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“Guess he was just waiting for me,” West joked, straddling the chute and grinning breathlessly down at the animal.

Whiskey Foxtrot was bright red from tip to tail except for two white streaks on his front fetlocks. He’d already rammed a handler into a fence post just getting into the chute, and now the only thing keeping him calm was the low, soothing flow of nonsense coming from the cowboy tightening his rigging.

West leaned in and rested one hand against the stallion’s glossy neck, attuned to the way his skin and muscle twitched like a live wire.

“Easy, now,” West murmured, giving him a slow, easy stroke. “Save that fire for the arena. We both have something to prove, you and me.”

Except he didn’t feel like he had much to prove anymore. Something had changed that winter, and he didn’t know if it was him or his family. They all seemed to breathe a little easier around each other after the blow-up between him and Derek. Like steam let off a pressure cooker just before it was ready to explode.

West wasn’t riding to show up his father, and he didn’t care about proving to Derek how much pain he could take. Riding wasn’t about any of them. Not anymore.

It was just about West and eight seconds of pure freedom.

“Whooooeeee! Give ‘em hell, ol’ son!” Aiden shouted from the stands, one arm slung over Celia’s shoulders. Cal sat beside him, snuggled up beneath Eli’s arm, looking more at peace than West might have expected for a man whose own career had been cut painfully short. When he caught West glancing in his direction, he just grinned and winked.

West didn’t mind the attention for once.

He poured himself onto Foxtrot’s back like he was made of water, snugging his knuckles into the handle and flexing so far back that his shoulders damn near touched the stallion’s rump. Even from all the way across the arena, West caught his father’s hairy eyeball. He laughed and pointedly slipped his heels clear of the mark out line. Jasper nodded, just once.

It was a cool day, but West was already sweating, and his breath was starting to come in quick little pants. Just nerves. His pulse was quick but steady as a drum, just like always these days.

Right before he gave the nod, he slid Michael a quick glance beneath his lashes. Just to make sure he was watching. If Michael believed in him, no one else mattered.

Like he’d been waiting for it, his husband instantly caught his gaze. Even beneath the shade of his hat, his eyes were so shockingly blue that West felt his bones burning. Slowly, Michael raised one hand and pressed it flat against his own chest. Right over his heart.

West copied the motion, feeling the powerful beat of his own heart beneath his palm, and mouthed one word across the arena.

Yours.

A slow, secret smile touched Michael’s mouth.

West nodded, and the gate sprang open.

He was going to win a buckle, but win or lose, it didn’t matter. He'd done the impossible and found the courage to live his dreams. He'd roped the catch of the county, and he’d ridden him all the way to their own happily ever after.

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