Page 44 of Eight Seconds to Ride

One night last week, when I was on hour four of trying to fall asleep, I pulled out my phone and looked up sleep remedies. I’m desperate at this point for a decent night of sleep, and I can’t exactly take prescription drugs to assist me in that area, because if I ever got injured or randomly drug tested with the PRCA, I’d be fucked.

Anyway, after nearly an hour of searching the internet in the dead of night, I found an all-natural supplement that apparently helps that isn’t melatonin, because that shit never works for me. I picked some up in the last town we were in, but it makes me groggy as hell—like, run-over-by-a-bus type groggy. I felt like straight garbage last weekend because of it, the sluggishness costing me the rodeo both Friday and Saturday. I’m still so fucking pissed about getting disqualified last Saturday. Getting bucked off a bronc is a fucking rookie move, and something that hardly ever happens to me.

I stopped taking the supplement after that, but it’s shitty because itdidactually help me sleep. It’s been back to hours of lying awake, frustrated and tired, all week. Last night, in the midst of my insomnia, I did a little more research and foundanothersupplement that helps with energy. I’m going to pick some up when we get back to Copper Lake this afternoon. Maybe if I take them both, I can counteract the grogginess while still getting decent rest.

Something’s gotta fucking give.

Movement catches out of the corner of my eye, and when I look, I see Sterling walking toward the camper. Confusion catches between my brows and I speak before I can stop myself. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

He startles, clearly not having seen me. “I went on a short hike with your sister.”

“Of course, you did,” I scoff under my breath, bringing the cigarette up to my mouth to take another drag, annoyance unfurrowing inside of me like poison. Dragging my gaze over him, I can’t help but notice how fuckinggoodhe looks, compared to how disheveled I probably look. Even with sweat glistening over his skin, the short dark brown curls pasted to his forehead, he’s unbelievably beautiful in the early morning sun.

It's infuriating.

I haven’t gotten another taste of him since the kiss outside the bar almost two weeks ago. Probably because I’ve been nothing but a dick to everybody, including him, for days now. He hasn’t even thrown last weekend’s wins in my face, despite the fact that we all know if the roles were swapped, I would’ve done it. He’s such a gracious winner—and loser. Something I’ve never been.

Sterling has woven into my group of friends so effortlessly, getting close with my sister, laughing with my best friend. Hell, even my fucking dad thinks he’s the best thing since slicedfucking bread. He’s clearly everything I’m not. We’re neck and neck on the circuit, and my father is right, it shouldn’t be that way. I have years of experience on Sterling. There’s no reason a rookie should be tailing me as close as he is.

And yet, despite all of that, I can’t kick this overwhelming urge to bury myself inside of him for comfort or a distraction. I’ve been a fucking dick to him all week over my scores, and this huge part of me has wanted to crawl into bed with him, and have him make me feel better. But the fact of the matter is, he’s my competition—and he’s currently kicking my ass—so these emotions, the cravings and desires, the sex, it’s so much more complicated than that.

We head back to Copper Lake today for the next two weeks.Stampede Daysis next week, and it’s one of the largest outdoor celebrations our town hosts. It’s a huge rodeo spectacle. Dread burrows itself deep in my gut the closer we get to going back home. Not because I’m not excited to spend some time at home before we hit the road again for another few months, but because I know my time to avoid my dad and his loud opinions is coming to an end.

There’s no way to avoid him once I’m home. There’s no way to ignore his nitpicking. And knowing that he’ll be there during the event, watching me compete, makes me want to hurl. Which that, in and of itself, is bizarre because I usually always look forward to this event, if not just to prove myself to him. I don’t know what or why exactly that changed, but I’m not looking forward to the next two weeks.

“Uh, hello, Shooter?”

“What?” I snap at Sterling before taking one last drag off my cigarette, dropping it to the ground, and putting it out with my shoe.

“I said you look pretty tired, and I asked if you got any sleep last night.”

He’s always so genuine and nice and wholesome, and I fucking refuse to acknowledge how having that care pointed toward me makes me feel. Not right now.

“Fuck off,” I growl, moving past him. But he doesn’t let me. He grabs my arm, and when I spin around to face him, the concern in his eyes makes my blood boil. Shrugging off his touch, I take his shirt in my fist, getting in his face. “You ask too many damn questions, Addams. Learn to know your place and shut the hell up every once in a while, would you? I don’t need your pity.”

When I go to release my grip, he’s already shoving me off and shaking his head. I don’t wait around for him to say something more, storming away and into the camper.

I find Cope sitting on the edge of his bed, messing around on his phone. Glancing up when he hears me approach, he nods his chin at me. “What’s up?”

“Are you fucking ready to go, dude? You busted my ass to get out of bed, saying we needed to leavesofucking badly, only for me to find you on your bed, dinking around on your goddamn phone.”

Cope frowns, blinking a few times before standing off the bed. He comes to a stop right in front of me, toe to toe. “Yeah,dude,” he replies mockingly. “I’m fucking ready to go.”

He leaves without another word.

After using the restroom really quick, I climb into the driver’s seat of the truck, my eyes lifting to the rearview mirror, seeing Cope planted in the backseat. Huffing out a laugh through my nose, I start the car before Sterling jumps in the front seat, avoiding my gaze entirely.

I hit the road, neither of them saying a word, to each other or to me, so I crank the music. Fuck them.

22

Sterling Addams

Me: Your brother has lost his mind.

Daisy: Why? What’s he doing now?

Me: He’s just being an unbearable dick. Woke up with a stick up his ass. He’s bitten off both mine and Cope’s heads already and it’s barely ten in the morning.

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