She offered him a small smile and leaned into the touch.
“So, you really won’t do it?” I asked.
Both of them cast glances my way. Ryder’s mouth popped open to reply but words never came. An odd look came over his face, almost like disbelief.
“Big Daddy’s in the house!” A familiar, cocky voice called from behind me.
Annoyance and relief sprung to life, chasing away the worry. I turned and scowled at my cousin. “What the fuck, Cash? Where the hell were you?”
Bad seemed to materialize out of nowhere, a determined look in his eyes as he clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t matter. He’s here now. And y’all have a jackpot to win.”
Black Betty twitched andtensed beneath me as I held her back in the box. Mare was old, but man, put her in a box and she’d run down any steer faster than a yearling. I forceddeep breaths down my lungs as they got a cow ready for our run. Cash readied himself on Playboy to the left of the chute, flipping his coils and rolling his shoulders. I took in the familiar sights and sounds of the arena, letting the adrenaline pumping through my veins do its work on my pain. Even though my hand still pulsed, I could drown it out, ignore it to a point. The fucking makeshift splint made it impossible to move my wrist, though. I struggled with flipping my coils for a third time.
“My fuckin’ hand,” I growled.
Cash cast a worried glance my way.
“Y’all ready?” the cowboy working the chute asked.
A wave of frustration went through me as I tried and failed to grip my rope properly. Fuck it. I couldn’t wear the damn thing.
“Hold on,” I bit out as I laid my rope over the horn and pulled out my pocket knife from my back pocket. Betty continued her anxious twitching beneath me as I struggled, pain ricocheting through my bones with each movement. But I couldn’t throw with this fucking shit of a wrap on.
“You got thirty seconds,” the cowboy at the chute called out.
“Got it, Mav?” Cash called from my left.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, ripping the cast free and grabbing for the rope. “Just be ready.” Flexing my fingers, a wave of white-hot agony shot through my knuckles and wrist. But at least I could hold the rope. The scabs and cuts were broken open once more; I didn’t particularly care though.
“Ten seconds.”
I flipped my coils hurriedly, forcing slow, deep breaths down my lungs to quiet the roar of agony in my mind. But as Cash looked across the way at me, nodding to ask if I was ready, a blessed wave of adrenaline crashed into me, drowning out the pain.
Sound and sight peeled away, leaving the world quiet. So wonderfully quiet. Another slow, centering breath as I braced myself for the surge of power coiling tighter and tighter in Black Betty. She had a knack for hurling herself out of the box, like a tidal wave tearing for the shore.
I nodded…and the chute shot open.
The steer darted out, and I drew my hand up and back to lift the lasso. Pain, so dizzying and intense it made me nauseous, jolted through my limb. My vision blurred and blackened, my nerves growing white hot and tingly.
I—I couldn’t.
My fingers wouldn’t loosen up enough to toss the rope. It was already almost too much trying to stay upright as wave after wave of pure agony pummeled into me.
The steer was already halfway down the arena and my fingers were locked around the rope. A crushing weight of failure joined the pain—I never missed, let alone missed a damn throw. But myfucking hand.
I couldn’t even focus on whatever the hell Cash was saying to me as I slowed Black Betty and turned her toward the exit. It’s like he was speaking another language. I just rode past him out of the arena and hopped off Betty so I could walk her back to the trailer. I didn’t need to die trying to cool her down when she was amped up like this. The walk back to the truck would be fine enough.
And as I stalked toward the trailer, as I did everything in my power not to pass out from the pain, I thought of Cheyenne kissing my knuckles, cleaning my wounds.
Fuck, I missed her. I missed her laugh. Her smile. I missed the way she almost always held a look of mischief on her face, in her eyes. I missed how she had concerts in our—my—bathroom almost every night, singing into her brush to Brandy like she was belting into a microphone. I missed how most nights she would read her books aloud to me, while I laid my head against her stomach, feeling our ba—
My vision blurred, and I didn’t know if it was from the pain or my tears at this point.
Fuck. I justmissedher.
But she wasn’t coming back.
A slow, lazy clap pierced through the haze of my thoughts. I frowned as I paused in unsaddling Betty and glanced over my shoulder. Bad walked over, his lips curving upward into the barest hint of a smirk. Though his hazel eyes hid behind his sunglasses’ stare, I had no doubt they swam with mirth.
