Page 36 of From the Ashes
The silence that fills the space at the end of his outburst is deafening.
“So that’s what this is about? You’re homophobic? Christ, Jonas. It’s the twenty-first century. Why does it matter who I like to fuck? It’s not like you ever had to worry about me beingattracted to you. Douchebags aren’t my type,” I fire, hoping to wound him.
He holds his hands up. “I just want to coach rodeo, man. I don’t need this level of drama. Just so you know, your dad gave me the green light to use the truck and camper for the next two months. He said he’ll buy you a plane ticket back to Texas. Just let me know when I need to drop you off at the airport.”
Fuck. That.
“I don’t need you to do a goddamn thing for me.”
As my coach, Jonas should be in my corner,always.Trying to protect me from Phoenix was one thing, but jumping ship the second I get injuredandgay-shaming me when I finally say it out loud for the first time?
Nah, we’re done.
“You might as well stay with Jackson after this season because I can’t work with someone I don’t trust,” I tell him.
“Walker…”
“We’re done, Jonas. Just do me one favor and hate me silently. I’m already a target because I’m at the top. I don’t need you telling my business to everyone and making it worse.”
I spin on my heel, walking back into the tiny-ass bedroom and start ripping shit off hangers, throwing it in my bag. It won’t all fit of course, but it doesn’t have to. I don’t need my chaps, my show hat, the vests, or any of that other shit. Hell, joggers and athletic shorts will be easier to manage with one hand anyway. I pack my t-shirts, everything with an elastic waist, clean underwear, socks, my toiletries, my World Championship belt buckle, and my phone charger. Everything I need in one duffel bag.
It’s not the best plan, but I’ll grab an Uber to a hotel, get buzzed in the bar while I figure out what the fuck I’m going to do about Alexis before getting absolutely smashed thinking about yesterday’s kiss with Phoenix and how I’ve somehowmanaged to fuck up my second meeting with him just as fabulously as the first.
Again, not the finest of plans, but I smile at the welcome idea of the blackout in my future. At least I won’t have to take any narcotics tonight.
Hoisting my duffel bag over my left shoulder, I approach the front door of the camper prepared to leave in silence. I’ve said all I needed to say, but apparently Jonas hasn’t.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says.
Huh, if anything, I’d stupidly expected get-well-soon, or good-luck-next-season, or even thanks-for-the-last-five-years. Instead, I get another warning.
“I could say the same about you,” I respond, hating the way this is ending. Hatingwhythis is ending. Jonas has been a good coach—regardless of what Phoenix thinks. Hell, Iamnumber one. And until recently, he was about the only person I considered a friend anymore.
But now we’re not even that.
The door to the camper slams shut behind me as I make my way out of the rider’s lot.
Phoenix may have said it about himself, but he was right…I never should have come here.
Chapter 18
Phoenix
It's so bloody hot, my white t-shirt might as well be see-through for as much sweat is drenching my torso. Knox is no better off even though we’re only installing this breakaway latch—which should be a quick, easy job, yet I find myself moving slowly.
I suspect Knox knows what’s going on because instead of hurrying me along, he’s taking twice the usual amount of time to find the tools he needs, even though his toolbox is in impeccable order.
My head’s still a mess from my final interaction with Walker half an hour ago even if keeping my hands busy has been helpful.
Despite the turmoil surrounding me, it’s been nice being at the arena, actuallywatchingthe events. However, the life of a retired cowboy is hard. I still crave that adrenaline spike when the shoot opens—hence my career as a firefighter. I’ve missed hearing that horn blare in the arena. It used to signal that I’d survived the ride, now it signals that the danger is just beginning. Being out of my routine, away from the firestation, and having Cassie in town, dissecting my every move, has worn me down and I’m ready for things to go back to normal.
“Hey, can you grab the drill out of my truck?” Knox asks, pulling me from my messy thoughts. “I must have left it on the backseat,” he adds from the spot where he’s kneeling, holding a screw in place.
“Yeah, sure,” I agree.
I’m glad Knox is here. He’s not terribly intrusive and he’s content to just work…even if the project is fairly pointless. It’s Friday evening, so my horses are coming home in forty-eight hours. Nonetheless, I’m doing a shit job at taking care of myself right now, so it feels good to at least do what I can for them.
As soon as I turn toward Knox’s truck, I halt. Weaving through the rows of campers, with a bag slung across his back, is Walker.
