My dad nods once, then deadpans, “Wish I could say the same.”
Harrison chuckles awkwardly, and I die a little inside. ToDaddy, Harrison is the man who kept me away all these years. He’s a sign of the life I have that he doesn't agree with.
Daddy sits back down, muttering under his breath, “Shoulda stayed home. Coulda watched that paint dry on the porch.”
I sip my drink just to avoid speaking.
Harrison doesn’t sit, just sort of loiters next to me like he’s waiting for an invitation that isn’t coming. The point I was trying to make last night obviously went right over his head.
And then—like some kind of cosmic cherry on top—I glance across the arena.
Trouble’s standing with the other riders, hand on the railing, hat pushed low. His eyes lock on Harrison. Correction: Hisglarelocks on Harrison. And it isdeadly.
I shift in my seat, trying not to look as flustered as I feel. Because Harrison’s here. Trouble’s here. My daddy’s here. Let’s not even get started on my brother. And I’m starting to think maybeI’mthe rodeo clown in this arena.
Harrison finally sits next to me, a little too close. The second his ass hits the seat, Daddy shifts in the other direction.
“Knox is up next,” I say, nudging Daddy with my elbow, as if he doesn’t already know.
He grunts, but doesn’t look away from the chute. “’Bout time,” he says. “It’s about my bed time.”
Harrison laughs. “I finally get to see your brother ride.”
I keep my eyes glued to the gate, letting out a sarcastic, “Yeah, enjoy the show.”
He leans in, low, so Daddy can’t hear. “I know what you’re doing, Sawyer.”
“What’s that?” I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning.
He lowers his voice another notch. “Last night. With the cowboy. I know you were just trying to make me jealous.”
My hands are in my lap. I ball them tight. “Think again.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I came here for you.”
The gate clangs. For a split second all I see is hooves and dust and the tip of a cowboy hat. Knox’s bull is wild, angry. The crowd claps when Knox’s arm whips back, his body snapping with the force of the first buck. Seven seconds in, he’s still there, still fighting.
Harrison reaches for my hand, like we’re in a movie, like this is the emotional scene that forces a moment of closeness.
I snap my hand away.
“Jesus,” he says. “Are you going to be this way all week?”
“Harrison, we’re not together.” The words come out sharp, but not loud enough for Daddy to hear. Old habit, always protecting him.
“You don’t mean that,” Harrison says, lips pressed together.
“I do.” My voice is ice. “You should go back to Lexi. She’s missing you.”
That gets his attention. He pulls back, searches my face. “Lexi?” Like he doesn’t remember. Like last night never happened.
Knox lasts 9.2 seconds before the bull slams him into the rail. He flies in a perfect arc, landing in the dirt hard enough to make everyone in the stands wince.
Daddy jumps to his feet and cusses under his breath. I stand up too, worried, but really I've been waiting for any excuse to put space between Harrison and me.
“I’m gonna get a closer look,” I tell Daddy, and he waves me off, already screaming at the judges that the time was rigged.
I don’t look at Harrison when I walk past, but I can feel him staring at my back. He’s not used to being ignored. And I’m not used to feeling seen. Especially by him.
