I’m left in a deathly silent kitchen. All I can hear is the grandfather clock ticking from the living room, something that sounds ominous in the wake of that altercation.
Without saying a word, I dump my coffee into the sink and place my mug in the dishwasher. The air is thick with tension, and I want to escape it. Badly. I’m a people pleaser, and this is an unwinnable situation.
I head toward the hallway but stop when I hit the archway, grabbing it and tapping my fingers against it before I turn to face the two men in the kitchen.
“You know, it’s not my place to say, but you should know that what Rhett is doing, he’s doing for you. For this place.”
Cade’s jaw pops as he holds my eyes with his, and it’s in those eyes that I see a flash of confusion.
“I wasn’t joking. You owe him an apology. A big one.” I knock on the wall and give him a flat smile. Then, I’m gone.
Because, while Rhett might not want to be near me right now, I’m finding I want nothing more than to be near him.
I’ve stuck close to Rhett since we arrived in Blackwood Creek. He’s been distant, and to be frank, a growly dick.
But I don’t let it get to me. I’ve come to know him well enough over the last several weeks to know he sometimes just needs to lick his wounds. To process.
And I have no doubt that Cade embarrassed him this morning.
He’s currently seated on a stool at a desk in front of a rolling camera, giving an interview. And doing an exceptional job of turning on the charm and leaning into his rural upbringing to un-offend his offended fans.
“You know, Sheila, having grown up on a cattle ranch, I know how hard our producers work to deliver a quality product to market. I’ve seen my dad work his fingers to the bone. He only stopped because of a workplace injury, and now my big brother spends his days running the place. It’s my hope to do the same on the family farm at some point as well.”
She smiles at him. A little too appreciatively for my taste and leans in toward him. “That’s commendable, Rhett. Your family must be very proud of you.”
His eyes dart to mine before he plasters a smile on his too-handsome face. “We’re a tight-knit group.”
My stomach sinks for him. He’s so much harder on himself than anyone realizes. He does this showmanship thing so well and has everyone around him convinced he’s much happier than he actually is.
Much healthier too.
Because I don’t miss the way he winces as he unfolds himself from the stool. He’s so sore, and all the therapy and exercise and stretching we’ve been doing can’t hide that. His body is compensating for untreated injuries, and it’s killing me to not tie him down and force him to get properly patched up.
But I also understand needing to do something to prove to yourself that you can, to do something that will be good for everyone around you. So, I bite the insides of my cheeks any time I have the desire to tell him what to do.
Just me being here is probably grating enough. I don’t need to push my luck.
When he finally approaches me, he holds an arm out, gesturing toward the stairs out of the media room. As I move ahead of him, I glance over my shoulder. Only to bust him staring at my ass.
I bought myself a pair of light wash Wranglers this morning from one of the vendors on site and, clearly, Rhett approves. They aren’t the beautiful custom chaps I was eyeing at the last event, but at least I stick out less like a sore thumb in these jeans and my new WBRF tee which is printed with a longhorn skull.
Plus, paired with the lacy bright red underwear I’ve got on under them, and my snakeskin boots, I feel like some sort of western-chic bombshell.
“You did good,” I say, forcing his eyes to snap up to mine.
A blush creeps over my cheeks, and I drop his gaze when I add, “I’m proud of you.”
Rhett’s gloved hand rubs over the rope methodically, his jaw tight, his face focused. Last time, watching him get ready to ride excited me. Riveted me.
But today I’m antsy.
I’m not sure what’s changed in the past few weeks. All I know is that watching him climb up onto a bull feels different tonight. It feels like my heart is pounding so hard that it’s drilled its way right down into my stomach, my entire torso now thrums with the rush of adrenaline.
I know he knows what he’s doing. I know he’s one of the best. But when he nods his head, I think I might be sick.
The gates clank open and the black bull charges out, head down, hooves up, shaking Rhett all over the place. The crowd cheers this time, but I dig my elbows into my knees and clasp my hands over my mouth, feeling uncomfortably hot all over.
He’s a sight to behold. The way he moves. The stillness in his body, his arm held up high. When the bull turns, his body softens and goes with him, everything in sync. Like the bull’s rage is balanced by the look of peace on Rhett’s face.
Yin and yang, somehow. Not every cowboy who steps in this ring has it. The serenity, the magic as the bull whips around violently. Rhett has something intangible that makes him just a cut above the rest. It’s plain as day for me to see.
I wonder if everyone else here sees it too?
When the buzzer sounds, I flop back in my seat and rub at my sternum, hoping the ball of tension coiled there will unwind.
It’s not until a rider has safely removed Rhett from the back of the bull that it does.
And when they call out his score of 91, I stand up and cheer. I do my loud whistle, except this time, it blends in with the crowd’s cheering.
His eyes find me anyway, and I laugh, surrounded by the cheers of the people he thought he’d alienated. I hope he soaks this up. He deserves it.
Somehow, though, he doesn’t look as happy as he should. He stands in the ring, helmet in hand, staring at me like he has before. With a gaze that feels like it goes right through me. Like he can see my patchwork heart right through my ribs.
With everyone around me screaming his name and cheering for him, someone who’s been theirs for over a decade now, he feels like mine. Because he’s staring at me.
He doesn’t feel like theirs when he looks at me like that. I wonder for a moment if he feels like I’m his. This one person in the crowd that he continues to seek out.
Rhett’s mouth twists in a wry grin and he shakes his head, pulling the elastic out of his wild hair, looking so fucking good that it hurts.
I watch him leave the ring, fringes of his chaps shaking, shoulders slumped—even though he has the buzz of the crowd firmly in hand. And I ask myself, if this were my last moment on earth, would I go happy?
The answer is, I’d go full of regrets. I’d go knowing I’ve done everything in my power to make everyone else around me happy, but failed to deliver that same treatment to myself.
I’m up and moving, saying “Excuse me” repeatedly as I push past people’s knees in my row of seating, feeling the connection between Rhett and me more sharply than ever. Like a tug at the center of my chest, yanking me towards him. Like it’s nature, and I’m helpless to deny the pull.
I jog down the steps before striding as quickly as my short legs will carry me toward the staging area, past the bull chute, and down the alleyway that leads to the locker rooms. I flash my pass at the security guard with a brief, flat smile.