Page 5 of Tame Our Wild

She ambles over in her fishnet stockings and cutoff shorts, dragging her tongue over her bottom lip. “What can I get for you?”

“Six shots of tequila, and”—I glance around the table, spotting the empty glasses—“six more draught IPAs.”

Brian straightens, dragging a hand down his face. “Get me one. I can keep up.”

I’m never one for bullshitting, so I give Brian the truth no matter how much he’ll hate hearing it. “No, you can’t.” His brows knit. “I’m your friend, Sanders, not just your competitor. You look tired as shit, and I want to see you do well tomorrow.”

And that right there is the truth. At the end of the day, we are all holding onto that goddamn rope, trying to make a name for ourselves.

As much as I despise the thought, I am nearing the end of this career. This life. Our dream.

Dirt.

Sweat.

Pain.

Determination.

It’s all in my blood.

After sixteen years of devoting myself, I know nothing else. I don’t know what life would look like without bull riding.

I’m thriving when I’m in that arena. Sure, it’s dangerous, but there’s a reason why I’ve never quit. I’m riding for her—chasing two dreams, but the weight to fulfill them is solely on my shoulders. I said this year would be my last, but I told myself the same thing the year before.

And the year before that.

But here I still am, riding my body raw because letting go is a bitch. The thought of whatever comes after this leaves a cavernous void in my chest that will never be filled with something that drives me as much as bull riding does. It makes me feel whole. Like I’m not as unbalanced as I feel, always missing a piece of myself when I hit the dirt.

I made a promise. I told her I wouldn’t stop—even though she’s supposed to be here, competing with me.

Giving up isn’t an option.

I know my sister is watching, though. She never fails to.

“Did you guys see Lucas’ update on Instagram about his surgery next week?” Dalton, the rookie next to Brian, says as he picks up his beer. “Man. He’s going to have a long road to recovery.”

Lucas Abbot had been gunning for a professional spot for the last two years while competing in the minors. Bull riding runs in the Abbot family’s DNA. He’s practically a legacy in our world.

I competed against Lucas’ older brother in three World Finals a couple of years ago. When he retired, his parents spared no expense to ensure their younger son would succeed, since his brother never won a buckle. I don’t think Lucas’ brother made it into the top five any of those years we competed together.

Lucas, though, would’ve been a real threat if he hadn’t gotten injured and dropped out. He’d be more of a threat than the fragile little ray of sunshine they plucked from the Arizona desert.

That injury should’ve ended Harlow’s career a few years ago. If the searing pain and doctors’ desperate warnings for her to quit didn’t stop her, then the suffocating clutches of PTSD and fear of repeating the past should have.

Unfortunately for me, she’s back.

She’s here, lingering in Tucson somewhere, waiting for the first round tomorrow night, ready to prove to the damn world that she’s healed and ready to raise the stakes again despite that gruesome ride that took her out for two years.

Injuries like that tend to implant a seed of fear. It may be small and shoved into the dark, where she thinks she can’t access it, but even weak things can still thrive in desolate places. Fear is a weakness, and it has no place on the dirt. The only solution is to terminate it altogether.

I’d bet money that Harlow’s not as untouchable as she portrays herself to the world.

This season will expose whether she’s ready or not.

She’s not in the minors anymore.

“Alright,” the waitress drawls, hinting that she’s returned with our drinks.