Page 145 of Reckless Hearts

Not really.

Because Colt hums low to the music, and Maverick’s knuckles brush my thigh. Because this truck smells like leather and sweat and the sweet, syrupy mess I spilled earlier, and somehow, it smells like home.

I glance over at them, Colt squinting into the sun, Maverick stealing a Twizzler from my lap, and my chest aches with how easy it all feels.

Chapter 48

Colt

The press tentbuzzes with the usual noise: camera shutters, caffeine-fueled whispers, the hum of too many voices pretending to be polite.

It smells like dust, leather, and nerves. I lean into it like always.

Rolled sleeves, soft-worn jeans, brace still visible under the denim.

I take my seat behind the mic, flashing that dimpled, easy grin they all eat up. Country-boy charm dialed just right. Enough cockiness to remind them who I am, who Istillam, even if I haven’t been on a bull in weeks.

This weekend will be the second event I’ve missed since we got back from the ranch, and it’s eating me alive.

No one here needs to see that though.

Like sharks smelling blood in the water, they start in, not wasting a second before they take a bite.

Are you worried about reinjury? Do you think your riding style contributed to the injury? How’s the leg?

I answer with the same charm I’ve always used to keep the media happy.

“Aww. You worried about me?” I lean into the mic, voice smooth as butter. “Leg’s not as bad as you all seem to think.”

“You’ve been out for a while. Will you ride again this season?”

“I’ll be ready for the championship,” I say, letting my voice curl into a confident drawl. “That’s what matters, right?”

What if I’m not ready?The thought weighs on me less than I thought it would.

The next question turns the tide, really going for blood now, aiming for the kill shot to get that juicy headline.

“What about Maverick Kane pulling further ahead while you’ve been benched? Considering your… history, that’s gotta sting.”

I stiffen before I can stop myself, but I school it quickly, raising a brow, sitting back like I’ve got all the time in the world.

“Mav’s always been a strong rider,” I say evenly. “He deserves the lead, but you better believe I’m going to take it from him.”

“Last question,” the marketing coordinator says, holding up her hand.

Tension eases from my shoulders, grateful for the save. Don’t think I could take much more of this.

Displeasure rumbles through the crowd, but they know the rules, and they know what happens if they break them.

She points at our reporter fromRodeo Weekly, and I have to fight against clenching my teeth. He’s always been a little weasel.

“You say that, but your odds are mighty slim now. That’s got to be getting to you.” His smile is cutting. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Fucking asshole.

I take a beat, then lean into the country-boy bravado on the outside, shoving down the fury underneath.

“I wouldn’t bet against me just yet. We all know the championship is where it counts.”

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