Page 89 of Reckless Hearts

Soft and worn, clinging a little too tightly across my shoulders.

“You left it on my side of the bed,” I say, tugging the hem down, pretending like my heart isn’t beating a little faster.

“You coulda folded it, not stolen it.”

“Folded it?” I bark out a laugh. “What am I, a fuckin’ laundromat?”

He crosses his arms, eyes dragging over me way too slowly.

“I want it back.”

I shrug, cocky. “Too late. Smells like me now.”

Something shifts in his expression, a flash of heat that makes the air between us spark.

He stares a beat too long before snapping his duffel closed a little too hard.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Looks better on you anyway.”

I swear the whole room tilts a little under my feet.

Neither of us moves for a minute.

Not until he shoulders past me on his way to the bathroom, knocking my arm with his rougher than necessary.

Not that I mind.

Chapter 30

Colt

The crowd’sgoing crazy tonight. The city’s gone all out, fireworks booming in the sky, lighting up the arena in a kaleidoscope of colors. There isn’t a single spare inch in the stands. Everyone’s getting hungrier the closer we get to the finals.

The finals.

In all my years riding, it’s the first time that word hasn’t made my pulse spike for the right reasons. Used to be the only thing I cared about points, rank, that gold buckle at the end. Winning was simple. Predictable. The one constant in a life full of chaos.

Things are different now.

Now, all I can think about is Callie. About the countdown I’m on that has nothing to do with standings and everything to do with the day she packs up and leaves.

She told us from the start just the season, then she’s gone. And the closer we get to the end, the more impossible that feels.

The only win that matters now is finding a way to make her stay.

I’ve already had my ride tonight. Scored decent. Enough to hold my position, maybe inch a little closer to the top. Normally, I’d be coming down off the high right now, back in the locker room, icing whatever’s bruised and watching the rest of the event from a screen.

Tonight, I’m back here, tucked into a shadowed corner near the bucking chutes, watching from behind the chaos as Maverick gets ready. The space is a mess of nerves and movement—riders pacing, bullfighters shouting instructions, the low, restless snorts of the animals as they’re loaded into place.

Callie… well, she’s not here.

Said she wanted to visit a horse out at the stables. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. I know what this place brings up for her. What it cost her.

She never talks about it directly, but I see it in her eyes every time the gate opens how her whole body tenses like she’s bracing for impact. I know watching us ride isn’t easy.

Lately, I’ve started wondering if there’s more to it.

Not just fear. Not just grief.

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