Page 28 of From the Ashes
From the shadows, I watch as Jackson White approaches Walker, still in his own riding uniform, a red solo cup already in his hands.
“Well, Iwasgoing to congratulate you on your ride, but now I’m thinking I won’t since your attitude’s as big as your ego.”
Walker doesn’t rise to the bait, and I feel my chest swell with pride.
“Okay then, have a good night.” Walker keeps heading in the direction of the campers when Jackson reaches out and catches his shoulder.
I tense immediately.
I donotlike his hand on my cowboy.
Fuck. Not my cowboy.I just don’t like Jackson White, that’s all it is.
But then Jackson curls his fingers into Walker’s shirt and leans in close enough to taste his sweat. Before I know what theactual fuck I’m doing, I’m stepping out from my hiding spot to stand directly behind Jackson.
“As much as I’m sure your shit talk is appreciated, your time’s probably better spent with your coach figuring out how to win tomorrow,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. Jackson turns his head and his eyes widen in surprise.Good.
“Oh, shit. Phoenix Harding.” He holds out a hand that I take begrudgingly. “I didn’t think you came out to the rodeo anymore.”
“I don’t,” I tell him.
“And yet, here you are,” the cocky bastard muses, dropping Walker’s shirt.
“Yet, here I am,” I repeat after him.
“Well, it’s cool to meet you, but if you don’t mind, I’m settling a score with DeVille.”
“The scores already came in. You lost. Why don’t you take that drink back to your camper and review your deductions.” It’s probably not smart to taunt him, but this dude is too close and he’s pissed that he lost, which makes him unpredictable.
He throws his cup to the ground and grabs ahold of Walker again. “How about you call off your fucking watchdog and handle this like a man? Hm?”
When Jackson’s spit lands on Walker’s boot, I snap. Using both hands, I grab Jackson by the back of his shirt and throw him to the ground. He’s shorter than me, stockier, but he also put his back to me, which means he didn’t see it coming, and I knock him off balance easily.
“What the fuck, Harding?” Jackson cries from the dirt. “You ever hear of minding your own goddamn business?” Jackson scrambles to his feet, looking back and forth between Walker and I.
“DeVilleismy business. Now move the fuck on, Jackson.”
He mumbles under his breath, but he leaves us alonewithout another glance over his shoulder. I’m feeling pretty good about it until Walker speaks beside me, and I remember why I was pissed in the first place. I’m sure he’s tired of being manhandled, but I’ll be damned if Jackson-fucking-White is going to be the last person to put his hands all over Walker tonight.
I grip Walker’s biceps and force him into the shadows I just came from, backing him up against the side of the makeshift barn, hidden from view of passerby.
Breathing hard, I finally release my emotions on him.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing with that ritual? That moment wasours,” I growl. “Even if you didn’t have the fucking decency to acknowledge it the next day. Even if you thought it was a mistake and regretted it, that doesn’t give you the right to make that private moment a public fucking display!”
Even under the cover of darkness, I can see him staring at my mouth. In my burst of anger, I’d momentarily forgotten how terrible of an idea it is for me to be this close to him. I’m so close, Walker’s exhales become my inhales immediately after leaving his lungs.
“Phoenix, I?—”
Before he can finish his sentence, I rip his cowboy hat off with one hand while my other hand encircles his throat, forcing his head back against the structure behind him, barely controlling my anger, and not yet ready to let him talk.
God, I want to hurt him like he hurt me.
“Youwhat,Walker? Wanted to break me? Cause me more pain? I can’t imagine that no one has commented on the ritual or asked how it started.”
“You weren’t supposed to see it!” he chokes out in a whisper, his breath coasting over my face, making me delirious with desire as he leans forward, pushing his throat into my hand. Iback off, finally letting him get his words out normally. “And if you ever did, I’d hoped you’d understand it’s meant to be a tribute to that night. Not a mockery of it. I needed to keep some part of that night with me always. It’s a reward to myself for winning. The only brief moment when I allow myself to relive?—”
I can’t bear to be this close, have his skin under my hands and not be closer, inside him in some way.How does he still do this to me? Why him?
