"Yeah," I said. "But that's not your call to make alone anymore. If we're doing this, we're partners. You have to let me in—the good and the bad."
He was quiet for a moment.
“Alright. No more secrets, I promise.” Then he added, softer, “But I have something else to confess.”
My stomach dropped.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He hesitated. “When we get back to the ranch… I’m paying off the rest of your sister’s college tuition.”
I froze. The towel slipped from my fingers. For a long moment, I just stared at him, heart pounding.
“Brock, that’s a huge amount of money,” I said, voice tight. “I’ve been carrying this by myself for years. You can’t just?—”
He caught my hands gently, thumbs brushing over my knuckles. “I know, but I wanted to take that weight off you.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of the mattress. I’d fought tooth and nail to handle this on my own.
“I’ll pay you back,” I said quietly.
“No. You don’t owe me anything, Starlin’. You built Wild Sage for us. This season, you’ve held my ranch, and me, together.”
I stared at him, throat tight. The instinct to argue flared, a knee-jerk urge to prove I didn't need saving.
“In the hot springs,” he continued. “You told me I didn’t have to carry it all on my own anymore. Let me do the same for you. Let me help.”
Looking at him—battered and dead tired, yet still holding me up—something inside me finally gave way.
This was Brock. He was letting me in, all the way. If I kept pushing him away every time he reached for me, what kind of partner was I?
I leaned forward, carefully threading my arms around his neck to avoid his ribs, and buried my face in his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“This is what I want with you—us looking out for each other. No more doing it all alone.” He chuckled. “And yeah, that goes for my stubborn ass too.”
I let out a soft laugh.
Pressing closer, I brushed a kiss against his neck. “Then I guess we’re both stuck taking care of each other from now on.”
The rest of the National Finals Rodeo passed in a chaotic neon blur of ice baths, screaming crowds, and fresh bruises on Brock.
With the pressure of Dave’s ultimatum lifted after that first ride, Brock transformed. The tight set of his jaw softened. He stopped climbing into the chutes like a man fighting for survival and started dropping onto the broncs with an easy grin—a man who finally had everything to win.
Night after night, he dominated. He won two go-rounds, adding two shiny new buckles to his gear bag, and stayed at the top of the leaderboard for the NFR Average: the title given to the most consistent rider across all ten nights.
Brock had already explained to me that the World Champion title was out of reach. He’d entered Vegas ranked fourteenth, and the earnings gap was too wide. But the other buckle? That one was still his to win.
While he did what he did best, I handled everything else.
His blindfolded ride blew up online, and Ryder wasted no time. We threw together a collab: midnight-blue wild rags embroidered withWilderand distressed denim jackets withWild Sage Ranchstitched across the back.
We opened pre-orders on Day 7 of the NFR. They sold out in just a few hours. We had to cap the numbers because the company handling the embroidery and shipping could only produce so many.
Going into the tenth and final round, the contrast between Night One and Night Ten couldn't have been more stark. On the first night, I'd been sick with anxiety. Tonight, the Thomas & Mack Center was pure electricity.
Wren and I were dressed the same: white hats, blue tank tops, and dark jeans. Colt leaned back with a cold Coors Light, grinning ear to ear under his Stetson, which also matched ours.
