Page 96 of From the Ashes
Phoenix stands. He’s still about three inches shorter than Jonas, but he doesn’t care.
“First of all, and hear me loud and clear when I say this, Walker was neveryourcowboy. He’s beenminesince the night we shared our first kiss. And second of all, you lost your job all on your own. I didn’t take a damn thing from you.”
Jonas sneers and drops his voice so only the four of us can hear. “You know they say the only thing to come out of Texas are steers and queers. Way to prove them right, DeVille. Should be easy enough to take you down next season though, you little fa?—”
“Whoa, are youforrealright now?” Jackson cuts in, reminding me of his presence.
Jonas looks at Jackson, taken aback. “C’mon, you know it’s not natural, especially in the rodeo…thisrodeo.”
“Actually, dudes have been into each other for a fuckin’ millennia. It’s only recently that it became some kind of taboo bullshit,” Jackson argues calmly, taking a sip of his beer.
I guess his ride is over.
Jonas’s eyes widen comically in disbelief. “You talked so much trash to him last season. Why are you on me even thoughyouusedgay slurs yourself?”
“Nah, man. There was never a slur. I talk shit to my equals because that’s part of the game. But I don’t make judgments on who they love. My little brother’s gay, and if you think I’m gonna let you represent me with those thoughts in your head, you’re dead fucking wrong.” In one of the weirdest turn of events to ever happen to me, Jackson reaches out and shakes my hand. “Everyone else on this circuit is a dud, man. I mean honestly, I have no competition with you out of the ring. It’s kind of boring. I’m looking forward to having you back. Although this,” he points between me and Phoenix, “is gonna make my life absolute hell.” Then he grins wide. “I can’t fucking wait,” he adds.
I’m shocked into silence, but thankfully, Phoenix still has his voice as he bumps his fist against Jackson’s. “Thanks, man. You’re a helluva rider yourself. We’ve got our work cut out for us getting back on par with you.”
My eyes swing to Jonas who looks a little crazy at the moment. It only gets worse when Jackson says, “Yeah, well, looks like we’ll both start next season behind since I gotta find another coach…again.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jonas barks.
“Look man, you’ve made it pretty clear how you feel, and these are two of the best riders the sport has ever produced. If you can’t respect them for their riding abilities becauseyou’re too hung up on the fact that they’re fuckin’, then you’re no good to me. You obviously think gay men are less qualified to ride and you’ll underestimate anybody who comes out after him, and that puts me at risk. Not to mention, what am I supposed to do when Tristan brings his boyfriend around in the off-season? I’d rather never ride again than hear you spew a single derogatory word in my brother’s direction. So, kindly…fuck off. I’ll handle the championship on my own.”
Jonas’s gaze bounces between the three of us, and I can’t help adding fuel to the fire.
“Oh, and my dad will probably want his truck and camper back.”
Shit.
My dad.
I still haven’t told my parents, and they will undoubtedly be watching the media from the rodeo.
I give Jackson another fist bump. “Looking forward to being back. Great ride today. If you’ll excuse me, I have a call I need to make.”
Phoenix arches a brow at me.
“My parents,” I say by way of explanation.
He nods as I go in search of a quiet corner, finding what I need when Mack allows me to use the LXR camper.
With shaking hands, I dial my dad’s number. I don’t call often, preferring to text since neither he nor I are big conversationalists, so I’m not surprised he answered right away, probably thinking something’s wrong.
“Walker, hi, son.”
“Hey, Dad. Um, you got a minute?”
Why is it no matter how old we get, talking to our parents always makes us feel like toddler versions of ourselves?
“Of course. Is everything okay?” The concern in his voicemakes my legs give out and I sit down despite having a tendency to pace when having stressful conversations.
“Yeah. Well, sort of. I mean, yes, but?—”
“Walker, just spit it out, son.”
So, I do. I verbally vomit all over this conversation.
