Page 22

I swear to all things holy, these boys never know how to do anything simple.

I sit back in a chair watching as they hover around Colt’s hospital bed, showing him videos and pictures from tonight.

They’re loud.

They’re rowdy.

And they’re all mine.

My heart swells with pride at this little family we’ve created. The misfits of the ObrA. The unwanted children of our families. To some we’re too much. Too loud. Too rowdy. Too reckless. Too wild.

But to the nine people in this room? We’re everything and more.

Knox takes a seat next to me.

"You good?" he asks, nudging my shoulder with his.

"Yeah." I smile, watching Rhett practically climb onto Colt's bed to show him something on his phone. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous hobby," Knox teases.

I flip him off, but there's no heat behind it. After our drive together, things feel right between us again. Like old times, before everything got complicated.

A nurse appears in the doorway, looking equal parts amused and exasperated. "Gentlemen, I need to remind you that this is a hospital, not a rodeo arena."

"Sorry, ma'am," Weston says, turning on that country-boy charm that works on everyone with a pulse.

She softens immediately. "Just keep it down. And no more than three visitors at a time, technically."

"We're all family," Rhett says with that signature grin.

The same damn grin that knocks me on my feet.

The nurse gives us that look—the one women always give these boys when they're being charming assholes—and leaves with a shake of her head.

"She's gonna kick us out in about ten minutes," I mutter to Knox.

"Bet you twenty it's five."

"You're on."

When she leaves, Colt shifts in his bed, wincing. "So what's the plan? Y'all heading out tomorrow?"

The mood in the room shifts. Reality crashes back in.

"Yeah," Knox says, his voice low. "Got to get back on the road."

"Circuit doesn't stop for anyone," Jace adds.

Colt nods, but I catch the flash of disappointment in his eyes. Two weeks minimum in this place, then rehab. That's a lifetime in our world.

"We'll video call you at every event," I say, leaning forward.

"You better," Colt drawls, wincing as he shifts again. "Don't want you sorry bastards forgetting what a real champion looks like."

Levi snorts. "Your ugly mug? Forgetting would be a blessing."

The room erupts in that particular brand of shit-talking that only happens between people who'd take a bullet for each other. But beneath the bravado, I see the worry in everyone's eyes. Two weeks is optimistic. We all know bull riders who never came back at all.

I watch them, these broken boys pretending they're not scared. Because that's what this is—fear wrapped in jokes and bravado. The unspoken truth hangs in the air: it could've been any of them in that bed. Could still be, next weekend or the one after.

The nurse returns exactly seven minutes later. Knox silently slides a twenty into my palm.

"Visiting hours are ending, folks," she announces, somehow managing to sound both firm and apologetic.

Levi stands first. "We'll come see you tomorrow before we head off.”

Colt sadly smiles. “Go drink some for me boys. Wills, my angel?”

We all laugh as I walk over to him. “Yes, Wildcard?”

“Fight someone tonight for me please and make sure you get it on video.”

I roll my eyes, but can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "I'll try my best to curb my violent tendencies for one night, Colt. Doctor's orders."

"Buzzkill," he mutters, but there's that familiar sparkle in his eyes—the one that makes me believe he's going to be okay.

One by one, they file past his bed with fist bumps, shoulder squeezes, and promises to return. When it's my turn, I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.

"Don't do anything stupid while we're gone," I whisper.

"Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'," he drawls, but we both know that's a damn lie.

Rhett's gaze is like a physical touch—hot and possessive. After the other night, everything between us has shifted. Again.

But this time, I’m ready to take that dive.

I push the thought away as we file out of the hospital and into the warm evening air.

"Bar?" Weston suggests, jangling his truck keys.

"Hell yes," Jace agrees, already pulling out his phone. "There's a place about ten minutes from here. Good reviews."

Knox catches my eye, silently checking if I'm in. I nod. After the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, a drink sounds perfect.

We split between two trucks, and somehow I end up wedged between Rhett and Knox in the back of Weston's ride. My thigh presses against Rhett's, the heat of him burning through my jeans.

"Cozy," Knox mutters, giving me a side-eye that says he knows exactly what's going on.

I ignore him. Rhett doesn't. His hand finds my knee, casual as can be, thumb tracing small circles that send electricity up my spine. The possessive gesture isn't lost on Knox, who snorts and looks out the window.

The bar is exactly what we need—dim lighting, cheap beer, and a jukebox playing Waylon Jennings. Country heaven for road-weary rodeo folks.

"First round's on me," Levi announces, making his way to the bartender.

We claim a corner booth, spilling into surrounding tables as we always do, taking up more space than we should. Rhett slides in beside me, his thigh pressed against mine under the table. His proximity makes my skin buzz with awareness.

"To Colt," Knox says when Levi returns with a tray of whiskey shots, raising his glass high.

"To surviving another weekend," Jace adds.

"To the Savage Eight," Rhett says, his voice low and serious, "even when we're scattered."

We clink glasses and throw back the shots. The whiskey burns a familiar path down my throat, warming my chest. I welcome the sensation.

"Another," Weston declares, already signaling the bartender.

Two shots in and the heaviness starts to lift. Three shots and we're laughing again, sharing stories about Colt's wildest moments. Four shots

Four shots and I'm feeling that familiar warmth spread through my limbs, making everything soft around the edges.

The bar's filled with the weekend crowd now. Country music thumps through speakers, and the dance floor's packed with boots stomping and bodies swaying. I watch as Jace sweet-talks a blonde at the bar, his charm cranked to eleven.

"Dance with me," Rhett says, his breath hot against my ear.

It's not a question. It never is with him.

I arch an eyebrow. "Is that an order, Razor?"

His eyes darken at the challenge, pupils blown wide. "Would you listen if it was?"

"Not a chance in hell."

He grins, all wolf. "Then it's a request."

I let him pull me to my feet, aware of Knox's eyes following us as Rhett leads me to the dance floor.

The music shifts to something slow and heavy with bass as we reach the dance floor. Rhett pulls me against him, one hand at my waist, the other taking mine. My body remembers his—every plane and ridge, every place his fingers have pressed into my skin.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmurs against my ear.

"Lots on my mind."

His thumb traces circles at the small of my back. "Like what?"

"Like Colt. Like us. Like whatever the hell we're doing."

He spins me slowly, pulling me back against his chest. "What do you want us to be doing?"

I laugh, short and breathy. "That's not fair."

"Never claimed to play fair, sweetheart."

The song winds through its chorus, all heartbreak and whiskey regrets. Around us, couples sway and hold each other close. I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped animal. His hand slides lower on my back, possessive and sure.

"You never answered my question," he says, voice rough against my ear.

"Because I don't have an answer." The whiskey makes me honest. "This thing between us... it's complicated."

"Doesn't have to be."

I pull back just enough to see his face. "Everything about our lives is complicated, Rhett."

His eyes darken at the sound of his name on my lips. Not Razor—Rhett. The man, not the legend.

"The only complicated thing is how much time we've wasted fighting this," he says, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush against each other.

The dance floor's gotten crowded, bodies pressing in from all sides. It's intimate and anonymous all at once—just us in a sea of strangers. His hand splays across my lower back, burning through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"You know what I think?" he says, lips brushing against my ear.

"Dangerous question."

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine. "I think you're scared."

"Of what?" I challenge myself, even though I already know the answer.

"Of this. Of us. Of what happens when you stop running."

I pull back to look at him, ready to fire back with something sharp, but the raw honesty in his eyes stops me cold. This isn't Razor the bull rider talking. This is Rhett. My Rhett.

“I’m not the one who ran.”

Rhett chuckles. “Got me there, Hayes. But you know exactly what I mean. Running from those feelings has never worked out. For either of us.”

His words hit their mark, right between my ribs where it hurts the most. Because he's right. I've been running—from him, from us, from the way he makes me feel like I'm free-falling without a safety net.

"Maybe," I concede, because the whiskey makes me honest and his eyes make me brave. "But running's easier than crashing."

His hand slides up my back, fingers tangling in my hair at the nape of my neck. "What if I promised to catch you?"

"Bull riders aren't known for their reliability."

"I'm not talking about the rider." His voice drops lower. "I'm talking about the man."

The distinction hits me hard. Razor is the legend, the cowboy who rides monsters for a living. But Rhett? Rhett is the boy who used to sneak into my bedroom window at midnight just to talk. The boy who treated me like an equal from day one. The boy who made me fall so hard in love yet broke it all at the same time.

The song winds down, but neither of us moves. His hand remains at the nape of my neck, thumb brushing against my pulse point.

"You're overthinking again," he murmurs.

"Bad habit."

His lips quirk up. "One of many."

I punch his shoulder lightly. "Asshole."

"That's more like it." His smile breaks full now, all white teeth and crinkled eyes. "There's my Willow."

The possessive pronoun shouldn't make my heart skip, but it does. His Willow. As if I've always belonged to him, even when we were apart.

"We should get back," I say, though I make no move to leave his arms.

I glance over his shoulder and spot our crew. Weston is watching us, expression unreadable. Levi's chatting up a brunette at the bar. Jace and Knox are doing shots with a group of locals who've clearly recognized them. Logan and Kade are flirting with two girls at our table.

Rhett sighs, but there’s a smile. “You’re right. Let’s round up these assholes before they get too rowdy. Jace slamming shots is never a good plan.”

We weave our way back through the crowd, Rhett's hand on the small of my back. The touch is casual but deliberate, staking a claim that sends electricity up my spine. When we reach the table, Knox gives me a knowing look over his beer bottle.

"You two done making eyes at each other?" he drawls.

"Jealous?" Rhett fires back, sliding into the booth and pulling me next to him.

Knox just laughs, but there's something in his eyes—something that reminds me of our conversation during the drive. He cares. Maybe too much.

"We should probably get these idiots back to the hotel," I say, nodding toward Jace, who's now attempting to demonstrate his bull-riding technique using a barstool.

Weston sighs. "I'll wrangle him. You get Knox."

"I'm perfectly fine," Knox protests as he stumbles toward me.

“Yeah, perfectly fine.” I mumble.

We manage to gather up the crew and the stranglers they have picked up along the way.

The ride back to the hotel is chaos. Jace won't stop singing—if you can call his drunken warbling "singing"—and Knox keeps trying to convince Weston to stop at a drive-thru. Logan and Kade have their girls giggling in the back of Levi's truck, and I'm wedged between Rhett and the door in Weston's passenger seat, feeling every bump in the road straight through my bones.

"If Jace pukes in my truck, I'm leaving him on the side of the road," Weston mutters, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles white.

"I'm not puking," Jace slurs from the back seat. "I'm a professional."

"Professional what?" Knox snorts. "Professional dumbass?"

"Professional bull rider," Jace says with drunken dignity.

The lobby's quiet as we stumble through, a mess of drunk cowboys and the girls they've picked up. The night clerk gives us a look that says he's seen worse but not by much.

"Room keys," I announce, digging through my purse. I'm the designated keeper of keys because these idiots would lose their own heads if they weren't attached.

Logan and Kade grab theirs, already heading for the elevator with the two girls from the bar hanging on their arms. Jace and Knox are a disaster, leaning on each other and singing some off-key version of "Friends in Low Places."

"I've got them," Weston says, grabbing their key.

Levi snatches his key from my hand. "Got a friend coming up in a bit," he says with a wink toward Weston. "You might want to find somewhere else to crash tonight."

Weston groans. "Again? Seriously?"

"Don't wait up," Levi calls over his shoulder, already heading for the elevator.

That leaves me and Rhett standing in the lobby, the air between us thick with everything unsaid. His eyes haven't left me since we walked in—dark, hungry, patient.

"Looks like it's just us," he says, voice low enough that only I can hear.

My pulse jumps. "Looks like it."

We ride the elevator in silence, but it's anything but quiet. Every breath, every shift of his body next to mine feels amplified. When the doors slide open on our floor, he lets me exit first, his hand at the small of my back guiding me through.

I unlock my door, hesitating for just a moment before stepping inside. I don't invite him in. I don't have to. He follows like he belongs there, closing the door with a soft click that somehow echoes in the quiet room.

"Willow," he says, and just my name on his lips sounds like a prayer.

I turn to face him, heart hammering against my ribs. "Don't overthink this," I whisper.

His eyes darken. "Thought that was your job."

"I'm taking the night off."

The distance between us disappears in two strides of his long legs. His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. For all his roughness in the arena, his touch is achingly gentle.

"You sure about this?" he asks, searching my eyes.

“Shut up and kiss me, Calloway.”

His grin is wicked as his lips crash against mine. Not gentle anymore—hungry, demanding, like a man starved. I melt into him, my hands finding purchase in his shirt, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us. His tongue slides against mine, and I taste whiskey, want, and something uniquely Rhett.

His hands are everywhere—in my hair, sliding down my sides, gripping my hips. Each touch leaves a trail of heat in its wake. I push his jacket off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. His shirt follows, revealing the tapestry of scars and muscle that I've memorized with my fingertips a hundred times before.

"Too many clothes," he growls against my neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against my sensitive skin.

I laugh, breathless as his hands find the hem of my shirt. "Then do something about it."

He lifts my shirt over my head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. His eyes darken as they take in the sight of me in my simple black bra.

"Goddamn, Hayes," he whispers, reverence in his voice.

His calloused hands slide up my bare sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I shiver despite the heat building between us. Those hands that grip rope, bull, and glory touch me like I'm something precious.

"Bed," I manage to say between kisses. "Now."

He smirks against my lips. "Yes, ma'am."

In one swift movement, he lifts me, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He carries me to the bed, laying me down with surprising gentleness.

He hovers above me for a moment, his eyes drinking me in like he's trying to memorize every detail. The moonlight filtering through the thin curtains casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the intensity in his gaze.

"What?" I whisper, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"Just thinking how many times I've dreamed about this," he says, voice rough. "About you. Like this."

My heart stutters in my chest. "Rhett..."

"I know," he says, lowering himself to brush his lips against mine. "No talking. Just feeling."

His kisses trail down my neck, across my collarbone. His hands work at the button of my jeans, sliding them down my legs until I'm left in just my underwear. I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle until it gives way. He helps me, pushing his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

Rhett kicks them off with his boots.

He stands there for a moment, naked and unashamed, and I drink in the sight of him. The years have changed us both, added scars, hardened muscles. He's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I reach for him, and he comes willingly, covering my body with his. His weight is familiar, grounding. His skin burns against mine, and I arch into him, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"Willow," he breathes against my neck, his hands sliding beneath me to unclasp my bra. "Tell me you want this."

"I want this," I whisper, my voice steady despite the trembling in my limbs. "I want you."

That's all it takes. His control snaps like a rope pulled too tight. His mouth is everywhere—my breasts, my stomach, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, leaving half-moon imprints with my nails. He groans against my skin, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body.

"Tell me what you need," he murmurs, looking up at me with those dark eyes.

"You," I breathe. "Just you."

He smiles—not his cocky arena smile, but something softer, more genuine. He moves back up my body, pressing his forehead against mine. For a moment, we just breathe together, suspended in time.

Then he's pushing inside me, and the world narrows to just this—just us. The familiar stretch and burn, the way he fits like he was made for me. I gasp his name, and he captures the sound with his mouth.

We move together like we've never been apart, finding that rhythm that's always been ours alone. His hands grip my hips, guiding me, anchoring me as I arch beneath him. The hotel room disappears around us—there's only this, only him, only the electricity coursing between our bodies.

"Fuck, Willow," he groans against my neck, his voice strained with the effort of control.

I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Don't hold back," I whisper. "Not with me."

Something flashes in his eyes—relief, hunger, gratitude—and then he's moving faster, harder, giving me everything I asked for. My nails rake down his back, and he hisses in pleasure-pain. Every thrust pushes me higher, closer to that edge I've been chasing since the moment he walked back into my life.

His rhythm falters for just a moment as he shifts, changing the angle until stars burst behind my eyelids. I cry out, not caring who hears through the thin hotel walls.

"That's it," he breathes against my ear. "Let me hear you."

Words fail me as the tension builds, my body tightening around him. He knows my tells—the catch in my breath, the way my fingers dig into his shoulders. He's always known me better than anyone.

"Come for me, Willow," he commands, his voice rough with need. "Let go."

And I do. The world shatters around me, pleasure crashing through my body in waves. His name tears from my throat, raw and desperate. He follows me over the edge, his body tensing above mine as he buries his face in my neck, groaning my name like a prayer.

And right then and there, I know.

I’m a goner for Rhett fuckin’ Calloway.

I wake to sunlight streaming through cheap hotel curtains and the solid warmth of Rhett's body curled around mine. His arm is heavy across my waist, his breathing deep and even against my neck. For a moment, I just lie there, savoring the familiar weight of him.

God, I've missed this.

Not just the sex—though that was always electric between us—but this. The quiet morning after. The vulnerability of waking up tangled together.

I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me.

"Don't even think about sneaking away," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

"Wasn't planning on it," I say, turning in his arms to face him.

His eyes are still closed, but there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Morning stubble darkens his jaw, and his hair is a mess. He looks younger like this, more like the boy I fell for than the man who broke me.

"What time is it?" he asks, eyes still closed.

I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "Just after seven."

He groans, burying his face in my hair. "Too damn early."

"We've got to check out by eleven. Hospital visit before we hit the road."

Reality crashes back in—Colt lying in that hospital bed, the long drive ahead, the circuit waiting for no one. Rhett sighs against my skin, his breath warm.

"Five more minutes," he bargains, pulling me closer.

I laugh softly. "Since when does the great Razor Calloway need extra sleep?"

“Since I finally have you back in my bed, Hayes.”

His words send a flutter through my chest that I'm not ready to examine too closely. Instead, I press a kiss to his shoulder, tasting salt and sleep-warm skin.

"Technically, it's my bed," I counter.

He opens one eye, fixing me with that lazy, predatory gaze that still makes my stomach flip. "Details."

His hand slides up my bare back, tracing my spine with calloused fingertips. Every touch feels like he's relearning me, memorizing the changes time has carved into my body.

"We should check on the others," I murmur, even as I arch into his touch.

"They're grown men. Mostly."

I snort. "Debatable."

Rhett's phone buzzes on the nightstand. He groans, reaching for it without letting go of me.

"It's Weston," His thumb swipes across the screen, eyes scanning the message. "Group breakfast in twenty. Levi's girl is gone, and he's starving."

I roll my eyes. "Of course he is.” I sigh, reluctantly extracting myself from his arms. "Duty calls."

Rhett catches my wrist as I start to move away, pulling me back for one more kiss—slow and deep, like we have all the time in the world. When he pulls back, there's something serious in his eyes.

"This isn't just a one-night thing, Willow. Not for me."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "Rhett—"

"You don't have to say anything right now," he interrupts, thumb tracing circles on my wrist. "Just know where I stand."

“I…”

He grins. "No pressure, Hayes. I've waited this long. I can wait a little longer."

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't the cocky bull rider the world knows—this is my Rhett, the one who's always seen past my walls.

I lean down, pressing my lips to his forehead. "Thank you."

We shower quickly—separately, because together would definitely make us late—and dress in comfortable clothes for the long drive ahead. When we step into the hallway, Knox is just emerging from his room, looking like death warmed over.

"Morning, sunshine," I tease.

He grunts, sunglasses already on despite being indoors. "Too loud."

Rhett chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make Knox wince. "Lightweight."

"Fuck off," Knox mutters, but there’s not an ounce of anger behind it.

Everyone's gathered in the hotel restaurant, looking various degrees of hungover. Levi takes one look at us and smirks into his coffee cup.

"Well, well," Levi drawls. "Look who finally decided to join us."

"Shut up," I mutter, sliding into an empty chair next to Weston.

Rhett takes the seat beside me, his thigh pressing against mine under the table. The small contact sends a ripple of awareness through me that I try desperately to ignore.

Jace groans from across the table, head in his hands. "Why is everyone so goddamn cheerful this morning?"

"Some of us had a better night than others," Logan says with a smirk, exchanging a fist bump with Kade.

I roll my eyes, grabbing the coffee pot from the center of the table and pouring myself a cup. "You're all children."

"Says the woman who couldn't keep her hands to herself on the dance floor," Knox mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

I kick him under the table, and he winces. "Truce, you bitch!”

"Serves you right," I grin over my coffee cup.

Breakfast is the usual chaos—plates passed around, food stolen from each other's plates, stories from last night getting more outrageous with each retelling. It feels normal. Like family.

Rhett's hand finds my knee under the table, a casual touch that feels anything but. I don't push it away.

"So what's the plan?" Weston asks, somehow the only one who looks completely unaffected by last night's drinking.

"Check out, hospital, then hit the road," I say, stealing a piece of bacon from Knox's plate while he's distracted.

“We've got fourteen hours to cover before we hit Arizona." Levi adds, already on his phone checking routes.

The waitress drops off more coffee, and Jace practically lunges for it like it's liquid salvation. His hands are shaking slightly—a combination of hangover and the constant adrenaline crash we all live with.

"Arizona's gonna be brutal," Knox mutters, massaging his temples. "Hundred-degree heat and Dust Devil’s in the lineup."

Rhett's hand tightens on my knee. Dust Devil is a nasty tan bull who has a thing for gorging riders with his horns. I’ve stitched up countless riders from him.

"You drew for him?" I ask, keeping my voice casual though my stomach knots.

"Not me," Knox says. "Razor's got the honor."

All eyes shift to Rhett, who shrugs like it's nothing. "About time I got a real challenge."

I want to scream at his nonchalance, but I swallow it down with my coffee. “Cause Widowmaker wasn’t?”

Rhett squeezes my leg. “Different levels. Widowmaker is cold and calculated for a damn bull. "I'll drive the first shift," He offers. "Wills, you riding with me?"

Every eye at the table turns to me, waiting for my answer. There's a weight to the question that goes beyond travel arrangements, and everyone knows it.

"Yeah," I say, ignoring the smirks and knowing looks. "Someone's gotta keep you awake."

"I bet," Jace mutters, earning himself a grape to the forehead, courtesy of yours truly.

We finish breakfast and head upstairs to pack up our rooms. I'm shoving clothes into my duffel when Knox appears in my doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

"You sure about this?" he asks quietly.

“Yes.”

Knox nods. “Okay.”

I turn to face him. “That’s it? Okay?”

He nods as he drops his bags. “Yup. You’re a grown woman and I need to let you make your choice.”

“And if he breaks my heart again?”

Knox smiles. “You can visit me in prison.” I walk over and we both wrap our arms around each other. “I’ll always be there to patch you back up, no matter what.”

“Well, hopefully we don’t have to worry about that.”

He ruffles my hair as we pull apart. “I don’t think we will.”