I rubbed a hand over my jaw. The scar pulled tight with the motion, the way it always did when my teeth were clenched too hard. Behind us, someone tested the PA. The speakers whined, followed by a burst of static.
“I'm saying five thousand people will be walking through those gates soon. Families. Kids. People who've been waiting over a year for this. If this breaks open today, it won't be a controlled story. It'll be a mess.”
“And if that horse hurts someone, what is it then?”
I had no answer for that. She knew it.
Rachel stepped closer. Not backing down. Never backing down. “You showed me the pattern, Roman. You told me about the last time this happened and what it cost. Do you think I can just sit on that?”
“Yes.” The word came out harder than I'd intended. “That's exactly what I think. For a couple of days. That's all I'm asking.”
“And what happens in a couple days if something goes wrong?”
“I won't let it.”
“You can't control everything in that arena.”
“I can control more than you think.”
She studied my face with that look she had — the one that took apart everything I said and weighed it against everything I didn't. I hated it. I craved it. Both at the same time.
“This isn't about protecting the rodeo.” Her voice dropped. “This is about protecting yourself.”
The air went still between us. She was wrong. And she was close enough to right that the distinction didn't matter.
“You don't understand what you're stepping into,” I said. “People cut corners. They always have. Not everyone running stock is careful, and when something slips through, it doesn't just stay contained.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t.” I stepped back, needing space before I said something I couldn’t take back. “You think you’ve got it mapped out because I gave you pieces. But it’s never as clean as it looks on paper.”
I stopped. My hands had curled into fists at my sides without my permission.
Rachel's expression shifted. It wasn’t fear. It was something worse… understanding. “You're scared for me.”
“This isn't your fight.”
“You made it my fight when you knocked on my door.”
“Then I shouldn't have.”
The words hung between us. I watched them hit her. Watched the slight recoil and the straightening of her spine that followed, like she absorbed the blow and immediately refused to show it.
“You don't mean that.”
I said nothing. Let the silence do what silence does.
Rachel's jaw worked back and forth. Her knuckles had gone white against that journal. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, but the warmth was gone. “You can't give me the truth and then take it back because you got scared. That's not how this works.”
“Then maybe it doesn't.”
The PA crackled again. A voice called across the grounds. Jace shouted something I couldn't make out. Then again, louder, with an edge that cut through everything.
“Maddox! West pen, now!”
I turned toward the sound. Two handlers ran past the bleachers, a gate banged open somewhere, and underneath it all came the unmistakable sound of hooves on metal. The rhythmic, violent sound of a horse kicking the hell out of a panel.
“Roman—”
