“He’s okay,” I sigh.
June nods and looks at me. “Are you?” She runs her hand down my hair like a mom soothing her kid.
I try to swallow but my mouth is too dry. I laugh at myself and sit up taller. “Yeah. Now that it’s over.”
“You did just fine.” June gives me a quick side hug and then releasesme.
I shake out my hands that were so tense the blood flow stopped, and my fingers are tingling.
"Eighty-seven and a half points!" the announcer booms, and the arena erupts in celebration. "That puts Wyatt Halloway in first place!"
The number penetrates my panic, like sunlight through fog. Eighty-seven and a half. First place. That's what he wanted.
Yet, all I can think about is the way he hit the ground.
Through the arena dust, I catch sight of Wyatt making his way toward the competitor exit. He's moving better now and when he glances up at the stands, that cocky grin is back in place.
This is what he does, what he loves and somehow I’ve got to get okay with watching him ride if I plan on any more make out sessions in the hotel hallway.
Fifteen minutes later, most of the crowd has dispersed and the other women have left to find their men. Wyatt and I didn’t talk about where to meet up so I stay put. I’m still thinking about Wyatt’s ride and I’m baffled by my own reaction. I’ve zoned out and gotten deep inside my own head when I feel someone settle beside me on the bleacher.
“Hey there, beautiful.” Wyatt sits sideways, putting one leg behind me and wrapping me in his arms.
I lean into his chest and turn to look at him and something inside me just... breaks.
He's here. Whole. Breathing. Real.
Before I can think, before I can stop myself, I'm reaching for him.
"Kinsley—"
I don't let him finish.Can't let him finish.
I kiss him. I kiss him deeply and fully, releasing all the worry, the fear, and the relief. And then I shift to kissing him because he came back, like he said he would. I mean, he came back to me—that’s a big deal for a girl who's been left behind before.
"Kinsley," he breathes against my mouth, and his voice is rough with surprise and something deeper. "Hey, are you ok?"
"Yeah, it’s just—" I start, then stop because I’m not sure I can explain. "When I thought—." I bury my face against his neck, breathing in the scent that's become as familiar as home. His hand moves to my hair; fingers twining through the strands.
"I'm right here," he murmurs, and there's something in his voice I've never heard before—wonder, maybe, like he's just figuring out what my reaction means. "I'm okay."
I pull back just enough to look at him, cataloging the dirt streaked across his jaw, and the small scrape on his knuckles. But he's here. Whole. Mine.
Mine?
I trace his jaw with shaking fingers. "I—"
"Wyatt Halloway!" A voice booms from our left, and suddenly we're surrounded by reporters with cameras and microphones, all wanting to know about his winning ride and his plans for Vegas.
The spell breaks like glass hitting concrete.
I feel him stiffen slightly, the public mask sliding into place as he turns to face the cameras. He adjusts how he’s sitting but his arm stays around me, holding me close even as he shifts into interview mode. I compose myself and smile for the cameras as if I did not just brand him with a kiss.
"Heck of a ride," one reporter says. "You looked like you were in trouble there for a minute when your boot got hung up."
"That's the game," Wyatt replies with practiced ease. "Midnight Express is one of the best for a reason. You respect him, but you can't let him intimidate you."
The reporters finally disperse, chasing after the next rider, the next story, the next drama. Wyatt's hand finds mine.