Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Harper
Colten has just lit his tenth cigarette in what feels like ten minutes.
He's pacing the length of the fence rail. Hunter hasn't moved. Arms crossed. Eyes forward. Jaw locked in that way that is quite honestly scaring me.
Lola had to take Violet to throw up for the second time, an army of Hunter's guys trailing behind them like some kind of nausea security detail. Being pregnant does not look all that fun.
But it's Hunter and Colten who are making my palms sweat. These two men have stared down things I can't even imagine. And right now, neither of them can sit still.
Ace has already smashed his first two rides, easily. He makes it look like the most natural thing in the world.
I check my phone. A message from Ace.
Acey: Baby, I'm about to do something either fucking amazing or stupid. Jury is out on that one. But I just want you to know, I love you always. The sunshine in my life.
I stare at the screen. Read it again. Feel something cold drop through my stomach.
That's not a cocky pre-ride text. That's a man making sure the last thing he said to me was something worth remembering.
I glance at Colten, still pacing, cigarette burning between his fingers. Then I turn to Hunter.
"What is Ace about to do? Truth. Don't bullshit me. Please."
My hand is trembling around the phone.
Hunter turns to me. His eyes drop to the screen. "What did he say?"
"That he's about to do something either fucking stupid or amazing."
He half laughs, but there's no humor behind it. "That's putting it lightly. He's about to ride a bull that broke someone's neck a few weeks ago."
I close my eyes. "Shit."
This is so Ace. If a bull nearly kills someone, he wants a turn. If something is dangerous enough to make smart men walk away, Ace Sterling walks toward it with a grin and his hat on straight.
"I told him not to," Hunter says quietly. "I told him."
I look up at him, and for the first time since I've been around the Sterling brothers, I see the worry written plainly on his face. Just a big brother who's terrified of watching his little brother get hurt and can't do a damn thing to stop it.
I suck in a breath. Straighten my spine. "Eight seconds. That's all it is. He can do it."
Someone has to be confident in Ace. If anyone can do this, it’s him.
Hunter half nods. "Yeah. He better. I can't live without that little shit."
"Me either."
He looks at me. Arches a brow. The worry folds back behind something sharper.
"Really? You broke that man's heart once. How do I know you ain't here to do it again?"
I blink at him. And then I remember exactly who I'm speaking to. The head of a family that operates in shadows. Ace's oldest brother. A man who could end problems with a phone call and has.
But I'm also not going to let anyone, not even Hunter Sterling, question my worst decision like I haven't already spent years punishing myself for it.
"If I hadn't done that six years ago, your brother wouldn't be here doing this.
He was going to walk away from everything.
All of you. The ranch. The bull riding. Everything.
" I hold his gaze. "I made sure he didn't, because I knew this was his life.
Not LA. And I had dreams to chase. And I'm pretty sure it's a good thing I did—because I kept you out of the news. "
Hunter grins. "Fair enough. I like your answer. Just don’t do it again."
Colten crushes his cigarette under his boot. "Would you two shut up? They're calling him."
The announcer's voice cuts through the noise like a blade.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the one you've been waiting for.
Chute number three. Riding Gravedigger. Two thousand pounds of unridden fury, fourteen consecutive buck-offs, and the bull that ended Tyler Spencer's season in Amarillo.
Give it up for your number two ranked rider in the country, Ace Sterling! "
The crowd erupts. The sound hits me like a wall. The energy shifts from entertainment to something primal. Everyone in this arena knows what Gravedigger is. Everyone knows what happened to the last man who sat on him.
I stand up. My fingers grip the rail so hard my knuckles go white.
I can see him.
Chute three. He's lowering himself onto the bull.
One hand wrapping the rope, pulling it tight, working the grip.
His other arm raised, loose, ready. Helmet on.
Chin down. I can't see his face from here, but I know exactly what expression he's wearing.
That dead calm. That terrifying focus. The version of Ace that doesn't exist anywhere else, not in the kitchen, not in bed, not in the truck, singing along to bad country radio.
This version only lives in the eight seconds between the gate and the buzzer.
Gravedigger is already fighting the chute. I can hear the bang of his body against the metal panels from here, a sound like a car wreck, over and over. The bull's head thrashes, and the chute crew scrambles to hold the gate steady. Two thousand pounds of fury trying to start the fight early.
Ace doesn't flinch. He adjusts his grip. Nods once.
The gate swings open.
Gravedigger explodes out of the chute like a bomb went off under him with a violent, twisting lunge that sends dirt spraying ten feet in every direction. He kicks so high his back hooves clear Ace's head, and then he drops into a spin so fast and so tight that the crowd gasps as one.
Ace holds.
His body snaps with the motion, free arm high, hips locked, absorbing every impact like his spine is made of cable wire. One second. Two seconds. The bull bucks again a massive, vertical kick that lifts Ace out of the seat and slams him back down so hard I feel it in my teeth.
"COME ON!" I scream. I don't decide to scream it. It tears out of me.
Three seconds. Four. Gravedigger switches direction, a trick, a mid-spin reversal that's probably thrown every other rider into the dirt. Ace's body whips sideways and for one horrifying, split-second moment, his hand slips.
I see it. The rope loosens. His balance shifts. His body tilts at an angle that is wrong.
"ACE!" I scream.
Hunter's hand locks around the rail beside me. Colten stops breathing, dropping his cigarette on the ground.
And then Ace does something I will never be able to explain. Something that isn't technique or training. Something that is pure, stubborn, I-will-not-fucking-die refusal.
He wrenches his body back center. Regrips. Locks in. Rides the next buck like the last one never happened.
Five seconds. Six. The crowd is on its feet, screaming so loud the sound blurs into a single roar that vibrates in my chest. I'm screaming with them. I'm screaming his name, over and over, my throat already raw, tears streaming down my face that I don't even realize are there.
"COME ON, ACE! HOLD ON! HOLD ON!"
Seven seconds. Gravedigger gives everything he has left. A final, furious, full-body convulsion that looks like the earth itself is trying to throw Ace off its surface.
The buzzer sounds.
Eight seconds.
The arena explodes.
Ace lets go of the rope, and Gravedigger bucks him forward, which launches him off the front like a ragdoll.
He hits the dirt hard, rolls twice, and for one sickening moment he's face down and not moving, and the bull is turning, two thousand pounds wheeling around with its head low and its eyes locked on the body in the dirt.
"GET UP!" I scream. "ACE, GET UP!"
I feel sick.
The bullfighters are already moving, two of them sprinting in, waving their arms, throwing themselves into Gravedigger's line of sight. The bull charges left, drawn by the movement. It buys a second. Maybe two.
Ace pushes himself up. He’s staggering trying to find his feet. I’m not even breathing.
And then he runs.
He hits the fence at full speed and climbs it like his life depends on it, hauling himself up and over the rail in one desperate motion as Gravedigger slams into the panels below him hard enough to rattle the entire section.
He's over. He's safe. He's sitting on top of the fence, chest heaving, helmet tossed on the ground, dirt covering every inch of him, and he's…
He's looking for me.
His eyes scan the stands. And then they land on me, and his whole face changes.
He grins.
That stupid, beautiful, infuriating, I-told-you-so grin that makes me want to kill him and kiss him in equal measure.
He raises his hand, presses his fingers to his lips, and blows me a kiss across the arena.
I catch it. The way he catches mine. Close my fist around it and press it to my heart.
The scoreboard lights up. I don't even look at the number. I don't need to. The roar of the crowd tells me everything.
Hunter lets out a breath beside me. "That little shit," he mutters.
Colten's already lighting another cigarette, his hands shaking. "I'm going to kill him myself. Fuck, I might need an ambulance, I’m pretty sure I’m about to have a fucking heart attack. I can feel my pulse in my throat. Is that normal?"
I laugh. Or cry. Or both. My legs give out, and I sink back into my seat, pressing my palms to my face, and just breathe. In and out. In and out.
He did it. He rode the bull that breaks people, and he walked away grinning.
My phone buzzes.
Acey: Told you. I always win when you're watching. Your man is about to become World Champion again.
I type back through blurred vision. I’m so fucking proud of him that my chest physically hurts.
Me: I'm going to kill you. And then kiss you. In that order.
Acey: Kiss me first, then I’ll die a happy man. I’m waiting. Come catch me, Goldie.
He always is.
My phone goes again, and I look down and see Hudson's name.
Hudson: You left your ring on the bedside table, Harper.
“You coming?” Colten shouts over the crowd.
I shove my phone in my purse. I’ll deal with that later. I need to see my man.