Page 73 of Tame Our Wild

Does she regret it? I sure as hell don’t.

I lift my hand, dragging it over my face in an attempt to clear the lingering sleep. Turning my head, I see the time glowing on the clock. Seeing that it’s nine a.m. has my pulse stuttering.

I never sleep this late.

That’s what I get for staying up late to cling to her like she’s my lifeline in a world that’s only ever swallowed me. She felt like home tucked into my side with her hand splayed across my chest, a dream consuming her while I lay awake, contemplating the one I somehow fell out of love with.

Each event lately, it’s not competing I look forward to—it’s the bright, ecstatic look flaring in those baby blue eyes when the dust settles. It’s the proof of hard work and dedication bouncing around that arena like a ball of sunshine that can’t be extinguished. It’s the feeling swelling inside my chest that makes me not terrified of failing Harlow, but eager to keep helping her reach a goal that people like me thought she wasn’t capable of after an injury like that.

Sure, it’s terrifying as hell to watch her every time she lowers on the back of a beast, but I know deep down she’s starting to control her fear—push it to the depths where it can’t reach her. And if it does and she cowers out there, there’s a team to help distract the bull. Matt has saved my ass more times than I can count. It’s why there are bullfighters out there with us, to make sure we continue to feel as safe as we can, surrendering our lives to a sport that is a constant gamble on your life.

And as much as I hate to admit it, we dance with the Grim Reaper, but he rarely claims souls as often as he used to.

It’s why we wear protective gear. Just like every sport, it evolves; new rules and regulations are implemented to ensure we’re as protected as possible by the time the gate flies open. Injuries, on the other hand, are a part of the game and always will be. Harlow is more than capable of holding her own, but my fears are knitted to my heart like imperfect patchwork barely holding me together.

I resented Harlow. She was a walking reminder of the fact I’m continuing to chase a dream that should’ve been Paisley and I’s. Loathing Harlow because she was the first woman to compete with me at the professional level was the easiest emotion to feel.

And when she got injured in Jacksonville …

When her fragile body was sprawled out on that arena floor under unforgiving hooves, the memory of Paisley’s accident was injected into my skull and blanketed my eyes.

It snapped something inside me. Seeing Harlow ride constantly plunged me back into the worst moment of my life. She turned the man who was bruised by his past into a broken one, because every time I saw her, I hated myself.

Hated that I let Paisley ride that day.

Hated that I was competing against Harlow when it should’ve been my twin.

Hated that I was the reason Paisley was in that hospital fighting for her life for weeks, and nothing was the same when we went home.

Hated that Harlow was a reminder of my mistakes.

Tossing the covers off, I swing my legs over the bed and head to the dresser. I pull on a pair of jeans, slip on a clean T-shirt, and head down to the kitchen. Harlow’s boots aren’t in the entryway like they always are. The stillness plaguing the house tells me she isn’t here. Dread starts to snake around my rib cage, disintegrating to ash when I look out the window to see the stable doors parted.

Knowing she’s with Cosmos gives me enough peace of mind to sit down in the office for a few minutes to double-check on the massive order of dirt I reserved for delivery this week. Once I see the delivery date, I check it off on the calendar hanging on the wall, failing to ignore the yellow circle around April 16th. The approaching date has dread looming over me, a haze that will grow thicker each day I get closer, until it completely devours me. Not that it matters. That day will always belong to Paisley, and somehow, I need to find a way to open myself up enough to tell Harlow.

Ten minutes later, I’m pacing across the driveway with two cups of coffee. I walk through the stable, greeting my horses like I always do before slipping out through the back. When I step outside, Cosmos is nudging her nose into Harlow’s palms in the center of the round pen, where we also practice on bulls. My breath gets caught in my throat, and I pause, watching in awe as Harlow gently reaches a hand around, stroking the mare’s neck.

“Good girl,” Harlow soothes in a voice that is as calming to me as it is to the horse. She drags her hand down Cosmos’ nose. “Look at all the progress we’ve made.”

I creep toward the fence, trying my hardest not to startle either of them. Harlow has been working her ass off with Paisley’s horse when we aren’t training, and it shows. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s riding her soon, given the unique bond connecting them.

March turns into April in a few days, and something in my heart short-circuits as I realize I’ll only have a little over a month left with Harlow before the World Finals.

“Amazing, isn’t she?” Harlow says, feeling my presence.

I swallow the tickle of emotion stinging my throat. Harlow may be talking about Cosmos, but I’m looking at her, thinking the same thing.

I brace my arms on the railing as Harlow turns away from the horse and slowly walks toward me. A smile tugs at her lips when she hears hooves following her, but Cosmos stops short, eyeing me cautiously as Harlow approaches.

Somehow, it’s like Cosmos knows I’m the reason her owner will never be able to ride her again.

I hold out the cup of coffee to Harlow, and she reaches for it. Taking a sip, she hums under her breath. “Thank you.”

I lift my own to my mouth, attempting to let the scalding hot drink wash all the questions on the tip of my tongue down my throat, but it doesn’t.

“You’re out here early,” my voice cracks. “Couldn’t sleep?”

The rim of her mug covers the tilt of her mouth. “Wake up missing me, cowboy?”