As we passed the front row—VIP seating—I glanced up.
And froze.
First row. Center seat. Black Stetson.
Beau.
He was here.
Wearing the chambray shirt from Tulsa airport—rumpled now, like he’d slept in it. Face haggard, shadowed with scruff. Dark circles. He looked like hell. Like he’d driven through the night.
Our eyes locked. Arena noise faded.
First row, center seat. I’ll be screaming louder than anyone.
I’d thought it was a beautiful lie.
But he was here.
He stood abruptly, hand reaching out even though the railing separated us. His lips moved—my name, maybe. He looked like he might vault the barrier.
I looked away. Nudged Bandit through the gate, heart hammering, tears burning that I wouldn’t let fall.
Behind me, his presence ached.
But I kept walking.
***
Cassie crashed into me like a freaking train.
“FIFTEEN POINT THREE! That’s first place! That’s—”
“Cass—” I tried to dismount but she was clinging to my leg. “Let go—”
“Right, sorry!” She released me. I slid down, hands trembling as I removed Bandit’s tack.
“Win.” Her hand on my shoulder stopped me. Voice losing its manic edge. “He’s here.”
“I know.” I didn’t look up, focused on unbuckling the girth.
“Did you know he was coming?”
“No.”
“He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.”
“Not my problem.” Harsher than I meant. “Sorry. I just—I can’t do this right now. I need to focus on Bandit, on the results.” My voice cracked.
Cassie pulled me into a hug. “Okay. I got you. But Win? He drove. I saw his car. He didn’t fly, he drove all night.”
“I don’t care.” I stepped back. “He made his choice. This is mine.”
But even saying it, I felt the cracks forming. Because Beau had come. Against his father’s deal, against Dallas, against everything pulling him away.
And I didn’t know if that changed anything.
Or if it just made losing him again hurt worse.e.
