For several minutes, I scan the rider area before I see Willow. She stands next to Jericho, Colt, and the others on her team. All of them are decked out in their gear, chatting and throwing smug looks around the arena like they own the place. She's smiling at something one of them said, but when her eyes catch mine, her face tightens.
Nothing has changed. She still doesn't want me here.
Hell, none of her riders do. They barely tolerate my presence, but I don't give a damn.
Jax appears at my side, slapping a hand on my back. I wince but keep my mouth shut.
"Gear up," he orders.
Willow storms over, fury flashing in her eyes. "He's not riding."
"Stay out of this, Willow?—"
"Jax, are you serious? He's injured. He's limping. He's in no condition to ride."
Jax crosses his arms. "It's his decision."
She whips toward me, voice tight. "You'll get tossed off in three seconds flat. That's not going to prove anything to sponsors."
I glance between them. "If I don't ride, I'll never get another shot."
"You'll ruin your career if you get thrown. They'll see you as weak, reckless?—"
"Or they'll see me as a man who doesn't back down," I cut in, then add, "I have to prove I belong. To you. To them. To everyone who fired me."
Willow shakes her head in disbelief. "This isn't the way. You're not ready."
I firmly state, "I'm riding." Ignoring Willow's glare, I ask Jax, "Where's my gear?"
He replies, "Trailer."
Without waiting, I limp off toward the trailer, every step hammering my joints, but the fire in my chest drowns out the pain. I step into the dressing room, wincing.
The door flings open behind me. Willow barrels into the room, shutting the door. She shouts, "You've got more dust than sense between your ears!"
"It's my only shot."
"Wyatt, listen to me." Her voice cracks, her hands fisting at her sides. "You're not thinking clearly. If you get thrown, no one will sign you. This isn't the way to fix your career."
I pull on my chaps, trying not to show any pain in front of her. "If I win, you're spending New Year's Eve with me."
"What?" she scoffs.
I grin. "To celebrate."
"The only thing you're doing is ruining your career and heading to the hospital, maybe in a body bag. You have no chance to win in the condition you're in, and you know it," she claims.
I grunt. "Then you shouldn't have a problem taking my bet."
She stays quiet.
I fasten my gear. "So it's settled. If I win, I get what I want. A deal is a deal."
She narrows her eyes. "And if you lose?"
"If I lose, you can decide what you want. Anything. I'll owe you. But I'm not losing, so don't think too hard, sugar."
Her jaw tenses, and she exhales sharply. "You're impossible."
