Page 154 of Reckless Hearts

She gives me a second just long enough for the weight of it to settle.

“I say jump. Take that leap off the cliff, and give them the chance to catch you.”

God, I want to, but every time I inch toward believing it, my dad’s voice slips in, filled with easy confidence, full of promises he never kept.

I’ll quit next after this championship. I just need one more shot. One last ride.

He was like a gambling addict, but instead of money, it was his life on the line and the future I didn’t get a chance to have with him.

“My dad loved us.” My voice breaks, unsteady. “I know he did, but he still didn’t choose us. It wasn’t enough.Iwasn’t enough. How am I supposed to believe anyone else ever could?”

“If you don’t ask, you lose either way,” she says gently.

I swallow hard. “What if they don’t?”

“What if they do?” she counters, her voice still calm, still kind.

I look down at my hands, clenched tight in my lap. “It’s complicated. They love riding.”

“Callie, listen to me. Wanting to be with someonewith peoplewho don’t risk their lives every time they go to work? That’s not selfish. That’s valid. This isn’t about asking too much. It’s about knowing what you need. You’ve spent so long treating your boundaries like they’re flaws, but they’re not.”

She leans in, voice steady. “Everything you’re afraid of could still be true. They could love the sport more. They could say no. But it wouldstillbe worth asking. Because not asking? That guarantees you lose.”

I sit there, breath caught as my lungs compress. Hope is a dangerous thing, but for the first time, that flame my own father snuffed out flickers back to life.

“Believe me, I understand. Fear almost cost me everything,” Mia says. “I’ll be damned if I sit by quietly and let that happen to someone else.”

Alex squeezes her knee, River presses a kiss to her temple, and all I can think is:

I want that.

Chapter 51

Colt

I roll my bad shoulder,and it gives a dull throb in return, like a warning shot, reminding me that every time I told Callie I’m fine, it’s been a lie.

The wood-paneled wall is hard against my back as I work my palm into that constant ache. “Come on, man. Get it together,” I mutter, not that there’s anyone around to hear it.

The back hallway echoes with the noise of the arena. Everyone’s out front, either riding, getting ready to ride, or watching. The excitement is fucking palpable on every single one of them.

That should be me. I should be out there, running scenarios through my head, meticulously going through each step of my process. I definitely shouldn’t be back here hiding, but every time I try to walk up, a weight compresses my chest, growing heavier with each step I take.

This isn’t something I’m used to. I’ve always run headfirst into challenges, not giving a damn about the consequences, just craving the high of the win.

I was born with that “I can do anything” attitude. The type that encourages irrational confidence, but hell, it hasn’t let me down yet… at least, it hadn’t.

I rake grooves through my hair, fisting the ends. That confidence broke somewhere under those stomping hooves, and I’m reminded every time my leg aches or my shoulder throbs just how close I came to not making it out of there.

This shit has never been a problem before. I’ve ridden through plenty of injuries—just a part of the job—but this is something different, something dug into the back of my brain that’s hard to shake off.

I need to get myself together before I blow it all. I’ve already fallen behind in the ranks taking the last two rides off. I’m lucky I still have a shot at winning at all.

Making the finals practically a winner-takes-all was a special type of genius. Who doesn’t love a good underdog story, taking the top spot in the final showdown. As far as entertainment value, nothing has this beat.

It’s one bad ride vs. one great ride. Winner takes the buckle.

So fucking this up is not an option.

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