Her mouth forms a thinner line, clearly unimpressed.
‘As I’m sure your friend has told you,’ she explains, ‘you’ve suffered an open fracture—meaning a breakage of your tibia that’s pierced the skin and required surgery. The fracture already present in the bone likely aided the severity of the breakage caused by the impact of the bull’s hooves.’
Bile rises in my throat again as she speaks, going into more detail about the nature of the complicated fracture, and I decide I’m not going to tease Wyatt for cowering over my injury anymore. Wolfman leans forward in his seat, listening intently with a paler face. His leg bobs anxiously, distracting me, my mind eager to focus on anything but the doctor who I should be listening to.
It’s when Doctor Morgan starts talking about physiotherapy and I hear the wordsfour to six monthsthat the high-pitched ringing starts in my ears again, drowning out her voice completely.
Half a year without riding, just waiting around for my goddamn leg to heal. That’s going to set me back so far. All those years of studying how to overcome fear thrown in the trash. I won’t be able to compete in the next World Championships. I’ll have to give up my belt. My title. My career.
Wolfman was right when he said I was an idiot.
I’ve gone and fucked up everything. Just like always.
Honey’s a perfect example of that.
What the hell am I going to do?
Bull riding is all I have.
Bull riding is all Iam.
4
Honey (Flashback)
October, Senior Year
It takes several deep breaths at my locker before I can head down the hallway towards Sawyer. I weave between the milling crowds of high schoolers inconspicuously, drawing exactly zero attention to myself. It’s only when his group’s raucous laughter echoes against the lockers that my thighs tense and my mind attempts to talk me out of this.
One more year of keeping your head down and being invisible. Then you can get out of here.
That’s all I have to do. Just make it through.
I was strangely proud of how well I’d hidden my bruises for the last few years—long sleeves, turtlenecks, tights, a bracelet or watch around the odd mark on my wrist. And being the quiet choir girl has kept the majority of prying eyes averted from me unless I’m performing, but even then I’m amongst a group.
IthoughtI’d done well to hide my bruises. That was until I felt Sawyer’s searing gaze on those marks on my wrist the other week.
He’snevernoticed me before, despite being in homeroom together. But why would he? He’s exactly the kind of boy I actively try to avoid, always the centre of attention—get too close and you’ll be sucked into that storm. Besides, he might be the most popular senior in our school—he is our champion quarterback, after all. I don’t need any spotlights on me; I’m far more comfortable in the dimly lit corner. Where I won’t get burned.
Yet, here I am, merely a few footsteps away from his group, all hanging by Sawyer’s locker, of course. He has that gravitational pull that’s hard to ignore and has every head turning his way no matter where he is.
There’s Wyatt Hensley with his arm tucked tightly around his girlfriend, Holly Slade. Duke Bennett hovers next to them quietly nodding along like usual, yet towering over them all, and beside him is Miles Wolfe—Wolfman, they always call him—practically howling with laughter as they all listen to Sawyer tell some elaborate story, his arms waving about the place. I catch a few words and figure out it’s a story about one of his amateur bull-riding competitions. His bright smile is infectious, the energy he exudes almost intoxicating as he talks. I don’t have to wonder how he captivates the school so easily.
But I also wonder how no one else sees the depth of the shadows beneath his eyes—too dark for just a teenager who stayed up too late on his phone last night. Even through the gaps between his friends’ shoulders I catch how he flinches when he lifts his arm to run a hand through his sandy blondhair, making the light glint off the golden strands. No one seems to bat an eyelid at his subtle pain.
I have to quickly look away when his T-shirt rides up, revealing toned stomach muscles as he stretches. I’m not supposed to see things like that.
It’s then that I realise I’ve been standing behind the group and nobody has noticed me. I don’t know why I’m surprised, I’m barely a pinprick in the sky amongst the stars of Willow Ridge High, and that’s usually what I want. But today, it isn’t, and I’m not entirely sure how to make myself noticed. The idea of trying to battle for Sawyer’s attention makes me cringe. I’m not the kind of girl thatgetshis attention.
This was a stupid idea. I should never have come over here. Just because Sawyer helped me that one time doesn’t mean he wants to help me again. Even if he did say he would …
I’m probably better off staying away and avoiding getting distracted. I grab the straps of my backpack and go to turn—
‘Honey?’ Sawyer’s voice halts me, and the chatter around him dies down—the conductor of the corridor just lowered his baton.
My heart rate immediately picks up as the weight of multiple eyes lands on me, and not just the ones from his group. Because what’s Sawyer Nash doing talking to Honey Goldman?
I rub my hands together, trying to alleviate their sudden clamminess before I pivot on the spot back to Sawyer and his group. I’m met with too many surprised eyes—those of Holly Slade especially, looking me up and down twice. It makes me swallow thickly. I can’t seem to get enough air down, like I’m drowning under their scrutiny.