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.
He says something to me, but all I can hear is the healthy, even pounding of my heart in my chest. I catch sight of Rhett and almost smile before coming to a screeching halt.
He’s got one arm propped up on a metal fence panel, his cowboy hat back on his head. I can see the tips of his hair brushing against his back as he leans forward toward the woman in front of him.
She’s beautiful. And I recognize her from the last rodeo.
My stomach twists and my chest aches. This is exactly what I told him to do. He gave me a moment to tell him I wanted him too, and I told him I didn’t. I told him to play this game with someone else. I should be happy he listened for once.
But I’m devastated. I’ve never been oblivious to Rhett’s reputation, but he’s never lived up to it in front of me. My tongue tastes sour at the sight.
I turn to walk away, not wanting to see any more than I already have, which is when I bump straight into a rock-hard chest and look up into the grinning face of Emmett Bush.
“Where you headed, darlin’？” he drawls.
I roll my lips together, weighing my options, taking stock of the warring emotions inside of me, and beating myself up for always being so goddamn responsible. So responsible, I drove a guy I might actually like to that.
“Not sure. My night is wide open. Got any ideas?” I ask, recklessness coursing through my veins.
Emmett smiles wider and slings an arm around my shoulder. “Well, have I got the bar for us.”
I stiffen under his arm and pull away slightly. He doesn’t give me the same sense of home that Rhett does when his arms wrap around me. But maybe I don’t need feelings.
Maybe what I need is some fun.
“Hey, Eaton!” Emmett shouts, and I wince. “Grab your girl, and let’s hit The Corral. Celebrate your old ass barely beating me tonight!” He laughs and tugs me along with him.
And I go, refusing to risk looking over my shoulder. I’m far too terrified of what I might see.