Page 65 of Reckless Hearts

“Be honest are you sick of hearing Maverick Kane’s name yet?”

Chuckles fill the room.

The next reporter cuts me a break and tees me up with an easy one. “After everything your body’s been through, has there ever been a moment where you thought, ‘This might be the last one’?”

“Never,” I reply instantly. “Injuries are another part of the sport. Hell, can you call yourself the best if you’ve never ridden with a few broken bones?” I pause for the laughter, then continue. “You don’t become a bull rider if you’re not prepared to come face-to-face with death. It’s staring the reaper in the eyes and telling him ‘not today’ that makes you a winner.”

I perk up when Callie waves the guy off, clearly broken hearted. That’s right, asshole. She’s already taken.

Callie’s arms cross tightly over her chest, and her head bows low. She looks like she’s protecting herself from something. If that asshole said something to her…

The reporters lean into questions about my injuries. Always a fun topic for them, less for me.

“Just how many broken bones have you had?”

“Counting when my ribs pierced my lungs?” I smirk. “Too many to count.”

They eat this shit up. The more gruesome we get hurt, the bigger the high when we win. Fans get to feel the rush without the pain, but they love hearing all about it.

The room laughs, but Callie’s not laughing. My gut clenches when the last of her color drains from her face, like she’s just come face-to-face with a ghost. The more they ask about my injuries, the worse she gets, until I’m starting to climb out of my seat for real.

“I think that’s enough for tonight. I’ve got to go and ice some of these aches before they settle in.”

“One more question.”

I pause.

“When it comes down to Vegas, do you really think you can beat Kane?”

My molars crush together, and I take three calming breaths before I can answer the question. He’s really digging into me with this one.

“The championship comes down to who’s willing to put the most on the line, and it’s going to be me.”

My satisfaction with my answer disintegrates when Callie disappears from the room like she’s being chased. Even from here, her movements are frantic, jerky as she pushes through the crowd and escapes out the back.

Maverick’s standing at the end of the table, up next to take the hot seat, but his eyes are firmly fixed on where our girl disappeared.

My shoulder brushes his when I walk by, and he shifts closer.

“Find out what’s wrong. Text me, and I’ll be right behind you,” he rasps, a low rumble edged with concern. It holds a weight that says,I’m trusting you.

“I was going after her whether you asked me to or not,” I hiss but then soften my tone. “I’ll text you when I find her.”

Finding Callie isn’t as easy as it should be. She’s not in the halls or our locker room. By the time I search out back where our trucks are, my heart’s starting to drum in my ears. Where the hell did she go? She looked sick as hell by the time she took off. Thoughts of the worst flood over me. She could be passed out somewhere, needing me. Fear and frustration course through my veins as I turn on my heels and make my way back inside.

“Fuck, what’s gotten into you?” Luke stops me with a hand on my chest before I can make it through the door. “Easy, killer. Your girl caught a ride back to the hotel with some of the guys.”

“What the fuck? And you just let her?”

“Let her?” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re funny.”

I’ve got nothing to say to that because he’s right, but that doesn’t piss me off any less.

“Listen, I’ll take pity on you and not drag this out. I checked. She went with Samson. You know how much he loves his wife. He’d never let anything happen to her.”

Luke’s words have some of the tension uncoiling in my shoulders. Samson’s a good guy. Even if one of the other guys is an asshole, Samson won’t put up with that shit.

“I would have held her off. Come up with some excuse. But she didn’t look good though.”

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