"What are you talking about?"
"I wanted to see if you still had it in you."
"Had what in me?" I firmly demand.
He drawls, "The drive. The fire. The thing that makes you a bull rider."
"Of course I have what makes me a bull rider. Why wouldn't I?" I question, stepping into his trap.
"Well, you've made some dumb choices lately. Makes me think you don't want to be a rider anymore," he claims.
"Okay, I'm done here." I rise and move toward the door.
"Get back here," Jax orders.
I whip around. "I don't take orders from you anymore, old man."
"Sit down," he asserts in his no-nonsense tone.
I stay where I am.
"Wyatt, sit down," Willow softly orders.
I glance at her.
"Please, sit down," she says, and points at the chair.
I still don't move. My heart pounding, I press her for an answer. "I want to know why you owe him a favor."
She sighs, confessing, "He helped me solidify my last big rider. I told him I'd owe him one, that's it."
I don't speak. I don't like her owing anybody anything, and especially not Jax. Once, I had nothing but good feelings and respect for him, but now, I'm not so sure.
"Sit down so I can tell you why you're both here," he demands.
I don't look at him, continuing to stare at Willow.
"Please, just sit down," she says, exasperated.
I realize that as much as I want to leave, I'm also curious about what he wants from me, and especially Willow. So, begrudgingly, I move back to the table and take a seat.
15
Willow
Wyatt finally sits. I anxiously tap my fingers on the table, waiting for Jax to tell us why we're here.
I knew the day would come when Jax would call in his favor. I never imagined it would involve Wyatt, though.
When I made the deal, I needed to sign that rider. Jax was the only one who could convince Beau Hart to sign with me. It was worth making a deal with Jax.
Unfortunately, two months later, Beau got bucked off a bull and fell the wrong way. He had several operations, including on his hips, which ended his career.
And I'm no fool. The deal I made with Jax sticks, even though my rider can no longer compete. So I ask, "Can you get to the point?"
"Do I have to spell it out?" Jax asks, his lips twitching. He glances at Wyatt, then me, the crinkles around his eyes intensifying.
My instincts kick in, and everything becomes clear. Panicked, I declare, "No."
