The kiss was rough, deep, and tasted faintly of dust. His hands dropped to my hips, crushing me against him.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard. He kept a hand on my back as he guided me back toward the tunnel. The security guard was still standing there, shooting me a venomous glare for blowing past him. I ducked behind Brock’s broad shoulder, not sorry at all.
As we reached the concrete walkway near the first row of seats, a small crowd of people surged toward us, trying to reach Brock.
The first one to step out was the last person I expected to see.
Dawson.
My shoulders tensed. I still remembered his nasty taunts back in Cheyenne.
But tonight he didn’t look cocky at all, but worn out, like he’d had a long, rough week.
He tipped the brim of his hat to Brock. “Hell of a ride, man.”
Brock stopped. He kept me tucked tight against his side, his posture stiffening.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice flat.
An awkward silence stretched between them as the roar of the rodeo carried on behind us.
“Sorry about your old man,” Brock added quietly.
Dawson held his gaze for a long second, then gave a slow nod. “Appreciate it.”
He tipped his hat again and walked off.
I stared after him, stunned. Before I could even process the exchange, a whirlwind of denim and turquoise slammed into us. Wren and Colt had finally made it through the crowd.
Colt grabbed Brock by the shoulder with a wild grin. “You psychopath!”
Wren half-hugged him, half-smacked his arm.
“I hate you so much right now,” she said, her voice thick.
Brock let out a low chuckle and pulled both of them in tighter. “Love you too,” he muttered.
I stepped back, letting his family swamp him. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving me shaky and exhausted.
We still needed to have a serious conversation, but for now, it could wait.
We spent the rest of the night watching the remaining rounds from the stands. When the final scores came in, Brock’s 88.5 held up. He placed fifth.
Later that night, as I watched the neon glow of the hotel lights through the curtains, the chaos of the arena finally seemed a world away.
Brock sat on the edge of the mattress in just his jeans. A massive purple bruise was blooming across his ribs. I was still mad at him, but I couldn’t just leave him sitting there like that.
I sat beside him, carefully massaging cold arnica cream into the skin. He didn't make a sound, letting me work in silence.
After a long stretch of quiet, he finally spoke. He told me about the call with Dave Henderson. The ultimatum. Place in the top five tonight, or Outlaw would drop him.
Swallowing hard, I kept rubbing arnica into his skin as I processed his words. The sharp herbal scent filled the space between us.
When I finished, I wiped my hands on a towel and met his eyes. “I wish you would’ve told me, or at least given me a heads-up.”
Brock rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I was worried you’d try to stop me.”
He was right. I also knew exactly why he’d done it. He had gambled his own safety to keep Wild Sage afloat.