Page 22 of From the Ashes
Istare, jaw on the floor, as Phoenix turns and walks out of the makeshift barn. I don’t have a plan when I tear after him out of the barn, but a thank you for the information is probably a good place to start.
He called me Quick Shooter.
Not only does he remember…he wants me toknowhe remembers. That has to meansomething, right?
“Phoenix, wait!”
He doesn’t.
“Phoenix, please.” He doesn’t stop, but I catch up to him easily enough since my legs are now slightly longer than his.
Sensing that I’m right behind him, he finally stops. “Walker,don’t.”
I’m still adjusting to hearing my name come out of his mouth again, but it sounds so good rolling off his tongue, even in anguish.
“Don’twhat, Phoenix? Say thank you? Say I’m sorry? I can’t be here,can’t see you, and pretend like nothing happened between us.”
Still facing away from me, he drops his head and I see his back expand with his breath when he finally responds with a half-assed glance behind him.
“Nowyou want to admit something happened? I figured you’ve been content spending your life pretending it didn’t. Don’t think you being here changes anything.” The ice in his voice wraps its cold tendrils around my heart.
Jesus Christ.I wasn’t prepared for this reunion and although I should have anticipated it after our run-in, I also wasn’t prepared for this level of animosity.
But fuck all if I’m going to walk away from Phoenix again. If he really thinks I’ve spent the last eight years pretending that night didn’t happen, I’ll spend the next four days convincing him otherwise.
As luck would have it,I draw forty-two and take my time surveying the horse that corresponds to my number now that he’s in the stall. Feisty and hellbent on avoiding eye contact, I smile because I see so much of his owner’s current demeanor in him.
I don’t try to pet him or force my company onto him. Instead, long after everyone has left the barn, I sit outside his stall listening to the sound of his hooves as he shuffles. He’s left-side dominant which is interesting. Heavier steps to that side and a restless energy I know all too well. Like he’s trying to run from something, but the walls keep closing in.
“We’ll get along just fine tomorrow,” I tell him as I stand an hour later and wander back to my camper.And I’ll be ready for that second kick.
Knowing I’ll be on a bronc raised and owned by Phoenix somehow calms my nerves. It’s like a part of Phoenix, himself, will be with me tomorrow, and I can already feel my victory. Unfortunately, this is a go-round rodeo, which means I have three rides over three days, and the highest cumulative score will win. There’s also no guarantee that I’ll draw one of his horses for my other two rides, so I’ll make sure the first ride is flawless.
When I pull the door to my camper open, I just want to head for the small shower and reflect on every look, every moment, every interaction I’ve had with Phoenix today, but Jonas looks miffed.
“You been out there with that horse this entire time?” he asks.
I shrug, unsure how I feel about Jonas right now. His style of coaching has always focused on my skills as a rider and how to adjust to a bronc’s movements by staying engaged, fluid, and in control. But hearing Phoenix spew knowledge about the horses andtheirstyles makes me a little angry that Jonas doesn’t give me the full picture as Phoenix said. “Just trying to get a feel for him,” I reply.
“For him or his owner?” Jonas asks accusatorily, his hip propped against the small counter.
“What the hell are you talking about? And why are you pissed? You’re the one that was fangirling all over Phoenix at the bar.”
“Yeah, well, that was before the cocky bastard tried to act like he knew more than me about coaching.”
“J, hedoesknow more than you. As much as you can analyze style, and coach what needs to happen to match it, there are some things you can only know after being thrown around yourself.”
Jonas shoots daggers at me. “Don’t think I do a good enoughjob? How do you think you got to be number one on the circuit?”
I roll my eyes, too tired to keep the peace with his fragile ego. “I thinkwemake a good team andthat’show I’m number one,” I fire back, angry that he’s acting like he, alone, is the reason I am where I am. “If you coach a rider who can’t follow the instructions you’re giving, then you won’t get very far,” I argue before capitalizing on his stunned silence to tell him I’m going to grab a shower.
When I’m halfway to the back bedroom, I hear his voice call out behind me.
“I’m still waiting for the story you owe me.”
His tone makes me pause.
There’s an edge to his voice that I don’t like. Jonas may have beenhiredby my dad, but he works forme,and no way in hell am I sharing Phoenix and I’s history with him now.
