Page 43 of Ride the Sky

This isn’t happening. It’s not real. It’s not my fucking girl in that ring.

I’m suddenly moving. Bodies block my way, people scream, boots stomp, but I push through the crowd, racing down the stands.

Adrenaline floods my system. I hurl myself forward, shoving someone aside. Ford. With one hand, he drags me by the shirt. The other he uses as a bulldozer muscling people out of our way to clear a path. “Move! Move!”

I can still hear Fallon. Screaming.

But I can’t get to her.

I can’t fucking get to her.

We practically teleport out of the stands and down into the midway.

“Out of my way. Let me through,” I snarl at the security guard barricading the gates into the arena. “Let me fucking through.”

“Sir, you can’t go in there.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

I’m pushed to the side by the guard, by reporters. It’s absolute chaos. No one can get anywhere. The flashes of cameras blur my vision.

Through the bars, I catch a glimpse of Fallon. My heart plummets. She’s no longer screaming. Face down on the ground, she’s unresponsive and still. Bent over her prone body are Pappy Starr and medical staff.

The rodeo clowns try to corral the bull, but they’re locked in a dangerous dance with Goliath Jim, who’s stomping and evading capture.

Still not safe in the ring. She’s not safe. All I can do is watch.

Fuck this.

Heart beating fast in my chest, I grab the bars and start to climb. I’m going in. One goddamn way or another.

A hand wraps around my leg.

“Wyatt, no.” Ford’s clipped, panicked voice doesn’t register. Nothing registers.

Only Fallon.

“You can’t go in there,” Ford orders, gripping me hard.

I thrash like an animal caught in a trap. Each second that passes that I’m not by her side kills me. I’m losing it.

“Fuck you,” I snap, trying to kick him off.

Before I can have another go, I’m forcibly torn from the gates. Big bodies in my periphery grab my arms. Charlie. Davis.

I twist, freeing myself from Charlie’s grip before reaching for the bars again. “Let me go,” I shout, on the edge of something I can’t come back from. Panic. Desperation. “I have to get to her! I have to—”

“Wyatt—no—you can’t.” Davis’s voice. Ragged. Broken.

I shake them off, whirling in place. “I can’t leave her. I can’t fucking leave her—”

“Hit him,” I hear Ford say, and then—

Blackout.

I have dirty boots.

It’s the first thought that comes to mind as awareness oozes through my head. Pain throbs behind my eyes, a dull nausea clouding my senses.Where the fuck am I?

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