Page 39 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

Colt

It took two years for me to get back on the circuit.

Two long years for me to get back to the championships. But it’s funny, because I don’t need it anymore. It’s a strange thought, one that hits me hard just before I exit the chute.

I don’t need this. It would be nice. Hell, I’d love to have the money.

To take care of Allison. To pay for a really amazing wedding.

Get us set up for life. Go on a honeymoon.

But it’s all about how it fits into my life now.

It’s not my life anymore. After this, win or lose, I’m done.

Because I’m ready to start forever with her.

We have been the talk of the town. That much is true. We’ve been debated, discussed, gossiped about.

Now, nobody really blinks.

Because we’re more a couple to everybody than we are stepsiblings. When we slipped into that new version of our lives, I realized how much that was always true.

What a funny thing to think about right before what should be the most critical eight seconds of my life.

But it’s not.

Because there was the eight seconds before I kissed Allison for the first time.

The eight seconds right when she climaxed with me for the first time and called out my name.

That eight seconds where she looked up at me when I told her I loved her and asked me to forgive her, and I waited for her to respond.

The eight seconds it took to get a yes when I asked her to marry me.

Yeah. There are so many more intervals of eight seconds that matter far and away beyond this.

This is just another Friday night.

“Okay,” I say to the bull underneath me, patting him on the shoulders. “Let’s go, buddy.”

The chute opens, and it’s not unlike the championship ride I watched Maverick Quinn have a couple of years ago.

I just know .

I complete it, and it’s perfect.

I’ve had the best season of my career. No one can take that from me, whatever the result. And how I feel about myself has nothing to do with this.

There are four riders after me, and I have to wait for their event scores to know exactly what all this means. To know if I finally win or not.

When all the scores are posted, I’m the clear winner. No one has managed to overtake me.

The chaos is incredible. People are running out onto the arena. I’m a comeback story. The biggest one for decades.

A man who nearly died in the arena two and a half years ago, now the champion of it.

Robert Campbell’s son, who did what his father could never do. And whether I want it to be or not, his legacy is linked to mine in this moment.

I knew he was here tonight, but that’s not news. He’s usually at these things.

What does shock me is when I look up, and I see Robert Campbell walking toward me. He makes eye contact with me. And I know he sees me.

He sticks out his hand. “You did well, son.”

The thing is, his words don’t change anything. They don’t mean anything. That’ll make me feel a lick of difference about myself.

I’m better than him. I succeeded. I won that the one thing he couldn’t. He was a legend. A favorite, but never the winner.

And I am.

But it just doesn’t matter.

Because I’m not him, I stick my hand out and shake his. “Thanks.”

He opens his mouth like he expects us to have a conversation, a reckoning, a come-to-Jesus. But I’m already turning away from him. I don’t see him. Because Allison is right there, lit up with joy and love. My mom is there. Gentry, Dallas.

My stepdad.

The man who treats me like a son in all the ways that matter. This is a moment of absolute triumph, but not for the reasons I imagined.

The truth is this: if there’s no love, there’s no glory.

I’ve had that glory all along.

Now, I know it.