His words hang between us. I know for a fact he knows about Beau being injured, about me being involved in a whole ass shootout with the Crows. There’s an article on it posted to theRodeo Weekly newspaper just yesterday. Not from me, but still. News travels fast when it’s about legends.
“Did I get the interview?” I repeat, staring at the empty newspaper stands left over from when Steele still had a functioning press.
“Yeah. The whole reason I sent you out in the field to begin with. You’ve been sending in articles, but I’m not paying you to gallivant across the states while everyone else works.”
“Well, you’re not exactly paying my way to be out here either,” I point out.
“Cut the shit, Chen. Did you get the interview or not? If you still ain’t got it, then I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to fire you. There’s a lot of pressure from other journalists?—”
“You mean Kim,” I say, scowling.
“Doesn’t matter who. You’ve been stirring up trouble and making headlines, but if you haven’t gotten that interview, the point is moot. Now, did you get it or not?”
The newspaper stand sits in front of me, empty, and I wonder what it would be like if it were full again.
I wonder. . .
Laugher tumbles from my lips. “You wanna know if I got the interview or else I’m fired?”
“That’s what I said, ain’t it?” Frank growls. “Quit messing around with?—”
“I quit,” I tell him, not bothering to let him finish.
“What did you say?” he growls.
“No need to fire me, Frank,” I laugh. “I quit. Any interview I got won’t be in Saddle & Spur. Have a good day!”
“Now wait just one min?—”
I hit the red button and tuck my phone into my pocket again, a smile on my face.
Tripp eyes me. “You know what you’re doin’, scribbler?”
My smile widens and I kiss him right on his pretty lips. “Yeah,” I answer honestly. “Yeah, I do.”
Chapter 55
Indie
Three Months Later
“Okay, so, what’s one thing you credit your success to?” I ask, my eyes on Tripp.
Tripp shifts. “Most people assume I’d say my dad or my grandpa, but that ain’t the truth of things.”
He glances at Ram and Beau where they sit on the couch beside him. I’m sitting on the fur rug in front of the coffee table, another stolen pen hovering over my paper. A recorder sits on the table between us, getting all the words I may be too slow to write.
“Then what is the truth?” I ask, smiling at him.
“My success comes from having my two best friends beside me on the circuit,” he says. “If not for Beau and Ram, I might have lost myself in a bottle a long time ago.”
My eyes crinkle. “And how long have you been sober?”
He shifts. “Three months and three days,” he admits. “And counting.”
Pride for him shines on all our faces. It hasn’t been an easy road. Hell, we’ve had to tackle him a few times when he’d gottentoo close to tossing back a drink, but he’s done it mostly by himself. The cold reality of what he’d become weighed on him, and now, he’s determined to stay sober. He’s determined to live more fully in the moment.
“And will you be returning to the rodeo circuit for the rest of the season?” I ask.