolutely wild. People are shouting, clapping, pounding tables.
I grin despite myself.
“That was insane,” Shelby says.
I barely hear her. The camera follows Axle as he gets to his feet, then pans wider. And that’s when I see it. Blaze. Standing outside the rails, watching the action. With a woman pressed against him. Her arms are wrapped around his body, her face tucked against his neck.
My smile disappears.
I know her. Even from this distance, I know that straight jet-black hair. That familiar profile. That face I used to see across arenas while we competed for the same titles.
The woman who eventually took my place at the top of the rankings.
Francey Hart.
My fingers go cold around Jovie’s.
That son of a bitch.
Axle’s score flashes across the screen—92.
The bar goes nuts again.
The announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, calling out the standings.
Axle is sitting comfortably at the top by a solid margin. Chase Braun is in second place, with Blaze just a fraction of a point behind Chase in third.
The camera cuts to Axle.
He’s already pulled his hat from his head, lifting it high above him as he waves to the crowd.
The response is deafening.
It’s obvious who the fan favorite is tonight. Axle has the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.
There’s still one more ride to go, but I can’t watch another second.
Not tonight.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Shelby, pushing to my feet. “I need some air.”
I don’t wait for her answer. I weave through the crowd and push through the door behind the bar that leads out onto the patio.
The cooler night air hits my face, and I suck in a deep breath.
Then I see Cabe.
He’s leaning against the railing, staring out into the darkness.
“Why aren’t you inside?” I ask.
His eyes shift to me, and he shrugs. “Just needed a break.”
I nod. “Me too,” I say, walking to stand beside him. “Axle just rode. He was incredible.”
A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “I figured. He’s a hell of a bull rider.”
I study him for a second. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He looks back toward the building. The hum of the crowd vibrates the exterior. “Just not in the mood for all the fangirling tonight.”
Before I can ask what that means, the patio door creaks open.
A redhead steps outside. The same woman I saw earlier draped all over him.
She walks straight to Cabe, slides an arm around his waist, and gives me a look that could strip paint.
Then she turns to him. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” Cabe pushes away from the railing.
He gives me a small nod. “Good night, Marina.”
“Good night.”
He takes a step, then stops. Looks back at me. “Marina?”
I glance over my shoulder.
He studies me for a beat.
Then he says, “If I were a woman, the only Trust I’d want anything to do with right now is Royce.”
My mouth falls open. “What?”
But he’s already walking away.
The redhead follows him inside, and the door swings shut behind them.
Leaving me standing there alone. Seething. And the worst part is, I’m not pissed because I still want Blaze.
I don’t.
I’m pissed because I feel like a fool. For years, I thought he wanted me. Not the barrel racer. Not the champion. Me. Marina Kincade.
And now?
He’s standing in the spot outside the arena where we used to stand together. Playing up to the camera with another woman pressed against him like none of it ever mattered. With my biggest rival. Like we were interchangeable.
Un-fucking-believable.
I walked away from that relationship, carrying enough baggage to make me afraid to even go on a date with another man.
And he’s just … fine. Living his best life.
I was so damn stupid that I convinced myself I was special when all I ever was to him was a trophy, a woman he thought looked good on his arm—until I didn’t.
My chest tightens.
And I’m the one who forced myself to suck it up, even when things were going sideways. Because I didn’t want Ryder to grow up in a broken home like I had.
I close my eyes and tip my face toward the night sky.
God, I hate this.
I hate him.
And more than anything, I hate that, somehow, he still has the power to make me feel like I’m the one who lost.
Well, screw that!