Thirty-Three | Harlow
People flood out of the arena. It’s the kind of quiet that’s stagnant after an atmosphere was booming and thriving off adrenaline and exhilaration.
The rodeo has ended, spectators scattering out of their seats and back to the fair, where the music and laughter from the rides can be faintly heard through the walls of the building.
It’s a hum of anticipation that should have me eagerly flooding out the doors with them like a wave, but my feet are heavy, carrying my weight.
A part of me wanted to hit the rides and snag a funnel cake afterward. Unfortunately, that interest was replaced with a heaviness I can’t shake after my discussion with Matt. It shifted my mood and has left me feeling exhausted as I thought about all the possible answers to the questions I have.
I don’t know Colson Payne.
Not really, anyway.
From the moment I met him, I’ve slapped labels on him that I have had a hard time ignoring.
But it’s nothing he hasn’t done to me. Sure, they’ve seemed to dissolve over the last several months, but it doesn’t change that they existed between us.
That he was a dick to me my first year because he thought I was incapable of competing at this level, because of my gender.
Riding a bull might not scare me, but truthfully, asking him why he’s treated me the way he has does.
Why did he say those things to me when I was seventeen? I looked up to him, and all he did was belittle me and make me feel like I was overreaching.
There’s this sickening, swirling sensation souring my stomach whenever those questions sit on my tongue. It should seem easy to just come out with it, but it’s like that chest-tightening feeling you get when you know there’s more to the story than just the surface-level stuff that never means shit.
Words can hurt. They can cut sharply in ways they shouldn’t be able to. And over the last several years, Colson has thrown them at me relentlessly through our time competing together. Some of them hit hard. Others were like a drug to my system, flooding into my veins and pushing me forward.
I brace my hands on the fence separating the stands from the dirt floor, looking out over the empty expanse where only a few workers are clearing the chutes and some of the athletes are lingering.
The small fairground stadium stirs so many memories of when I was in these riders’ shoes, trying to find anywhere I could compete to keep increasing the value of my name.
It wasn’t that long ago that I was in this exact spot, scraping by just because I could taste my future on the tip of my tongue and craved to make it a reality.
A shoulder brushes mine, and I hate to admit how aware I am of Colson when he’s nearby.
“I miss competing in places like this,” I admit, glancing out over the space.
“It was events like this one that always felt like the halfway point between having to put everything on the line but also feeling like it wasn’t the end of the world if you were knocked off balance and didn’t last those eight seconds. ”
“You should go into every ride as if each one is the biggest fight of your life.” God, could Colson sound any more like a coach?
Sometimes, I think he was meant for this—to end up as a coach after his riding career is over because he is a damn good one.
He’s easy to listen to—to want to impress.
And for some godforsaken reason, I want to keep drawing out that brightness that reflects in his eyes.
I’ve come to recognize it as the telltale sign that he is proud.
I turn my head slightly to regard him. “Have you ever thought about coaching? For real?”
His gaze meets mine. “What is it that you think I’ve been doing with you all this time? Ordering you around?”
“I mean, you did tie me to a headboard.”
Colson’s mouth curves. “I didn’t hear you protesting. Your pussy wasn’t either.”
Goosebumps burst across my skin, and suddenly I’m too hot in my flannel and jeans.
I playfully bump his shoulder with mine, swallowing down the high-pitched tone I know my voice is going to release after hearing him say that out loud. “I’m serious. You could coach after you retire. You’re a natural at it.”
His low, throaty laugh warms the blood in my veins. “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day when Harlow Hartt keeps complimenting me. That almost sounded easy for you to say.”
I hold his eyes. “Because it was.”
His irises bounce between mine, but then he looks back out over the arena.
He pulls a small section of his bottom lip between his teeth.
I focus too much on the movement of his mouth.
“I’m not done with being a professional rider yet, Harlow.
I haven’t stalled. Sure, I’ve thought about coaching—but that’s the kind of weight and responsibility I’m not sure I’d be able to handle. ”
“What do you mean?”
“Aaron was standing fifteen feet away when your leg was crushed. You can’t tell me that it didn’t scar him in some way.”
My heart smashes against my ribs. Maybe it’s selfish, but I never considered how hard that would’ve been on him.
If anything, it made our relationship stronger the following year when I was finally able to start training again.
I didn’t think anything about it at the time, but his coaching style changed.
He was more alert than he was before, giving me tips on how to continue reading the flexing of the muscle below me, even after the control was no longer mine, and I was about to be thrown.
I agree with him. “I’m sure it terrified him as much as it terrified me.”
“Fuck.” Colson sighs. “You scared the shit out of everyone that night, Harlow. You scared me.” His voice drops, breaking just slightly enough for me to catch it.
I suppress a smile. “Careful, cowboy. It almost sounds like you cared about me even back then.”
His hands flex in front of him while his elbows are braced on the gate. For a brief second, I think he wants to reach for me. “Why do you think I’m coaching you? You are Pbr’s Sweetheart, after all. Thanks to you, there’s a whole new audience with eyes on this sport.”
Even competing at small rodeos like this one, I’ve always wanted more.
More recognition.
More respect.
Not just for me, but for the fourteen-year-old girl who everyone rolled their eyes at when she said she wanted to ride a bull. For the girl who knew she could come back after an injury that should’ve ended her career.
All of those things are what have driven me to where I am. But somewhere along the way, I think I lost the girl who fell in love with riding bulls because she felt wild and free.
Being in the professional league completely shifted that mindset. Because people are watching me more than ever.
People know my name.
I feel like I’m always placed under a microscope, and my dreams aren’t only my own anymore. A piece of my dream belongs to all the women out there who are pushing to normalize us taking up space in a man’s world.
A throat clears behind me. The sound is soft and sugary in that way that makes you curious about who it came from.
Colson and I both turn, meeting the bright eyes of a teen girl whose attention is completely locked on me.
She sways on her toes, like her body can’t contain the excitement.
She knows exactly who I am. Which means if she knows me, she knows Colson Payne.
But he might as well be invisible because her blinding smile is directed at me.
I can’t help but grin back.
“Can you sign my hat?” She beams at me with big brown eyes under her cowgirl hat. The girl holds out a black marker, and I take it from her, unable to hide my excitement.
“Of course.” I nod, holding out my hand. She pulls her hat off her head, running her hands down her long, dark brown, matching braids. “What’s your name?”
“Calli,” she answers confidently.
Uncapping the marker, I press it to the brim, scrawling my signature across. “How old are you?”
When she says, “Fourteen,” I swear I feel Colson stiffen beside me in the way it shifts the air between us.
“I watch all of your rides, but my mom says I’m not allowed to compete until I’m sixteen.
” Her sass nearly makes me smile. “I want to be in the Pbr just like you.” I glance behind her to see Calli’s mother, and she’s shaking her head with a grin on her face that she is trying to suppress.
I brave a glance at Colson, noticing his set jaw and hardened features that keep shifting right before my eyes. He’s uncomfortable as hell, and I have an idea why. When I look back down at her, her smile swells the warmth in my chest.
“Do you have any advice on how to get started when it’s that time?” her mom asks me.
The irritated growl emanating from Colson’s throat has my hair standing on end, sending a bad jolt of electricity through my nerves and causing my muscles to tense.
But the hopeful girl in front of me with anticipation gleaming in her eyes keeps her focus on me, and I’m grateful she doesn’t catch the agitation radiating off Colson.
I hand Calli’s hat back to her and put the cap on the marker, giving her mom a strained smile.
“In a sport like this, investing in a great coach can make all the difference in the world.” Maybe I say it to calm down the brooding bull rider behind me.
Or perhaps I voice it out loud because it’s more than true.
If it wasn’t for Aaron treating me like every other bull rider he had worked with, and Colson’s—still surprising—offer to coach me after I lost one of the most important people in the world to me while he is still competing himself, I wouldn’t be sitting in a spot that may push me into the finals in Texas.
I may not be looking, but I feel the loss of Colson’s presence like there was some tether between us that just snapped. I swallow, trying not to show the discomfort that just washed over me.
“It was lovely to meet you, Calli,” I say.