Page 38 of Ride the Sky

Shit.

“Wyatt Montgomery!” one shouts. Microphones swivel. “How do you think Fallon will ride today?”

I take my time, making everyone think I’m considering the answer. Feet apart, Fallon’s glare burns into me. Finally, with a wide, bright grin, I say, “Apart from her pissy attitude…” Chuckles from the reporters. I soften my tone, meet Fallon’s eyes. “I think she’ll ride as good as any man.”

She drops her gaze.

The stadium horns sound, signaling the twenty-minute warning.

With a raised hand, Pappy draws the attention back to himself. He loves the spotlight as much as Fallon.

Almost imperceptibly, she slinks away from the podium. Our gazes snap together as if on a cord. As she smoothly stalks toward me, I see what she wants.

She doesn’t need doubt. She needs me.

We come together behind a stand selling hot dogs and beer.

Fallon flattens her brows, her lips. Approaches me with steely eyed focus. Flushed cheeks. The only telltale sign of nerves. “Good answer out there,” she says. “You almost sounded sincere.”

“I was.”

Surprise filters into her eyes. Moving closer, I grip the sides of her leather vest. Only inches separate us as we fall in sync. The lock step of our training ingrained. Old times. Best times. The only time she ever listened to me.

“I go first,” I begin.

“I know, I know,” she grumbles.

“No, you don’t know.” I give her a stern look. “You used to kick your feet out of the stirrups when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. And then you know what you did?”

The corner of her lips tips up. “I fell off the horse.”

“You sure as hell did.” I blow out an anxious breath. I feel like I’m the one about to climb on the back of a 1,500-pound bull the way my nerves are fried. “When you go out, it’s all reaction. You’re on defense. You move with the bull and keep yourself centered.” I move a hand to her stomach. Warm, hard muscle. She stiffens, staring at me beneath lowered lashes. “It’s here. Your core. Your heart. You let it lead you.”

“Lead me,” she echoes.

“And when you dismount, you run like hell.”

Somewhere in the distance the announcer sounds. The wind whips, lashing her caramel strands across her pretty face.

“Here. Your hair.” I reach for it, waiting for her fangs, only she lets me gather it in one hand.

“Pappy wanted it down for the cameras,” she says, moving her hand over mine to take her mass of hair from me and twist it into her signature fishtail braid.

“Why do you play his game?”

“Because I can.” Her chin tilts. “Because I can win it.”

Pride flares within me. She can. She’s good enough. And yet…

“You be sure when you nod, Fallon. Really fucking sure.” I look into her storm-cloud eyes, the shadows gathering there. “There ain’t no shame if you walk away.”

“You don’t understand,” she says, her face creased into something almost like desperation. “I have to do this. I can’t give up. I can’t break again.”

My hands return to her vest. Her words make my heart hurt.

“Is that what you think you are? Broken?”

She’s never once talked to me about Aiden. The trauma from that night. She wouldn’t let me be there for her, wouldn’t let me see her pain. Because that’s Fallon. But if she knew anything, she’d know that’s all I want to do. Be there for her.

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