Page 6

Chapter two

Chace

That horse is a menace. But damn, can he fly.

Addie shoots out of the gate on Dusty's back like hell on fire. The girl can ride — I’ll give her that much.

She doesn't just sit up there and hang on like half the riders I've watched come through this circuit. She becomes part of him. Her weight shifts before the turn, subtle and deliberate, collecting him thirty feet out from the first barrel like she's having a conversation with him instead of steering him. She drives him deep — too deep, I think; she's going to burn time on the pocket — and then Dusty snaps around that steel drum so tight her stirrup actually clinks against the metal, and I grip the rail harder than I mean to.

Not that she'd want my critique. Fuck off, Chace is what she'd say, delivered with that look she has, the one that implies I'm both beneath her and deeply annoying, which is maybe my favorite look she makes. And she makes a lot of looks.

I wouldn't have it any other way. Getting a reaction out of that girl is one of my favorite hobbies. I glance over at Eli watching his little sister fly, and the pride on his face is almost embarrassing in how unguarded it is.

She nails the second barrel clean. The third is where this gets decided — the ground's already chewed up from fifty previous runs, and she doesn't hesitate, just gives Dusty his head and trusts him completely. He shaves it so close my stomach drops, but she balances him, keeps his hip from clipping the rim, and then they're driving home flat out, and the crowd is already reacting before the timer flashes.

I've watched a lot of barrel racing from my time on the circuit. Hell, I've slept with my fair share of barrel racers too, if we're being honest about it. But Addie is different. There's something about the way she rides — all heat and determination and grit, like she's got a personal score to settle with the clock.

Not that I want to fuck her. Because I don't.

Well.

I probably would if she wasn't Eli's sister. That, and she wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole, which is probably for the best. Eli Dawson has been the closest thing to family I've had for most of my life, and I'm not about to blow that up just because his sister grew up to be a goddamn knockout. All that dark hair, long legs, and a mouth that always looks as if it’s about two seconds from telling me to fuck off.

I groan and banish the thought just as Eli turns to me.

"She did great." The pure, unfiltered pride on his face makes me wonder what it's like to have people look at you that way.

Eli is a good guy. His whole family is, honestly. Just genuinely good people. He's been my best friend since before my mom took off — since before she dropped me on my Nana's doorstep without so much as a backward glance and drove away like she had somewhere better to be.

Back then, before my mom left, I'd wait outside school to get picked up, and Eli's mom would pull up and wave me over like it was nothing. More often than not, she'd bring me back to their house and feed me before dropping me home. She knew my mama didn't have much in the fridge, and she wasn't going to make a kid feel bad about that. I didn't understand it then, but I do now. It's funny how clearly you see things once you're no longer a little boy sitting on a porch waiting for a car that isn't coming.

So the absolute least I can do is not fuck up everything they've given me by fucking around with Addie. The problem is she's gotten significantly harder to ignore the last few years.

"She did fine," I say, going for casual and unimpressed.

Nobody needs to know my blood pressure does something concerning every time I watch her ride. It’s because I know what a career-ending injury looks like up close, and that girl takes chances. It's easier to appear casual about things. The less you seem to care, the less pity people feel entitled to point at you, and I have had enough of other people's pity to last several lifetimes. Besides, I've got more important things to think about today than Addie Dawson.

I've got an appointment with the circuit doctor in an hour that I haven't told a single person about. It's an assessment to clear me to return to riding. Not that I have sponsorship lined up — that's a problem for after — but getting medically cleared is the first hurdle, and I haven't cleared it yet. Blew my shoulder out a few years back, long ugly recovery, and when I finally pushed for reinstatement, the circuit medical staff denied me despite my own doctor having already signed off.

My shoulder barely bothers me anymore. Hasn't for months. The fact that the circuit is still blocking me is bullshit, but I understand it — I'm a liability. A walking, talking, bull-riding liability. Wouldn't be the first time that's been the headline of my life. But I need this. Sponsorship money would change everything right now, and getting cleared is the only way to move forward.

I turn back toward the arena just as Addie clears the ring. It’s a really good time. It’s the kind of time that should have people in that sponsor box putting pen to paper.

I'm just about to tell Eli I'm heading to grab a beer when I spot Cole Maddox cutting through the crowd toward Addie with that walk of his.

Eli and Hazel are already moving, and I’m right behind them. But by the time we reach her, Cole is mid-pitch.

"—solid run today. Very impressive. I've been watching you for a while now, and I'd like to offer you a sponsorship. I can offer you a—"

Addie's hand comes up immediately, palm out. She’s done before he even finishes his last sentence. "I appreciate it, Cole. But I know who you are, and I'm not interested. Thank you, but no thank you." Then she starts to turn away.

"That would be a real shame, Addie." His voice drops into something smooth and deliberate. "I can guarantee you won't receive a better offer today."

What the fuck does that mean?

I look at Eli. He's clearly thinking the same thing I am — the skybox, the sponsors up there with their drinks and their clipboards, the quiet politics of who gets talked to and who doesn't. Cole Maddox has been buying influence in this county his entire adult life. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if he'd made sure the competition wasn't actually competitive.

I move to step forward, but Eli is already there. Always ready and waiting for any opportunity to take Cole on. These two have been at odds for longer than I can remember.