Forty-Five | Colson
The arena suite is suffocating and heavy as I draw in shallow breaths. I’m more focused on the beautiful girl nervously picking dirt from below her fingernails than the brooding man before us as we all struggle to process what just happened.
Seeing dread written all over Harlow’s face through the fence after the best ride of my life was a shot that hit my chest straight on and obliterated my adrenaline.
Elite ride forgotten, all I cared about in that moment was her and why she was looking at me like the world was ripped out from under her boots.
I wanted to be the one to place it back.
Now I know those tears streaming down her flushed face had a purpose.
That video the rookie showed me on his phone behind the chutes is burned into my skull—a very public video that’s going viral because the two rivals everyone has followed for years have their mouths and bodies locked in lust instead of lashing out at each other like usual.
My eyes may have been plastered to the phone screen, releasing our secret to the world, but I didn’t need the video to remind me of that night after we left the bar, after I made love to her in the back of my rental.
No, that memory of me thrusting Harlow against the hotel room door was already tattooed into my brain with the sweetest ink.
We were reckless.
We should’ve known that we could get caught in that hotel hallway, considering most of the riders stay at the same place near the arena, but I couldn’t bring myself to give a damn while her limbs were wrapped around me.
Apparently, one of our competitors filmed us from their room through a crack in their door.
No. Not just any competitor. It was Jax Fucking Bowman because the fucker craves attention, and if he doesn’t have it, he’ll find a way to get eyes back on him.
Mark and Heather tried to snag me for an interview about the topic, along with other media professionals, but I pushed past them, eager to get to her.
But when I found Harlow, she was standing stoically next to John, her thumbs twiddling nervously in front of her.
She wouldn’t meet my eye, and besides Paisley’s death, that was the second worst experience I’ve ever had.
John gave me a stern look and gestured for me to follow him.
It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order.
I trailed as he started wheeling toward the exit that led to the suite, which he and the other staff members had temporarily set up for the weekend to work in.
It’s like we were walking to our execution, and all I wanted to do was reach for her hands, nervously twisting in front of her.
I knew nothing I could say would make her relax.
And as Harlow, John, and I passed Jax in the hallway near the locker room on our way into the suite—leaning cockily against the wall—I wanted to punch that smirk off his face and feel his nose break under my knuckles.
If it weren’t for the other staff members hanging around outside the suite, I wouldn’t put it past Jax to have his ear sealed to the door.
He’s already fucking sitting on top with one of the top scores of the season from all the combined events, but I was neck and neck with him.
And this ride tonight put us at a goddamn tie for first going into round two tomorrow.
I’d say I’m surprised he waited this long to post that video, considering it happened weeks ago, but I know the release of this was perfectly timed. I just don’t know if he posted that video to throw me off my game or Harlow.
He’s a dick, so I’m guessing both.
“Okay.” John’s exhale is laced with aggravation. “I need one of you two to start talking and tell me what the hell was happening in that video.”
Maybe injecting some humor into this situation will help. I shift in my seat. “It was a video of Harlow and me making out. It’s pretty clear what was going on.”
Harlow’s head snaps toward me while John’s eyes roll from where he is sitting across the table from us.
“Don’t give me that shit, Payne,” he snaps. “I’m talking about the very clear commentary when she called you coach. Was that just a … in-the-moment thing,” he nearly growls through gritted teeth, “or is it true?”
My body warms, and I know without looking that Harlow’s face is probably flushed from embarrassment under the shadow of her hat. Our voices may have been low, but the video captured enough that, if you listen hard enough, you can make out some of what we said.
Her calling me coach is one of them.
Harlow’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she releases a puff of air, relenting.
“After Aaron died, Colson approached me at the funeral and offered to coach me. We were already into the season, and it seemed like the best option at the time. I didn’t have any time to waste if I wanted to start catching up. ”
“And how did you do that?” he asks. “Did you do virtual coaching sessions?”
“Uh—” I wet my lips. “Harlow moved in with me back in Tennessee.”
“For fuck’s sake.” John leans back in his wheelchair, knitting his arms over his sternum.
“We were worried what people would think if they found out,” Harlow rushes out. “So, we decided to keep our distance at events like nothing had changed.”
John’s leisure nod has Harlow gripping her fingers tighter in her lap. She shifts to the edge of her seat. “We were worried about how people would react. And then along the way we started getting along and—”
John holds up a hand, his gaze bouncing between us. “I don’t want to know. All I care about is the coaching aspect, given you are both under contract and competing.”
“It really isn’t that big of a deal,” Harlow mutters.
“Not that big of a deal?” John parrots with a condescending laugh. “You both know I’m a fan of yours, but I’m not going to downplay this situation. Do you guys realize the predicament this video has put me in?”
Harlow’s body stills unnaturally.
I remove my hat, placing it on my knee as I pull my fingers through the sweaty strands from my ride. “But there are no official rules against it. Nothing states a rider can’t coach another rider. We help each other out and give advice all the time out there.”
John’s voice lowers an octave. “This is different. I have had several athletes snag me after that video was blasted, saying that if you are coaching Harlow, they think it’s an unfair advantage, considering you are a veteran and have been riding for over sixteen years. And Harlow is a rookie.”
I toss my hand up. “They still have their fucking coaches, John,” I level with him. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. If any of them had lost a coach, I would’ve offered to coach them, too.”
“I don’t doubt that, Colson, but that’s not how your competitors see this. I have other coaches ready to chew my ass out. It doesn’t fucking help that you’ve been sneaking around and lying to everyone.”
“I was the one who wanted to keep it a secret.” Harlow’s genuine admission has me turning toward her.
I try to stop her. “Harlow, you don’t have to—”
Her voice shakes. “I was worried what people would think if everyone found out Colson was coaching me. I was coming back from my injury and needed to get back my sponsors.” She points at her chest. “But I wanted to get them back because I was good enough, not because Colson was coaching me. I told him I didn’t want anyone finding out.
It’s my fault this got so out of hand. You’re right, we should’ve just come forward and asked if it was allowed. ”
“Harlow.” John sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face in exasperation. “Admitting it now and taking responsibility isn’t going to change this.”
“What do you mean?” she mumbles.
“If this had happened earlier in the season, I would’ve been able to consider this from every angle and make a sound decision. But the timing—” He shakes his head. “Right now, there’s only one option.”
His comment starts to register.
I release a disdainful laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
Harlow’s gaze flits between us as she tries to process what John is saying.
Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait long, because John glances at both of us before he says, “I think it’s best you two sit out for the rest of the season.
The board and I need to reconvene and discuss the rules about what a competitor coaching another competitor looks like moving forward. ”
Harlow’s lip trembles beside me, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
Her tears may be silently streaming down her face, but I feel them, like the trails are searing my own flesh, sinking through to my heart that is breaking for her.
She’s worked so hard to get here. Too damn hard to let this dream slip through her fingers when she is so fucking close.
My raspy voice slices through the tension. “John—”
“There’s nothing you can say to change my decision, Colson. I’m sorry. This is how it has to be. I wish the circumstances were different, but finals in Fort Worth are next week, and this is a conversation that will take time. Time we don’t have.”
Quiet sobs from Harlow are filling the space, the soft, heartbreaking sounds cutting into my chest like a serrated blade, digging so deep that bile creeps into my throat.
I fucking hate seeing her like this.
I try to place my hand on her thigh, but she instantly bolts up out of the chair and shakes her head. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”
Moving around the chair, she rushes toward the door. She flings it open and escapes the room before I can say all the things I want to say to her.
The things I want to say to our commissioner in front of her.
John might have thought he was the only one making a decision just now, but so was I.
Harlow Hartt has always been a walking reminder of my past, only because she is beautifully fearless. Wickedly reckless. A force to be reckoned with because, like Paisley, hearing the word ‘no’ doesn’t taint her spirit; it feeds it.
Before I met her, I fell into this limbo of pushing my problems aside, ignoring the pain, and riding because I felt like walking away from this sport felt like betrayal. Like I’d be betraying Paisley if I let this dream go.
But then Harlow came along, and I was forced to confront everything I tried so hard to keep locked down.
Paisley was right; my fear had manifested into something else. I was trying to help Harlow push past hers so I could keep avoiding my own and keep moving forward without confronting them.
Avoidance kept the wound open; it wasn’t healing.
Now, I know Harlow was placed in my life to be my compass.
To show me that my past doesn’t have to be my entire story and that it’s okay to want more—to pursue other things.
She was never supposed to break me; she was meant to save me from myself.
And as I stand before John, that realization solidifies what comes next for me in this life.
Lifting my head, my eyes settle on John. “This isn’t right, John. You know that. Harlow and I have both worked way too damn hard to get to this point,” I say honestly.
He studies me thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t matter, because I want him to listen.
“You may think that disqualifying both of us will solve this, but this arrangement was my idea. It started with me, and it should end with me, too.” Creases form between his brows. “We both know it’s time.”
His voice is hoarse. “What are you saying?”
I look John in the eye, unable to stop the smile that pulls at my lips. “I quit.”
His mouth opens in shock. “What?”
The vocalized decision obliterates the weight that was once resting on my shoulders. “I’m done, John. You said there’s more to life than the ride, and you’re right. It’s time for me to chase something else. The Pbr is still in my future, but I’m no longer the one riding.”