Page 97 of Riding the Storm
Her eyes lift, catching sight of me. They’re tired, guarded. “Bryce.”
“Hey.”
She doesn’t tell me to leave, which is a start. Just takes a slow sip of her wine, waiting.
“I just saw Caison. He loaded Midnight Storm.”
She nods, and I see the unshed tears clinging to her eyelashes.
“I know.”
“You’re gonna miss him, aren’t you?” I ask as I slowly climb the steps.
She shrugs. “That’s the job. You take ’em in. You spend every day with ’em. You build a friendship and trust. Train them the best you can,” she says, turning her eyes to me as the tears finally start to fall. “And then you let ’em go. Because that was the plan all along. They were never yours. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with ’em.”
Shit.
“Can we talk?”
She sighs, setting the glass down on the little side table. “I really don’t want to fight. Not tonight.”
I shake my head. “I’m not here to fight.”
I step closer, but not too close. I don’t want to spook her. I’ve learned she’s like a wild horse that way—push too hard, and she bolts.
She exhales slowly, rubbing her hand over her face. “Why are you here, then?”
I take another step closer.
Her eyes meet mine again, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything. The air between us feels heavy, charged.
“Because there’s something I need to say.”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
I swallow hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. “I want to talk about us.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “There is nous, Bryce.”
I nod slowly. “Yes, there is.”
She lets out a sharp laugh, but it sounds more like a defense than amusement. “You’re delusional, cowboy.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But I’m not blind. I know you feel something. You can try to hide it, push me away, throw all your walls up, but it’s there.”
Her expression falters, just a flicker, before she looks away again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do.” I take another step forward, until I’m standing at the edge of the porch. “I’m not a horse, Chuck. No one’s coming with a trailer to load me up and take me away. I don’t belong to anyone else, and the only thing that’s driving me away from here is you.”
“Bryce—”
“No, let me finish.” My voice softens. “I’ve been thinking about my future. About where I’m headed after all this. And for the first time in a long damn while, I don’t want to keep running from one rodeo to the next. I don’t want to live out of a suitcase. I don’t want the noise, the fame, the pressure. I want something real. Something that feels like home.”
She stares at me, caught between disbelief and something else that looks a whole lot like fear. “I saw you,” she says. “I saw how much you love it.”
“I do,” I say. “I always will. But I know that I have an expiration date that’s rapidly approaching. I have to face it, come up with an exit strategy, and pivot.”
“Bryce—”
