I laugh, the sound bright and free. "I can think of worse fates."
"We need to talk about Vegas," Wyatt says. "Figure out flights, hotels. I want you there for all ten nights."
My heart flutters.
I finally understand what my mother nevercould. Love isn't about playing it safe. It’s about planting roots in rocky soil and trusting them to grow deep enough to withstand the winds. Gritstone has become that place for me—a new first chapter in my life.
I'll be there in the stands, heart pounding, watching the man I love do what he was born to do. And when he’s world champion, when he looks up into that sea of faces and finds mine, I'll know that this is just the beginning of our story.
“You’ve been chasing that title all year—I want to see you win it.”
He grins. “You know what they say about Vegas, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say, bumping his shoulder. “That what happens in Vegas better come home wearing a buckle.”
He laughs. “Something like that.”
I lean into him, grinning against his shoulder. Whatever happens in Vegas, I’ve got a feeling it’s going to change everything.
Fifty-Four
THE NASTIER THEY ARE, THE BIGGER THE PAYOFF.
WYATT
The world championship's mine for the taking. I can feel it in my bones.
Kinsley's in the passenger seat looking like my kind of trouble. Nine nights of sponsors and arena dirt, and she's been right there with me. She gives me a smile that makes my heart stutter.
"You're brooding again," Jake says from the back seat. "I can hear your brain grinding from back here."
"Just thinking," I tell him as we inch through traffic toward the Thomas and Mack center.
My body's a roadmap of this week's battles: separated shoulder taped tight, cracked rib that makes breathing an effort, and a concussion mild enough to pass the tests but serious enough to make the world tilt when I turn too fast.
Doc looked at me like I was insane when I insisted I could still ride. "Son, you're held together with athletic tape and stubbornness."
Maybe. But my family's here, and I'm not backing down now.
"Get out of your head," Jake warns.
Kinsley laughs. "Are you talking to me or him?"
"I'm talking to Wyatt," Jake says. "Stop laying the pressure on yourself."
I blow out a breath. "Tonight's big, man. Winning this thing proves that all the fights with Dad, all the nights sleeping in my truck, were heading somewhere."
Jake snorts. "Bulls don't care about your daddy issues, Halloway."
He's right. But as we pull into the parking lot—trucks and trailers from every corner of the country, cowboys checking gear—something settles in my chest like a key finding its lock.
This is where I belong. Not just in the arena, but with these people who understand that some dreams are worth bleeding for.
We hop out, and Kinsley rises on her toes to kiss me. It tastes like promises and barely contained worry.
"For luck," she whispers, but when she tries to pull away, I catch her around the waist.
"That's it?" I ask, my voice dropping. "I'm about to risk life on the rankest bull in the draw, and all I get is one little kiss?"