“I know.” I cup her face in my hands, sweat on my skin, and I don’t care about any of it. All I worry about is the way she’s holding herself together by sheer will, the way she’s staring atme as if she was already planning a life and I almost ripped it out from under her. “I know. And I promise you, that was the first and last time. One ride with Brutus is plenty for a lifetime.”
Her laugh breaks out, shaky and wet, relief tangled with fear and something softer that makes my chest tighten. I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth, each one quick and gentle because I’m still keyed up and I don’t trust myself not to turn it into something deeper.
“Come on,” Seth says. “Let’s get you cleaned up before the closing ceremonies.”
“And maybe some ice,” Carter adds. “Lots of ice. You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“I got hit by something worse,” I mutter, glancing back at the arena as they lead Brutus toward the gate.
The bull goes with that slow, deliberate swagger of a creature that knows he owns the place. His performance is done, his point made, and even in defeat, he looks untouchable. King of every man who ever thought he could control him.
I tighten my arm around June as we start walking, holding her close so she can feel what I’m trying to say without words.
As we make our way through the crowd, people reach out to clap me on the shoulder, to shake my hand, to tell me what a ride that was. I accept the praise graciously, but my attention keeps drifting back to June walking beside me.
“That is something I will never forget,” I say quietly, more to myself than to anyone else.
June squeezes my hand. “None of us will.”
And she’s right. Years from now, decades from now, we’ll remember this moment. The day Brutus came out of retirement. The day I survived eight seconds on the most dangerous bull in rodeo history. The day that proved, beyond any doubt, that I would do anything for the people I love.
The afternoon sun is warm on my face as we walk away from the arena. Behind us, the crowd is still buzzing, still replaying the ride in their conversations, still chanting Brutus’s name.
In front of us, the rest of our lives are waiting.
And I can’t wait to see what comes next.
30
JUNE
The bell above my office door chimes as another client leaves, their signed paperwork tucked safely in my filing cabinet. I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.
Seven days since the rodeo ended, when Holden was arrested, his assets frozen, the sale of my childhood home and business falling through in spectacular fashion. Of living in a strange limbo where everything should feel better, but instead feels like standing on ice that might crack at any moment.
My parents are relisting the properties, as the plumbing issues are all fixed. They’re still desperate to sell, drowning in debt, and expecting me to pick up the pieces of their poor decisions. I’ve stopped answering every call, stopped volunteering to fix every problem. But the weight of it still sits on my shoulders.
The real estate office feels different now. The vintage typewriter on my desk, the burgundy armchair, the wall of photographs and travel brochures. It’s all the same, but I’m not. I’ve been going through the motions, showing up, smiling, closing deals, because that’s what I do when the ground beneath me feels unstable. I work. I move. I pretend everything is fine until it actually is.
Or until it isn’t.
Living with Seth, Kai, and Carter is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Waking up tangled in their arms, eating breakfast together in the small kitchen of the rental house, falling asleep to the sound of their breathing. It’s everything I never knew I needed, everything I was terrified to want.
But lately, there’s been a tension under the surface.
Every time I bring up the future, they dodge. Every time I ask about their plans, whether they’re staying in Honeyspur Meadow or moving on to the next town, the next rodeo, the next chapter of their nomadic lives, they redirect. They crack jokes. They kiss me. They pull me close and change the subject.
It’s not cold. It’s not cruel, but it’s maddening.
I’m not asking for grand declarations or iron-clad promises. I’m not asking them to map out the next fifty years. I just want to stop feeling like I’m waiting for a trapdoor to open beneath my feet. I want to know that this, us, means something beyond the moment.
The ugly thought keeps circling, no matter how hard I try to push it away.
Maybe they’re hesitating because I haven’t hit my heat yet.
It’s been weeks since I stopped taking suppressants, waiting for my body to do what every Omega’s body is supposed to do. And nothing. No fever, no desperate aches or need, no biological confirmation that I’m really what I think I am. Just normal days stretching into normal weeks, my body stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Don’t get me wrong, the arousal between the Alphas and me is astronomical, but it’s not the heat that even Alphas crave.
Maybe they’re waiting to see if I fit. If I’m a real Omega or just a broken woman pretending to be something she’s not. Maybe they need that proof before they can commit, before theycan plan a future with someone who might not be able to give them what they need.
