Page 14 of From the Ashes
I try to take deep, calming breaths, but it only makes my heart beat faster.
Four days later,we’re loaded up and heading to North Carolina. I’m queasy the entire drive. Normally, I pull my weight and give Jonas a break at the wheel, but I’m so distracted, he doesn’t even ask.
Jonas was hired by my dad, Ricky DeVille. Dad was a helluva bronc rider himself, holding fourteen total titles. But the championship title always evaded him. Like most kids, I didn’t want to have to live up to my dad’s records and taking orders from him as a coach was a definite no-go. Hence the reason he hired Jonas. Jonas and I didn’t get along at first because I was a punk ass kid with a chip on my shoulder, but he stuck it out and earned my respect.
As for other friends, the few I had back home in Texas dipped when I got serious about riding. I don’t blame them, I’m never around to help keep the relationship alive.
All I had was Alexis.
And then I hurt her too.
“Earth to Walker,” Jonas says, tapping my knee from the driver’s seat as we cross the state line.
I pull out an earbud. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you wanted to stop for dinner. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” I deadpan. Jonas is thirty-five and he’s huge. Six-five and pushing two-sixty, he was too big to be a rider, but he loves the sport, so he became the best there is in analyzing technique and went the route of coaching.
Lucky me.
He tosses me a grin, undeterred by my unenthusiastic response. “You’re right. So, we’re stopping.”
“Whatever.” I go to replace my earbud when he catches my wrist.
“Hey, what’s going on? Ever since I mentioned competing here, you’ve been a sulking asshole…well, more so than usual. You didn’t even do your hat ritual before we packed up.”
Damn. He’s right. That doesn’t bode well for my ride here.Nothing’s sacred quite like a cowboy’s superstitions.
“I’m fine,” I grunt.
“Yeah, I believe that about as much as I believe you want Jackson White to win the championship. What is it about this state that’s got you so torn up?”
Jonas would keep my confidence, but I don’t want to share this story because if I sharethisone, then I have to share theotherone and before I know it, the guilt will eat me alive. If I’m going to get through this, I have to bury that box of memories so deep evenIcan’t find it, and try to focus on why I’m here.
To ride a bronc.
To collect a win.
To get the hell out.
You’re stronger than you think, and you’re going to be okay.
Irony slaps me in the face as Phoenix’s words are the ones chosen by my brain to help me deal with my proximity to the man himself. Unfortunately, my mind always replays them inhisvoice and my dick twitches against my will.
“I’m good, really,” I say, trying to appease Jonas. “Let’s get this win and hit the road one step closer to the championship.”
Jonas gives me a sideways glance, but doesn’t say anything else as he turns on the signal for the exit advertising a Cracker Barrel. The man loves his chicken and dumplings.
Chapter 8
Phoenix
“Hey, babe, grab me another beer, will you?” Dylan shouts to Jake from his float in the lake.
Knox anchored his wake boat in our usual cove and everyone is catching up, having a drink, floating, and enjoying hanging out. Dylan’s request is answered immediately by Jake who had already hopped back on the boat anyway to reapply his sunscreen.
I watch with rapt attention as Jake takes the beer can down the boat steps and swims it to Dylan. When he gets to the float, Jake holds the beer out of Dylan’s reach, forcing his husband to kiss him as payment for the delivery service.
