Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KRISTIN
The smell of dust and leather clung to the air, thick even over the sweetness of kettle corn and hot chocolate.
It was the kind of scent that got into your clothes, into your hair, and stayed long after the night ended.
Christmas lights were strung along the railings, flickering red and gold through the haze kicked up by boots and hooves.
The announcer’s voice echoed under the steel rafters, bouncing off every beam until the whole place vibrated with energy that felt almost too bright for how uneasy I had been all afternoon.
Linc was somewhere on the other side of the arena, checking the chutes and calling out orders.
Every few minutes, I caught sight of him through the shifting crowd—his black felt cowboy hat, the dark line of his shoulders, the calm way he moved even when everyone else looked rushed.
He was built for nights like this, steady where everyone else spun.
He had asked me to stay near the sponsor tables, hand out raffle tickets, smile at the kids in Santa hats. Normal things. Safe things.
But normal felt thin tonight. Too easy to tear.
Maybe it was the quiet moments between events—the seconds when the crowd noise dipped and my brain filled the silence with every sound that didn’t belong. A boot scrape behind me. A voice that lingered too close. A shadow shifting in my peripheral vision that vanished when I turned.
I told myself it was nerves. The last few days had been good, almost peaceful, and I didn’t trust peace anymore.
A kid brushed past, spilling popcorn across the concrete. I bent down to help him scoop it up, smiling even though my chest felt tight enough to crack.
“Sorry, Miss Kristin,” he said, eyes wide and guilty.
“You’re fine, bud. Go catch Santa before he runs off.”
He grinned and bolted, his little boots slapping against the concrete as he disappeared into the crowd. I dusted my hands, forcing a breath through the knot in my throat. The air smelled like sweat, sugar, and snow carried in on people’s coats.
Linc’s voice came over the intercom—steady and low, giving updates between events. Just hearing it helped. He was here. He was always here.
The bronc riders thundered out next, horses bursting from the chutes, hooves slamming against packed dirt. The crowd roared, the sound so loud it rattled the panels behind me. I clapped along, half watching the riders, half searching the far side of the arena for him.
When I finally found him near the gate, he was already looking at me. Just a glance across the chaos, but it steadied me.
He touched the brim of his hat in that subtle way that said I’ve got you.
I tried to smile back, even though my stomach was still twisting.
By the time the team roping started, the place was packed shoulder to shoulder.
The bleachers shimmered with winter coats and flashing phones.
Holiday music blared between runs—country covers of Christmas songs played too loud through the speakers—and the announcer’s cheerful banter rolled over it all like static.
I kept myself busy, refilling coffee urns, collecting empty cups, wiping down tables.
Anything to keep moving. The heat from all those bodies pressed against me, too warm for December, while cold air leaked through the side doors in sharp bursts.
The smell of cinnamon and hay mixed with the metallic scent of the arena dust, and my skin prickled from the contrast.
When I leaned down to toss a stack of cups into the trash bin, a voice brushed close to my ear.
“Didn’t think you’d still be around here, sweetheart.”
I froze.
Every nerve in my body recognized that voice before my mind could form the thought.
I straightened slowly, my pulse hammering. The crowd moved like water, people jostling past, laughter and music crashing together in waves. A few cowboys leaned against the rail behind me, talking about the next event. A woman called her kid. Nothing out of place—except me.
My pulse was pounding so loudly that it drowned out everything else.
No. It couldn’t be. Josh was dead. How could he have made it off the floor of that trailer? My hands were shaking and my mind reeling.
I told myself it was just a memory. Too many sleepless nights replaying his voice, too many shadows pretending to be him. But then I heard it again, closer, lower.
“You got all dressed up for me?”
My stomach dropped.
I turned fast, eyes sweeping the bodies at the rail. And there he was.
Josh.
Alive. Smiling.
The same crooked grin that had once seemed charming before it turned into something mean.
He had shaved the beard he’d worn last time I’d seen him, but there was a scar near his temple—the one Linc had given him the night he dragged me out of that truck. The scar that had ended everything.
My breath came in shallow gasps. The world tilted. I couldn’t move. I couldn't think.
Someone bumped my shoulder, breaking the spell. I stumbled back toward the aisle, eyes locked on him. He didn’t follow right away, just leaned on the rail like any other spectator. But the way his eyes tracked me, slow and deliberate, told a different story.
I forced myself into motion.
Find Linc.
The announcer’s voice boomed overhead, calling the next team into the arena. Of course, it had to be the roping event. Josh was nowhere to be seen now.
I shoved through the crowd, my heart slamming against my ribs. My boots slipped a little on the slick concrete, and I caught the railing to steady myself.
When I looked back, he was gone.
The noise blurred into a single, pulsing roar. Horses snorted, ropes sang, people cheered—but it all felt far away.
I spotted Linc near the stock pens, clipboard in hand, talking to a cowboy. Relief hit like a wave, but it didn’t last. When he looked up and saw my face, his expression shifted in an instant.
“What is it?”
“Josh,” I whispered. “He’s here.”
He went utterly still.
“Kristin, look at me.”
“I saw him. He was right there by the rail. He—he talked to me.”
His jaw flexed once. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
“Linc—”
But he was already gone, pushing through the line of contestants toward the arena. His shoulders were tight, his movements sharp. I wanted to follow, but my legs felt as if they were locked in place.
The crowd pressed in again, their laughter and excitement ringing hollow in my ears. What if I was wrong? What if I had seen a stranger who only looked like him?
But the voice. That scar. That look.
No, I wasn’t wrong.
Minutes stretched like hours. The next set of riders went, ropes snapping through the air, steers bolting across the dirt. I couldn’t see Linc anymore.
I called his name, but it vanished in the roar of the music.
Then a hand landed on my shoulder.
I jumped so hard I knocked over the coffee urn. Hot liquid splashed across the table and steamed on the cold floor.
“Whoa, easy there.”
It wasn’t Josh. Just one of the volunteers, a kid from town.
“Sorry,” I said, my voice shaking. “Sorry, I—”
He grabbed a roll of paper towels. “I’ll clean it up. Go take a breather.”
I nodded, barely hearing him, and stumbled toward the hallway that led to the restrooms and locker rooms, away from the heat and the noise.
The second the door swung shut behind me, the roar of the crowd faded. The sound dropped into an eerie hush broken only by the distant echo of hooves and a few muffled cheers. My breath came fast, fogging in the cooler air.
I leaned against the wall, palms flat, trying to ground myself. The cinderblock was cold against my skin.
It’s fine. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you here.
The lights above flickered once.
Then I heard it. Boots on concrete. Slow, measured steps.
My throat closed.
“Linc?” I called.
No answer.
The steps kept coming.
I took a step back, fumbling for my phone. The signal bars blinked weakly—too much steel in the building, too far from the entrance. No service.
“Linc?” I called louder. “It’s not funny.”
The steps didn’t stop. They echoed in a rhythm I knew too well.
And then his voice.
“You shouldn’t have run off that night. We had some fun to get to,” he said, his voice as creepy as it had been that night.
My stomach dropped clean out of me.
Josh stepped into the light. The rope was coiled in his hand like it had never left it.
“I was gonna apologize,” he said. “But you made me look bad.”
My back hit the wall. “Stay away from me.”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting with something cold. “You know, I thought about leaving you alone. Figured maybe you learned. But then I see you here, acting like nothing happened. Like you didn’t ruin me.”
“I didn’t ruin you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You did that yourself.”
His jaw twitched. “You always had a smart mouth.”
He took a step closer.
I reached for the door handle, but his hand slammed it shut before I could move it an inch. The sound cracked through the narrow hallway.
He smiled. Small. Cruel. “Miss me?”
The space between us closed until I could see every line of the scar Linc had given him. The rope in his hand swayed, the loose loop brushing his leg with each breath.
“I thought you were dead,” I whispered.
He grinned wider. “Yeah. That’s what everyone thought.”
“Why come back?”
“Because you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
He laughed, low and bitter. “You took everything. My job. My reputation. You think these people still want to rope with me after what you told them? You think I don’t hear them whisper?
” His voice echoed off the concrete, sharp enough to slice.
I flinched, glancing toward the door, praying someone heard.
“I didn’t tell anyone anything. I swear, the only person who knew was Linc.” I was pleading now.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell him: sweat, leather, old smoke. The air felt thin.
“I should’ve finished what I started that night,” he said.
I shoved at his chest with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”
He caught my wrist mid-swing, his grip bruising my skin. “You’re not walking away this time.”
“Linc will find me,” I said. “He’s already looking.”
Something flickered in his eyes at Linc’s name. A flash of hate twisted his smile.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “He always did like playing the hero.”
He yanked me forward, the rope sliding through his fingers. I twisted, my shoulder slamming into the wall hard enough to make spots flash behind my eyes.
“Let go!”
He laughed, breath hot against my cheek. “Scream all you want. No one can hear you over the music.”
I screamed anyway. The sound tore through my throat, raw and desperate, echoing down the hallway.
He clamped his hand over my mouth. The skin of his palm tasted of salt and dust.
For a heartbeat, everything froze. The muffled roar of the crowd on the other side of the wall. The burn of fear floods every inch of me. The weight of his body pinning mine.
Then somewhere, faint but certain, I heard my name.
Linc’s voice.
Josh’s grip tightened.
He leaned close enough that his words brushed my ear. “Looks like the cowboy’s too late this time.”
The rope in his hand loosened, the loop falling open, swinging toward me like a slow pendulum.
And that was when I stopped being afraid and started getting angry.