Page 57 of Homebound

Now that I think about it, there have been a lot fewer boys in my bed since Wyatt came back to town.

Zero, in fact.

He grips my shoulders, nodding to the dirt arena. “Don’t forget to stay loose out there on the bull. No more locking up your joints, or you’ll get thrown off. You got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. You don’t need to worry about me.”

The words are more to convince myself because, truthfully, I’m always a nervous wreck before rodeos. My thoughts race and race ahead of me, thinking of everything that can go wrong, and there’s nothing I can do to stop my worries from running wild other than get on that bull.

Sometimes, I wonder why the hell I even put myself through this. There’s really no point. It’s all for the sake of entertainment. I’m not saving the world, or changing lives, but I’ve poured so much of myself into this that if I give up now it will all be for nothing.

Not everyone finds their passion in life, and I think the ones lucky enough to find something they love owe it to themselves to go after their dreams with everything they’ve got.

My dad taps the brim of my hat again. “I’ll never stop worrying about you, darlin’. I’m your dad. That’s what we do for our little girls.”

“Little?” I scoff. “I’m in my late twenties. I think you can stop worrying now.”

“And I’m only in my forties.” My dad’s mustache twitches in a grin. “I don’t care if you’re hobbling around as an eighty-year-old, you’ll always be my little girl. I love you, darlin’. Always have. Always will.” He kisses my cheek. “Go on and finish up those warm-ups. You’ve got five big ones riding on tonight. Remember, stay loose and—”

“Flow like good tequila,” I finish. “Smooth and steady.”

“Right you are. Go raise hell.”

He strides through the animal corrals, and I watch him go, breathing in and out, in and out. My dad has been my constant, standing by my side through every high and low, and if something happened to him, it would end my world.

He’s not just my people—he’s my person.

I don’t keep secrets from my dad. After my mom left with @TreytheTrekker, I never had a choice, but he made sure to raise me right, knowing that nothing I could say would ever scare him away. That’s exactly the kind of parent I want to be.

When I got my first period, I asked him to buy me tampons, and he didn’t bat an eye. After I gave my virginity to the wrong boy, I cried in my dad’s arms, and he vowed to hold me until I ran out of tears. (I learned later he slashed a hole in the guy’s cowboy boots, but that’s neither here nor there).

Colt Cutler is my teacher, my best friend, and my role model, all wrapped up into one gruff-looking cowboy. There’s no doubt in my mind that Wyatt will be just as good of a father to Vienna as my dad was to me.

I head to the back pens where everyone warms up to do some stretches when voices drift from the animal gates.

“You worried about Cutler?” some cowboy drawls.

I peer around a horse stable, spotting some guy with red hair and a Texas tattoo on his bicep standing next to Brodie, one of the bull riders I’ve known for years. Brodie’s always cheering me on during my training rides, so he’s one of the good ones.

“Nah,” Brodie says, waving a hand.

“You’re not? Why?” the redhead cowboy asks.

Brodie straps on his spurs. “Cutler doesn’t have what it takes. She’s in her head too much. I doubt she’ll make it to the PBR. Honestly, I don’t think she’ll ever be good enough, but I’d never tell her that ’cause she’d probably kick me in the balls.”

Tears spring to my eyes.

Why don’t you go ahead and rip my heart to shreds?

My hands tighten into fists. I can’t stand people who tell you one thing to your face and then turn around and say something else to their friends.

I’m tempted to tell them off, but I’m so damn tired of dealing with this two-faced bullshit that I’d rather save my energy for the ride. They’re a waste of my brain juice, and I can do this even when I feel like curling into a ball.

I head to the arena, feeling more determined than ever, but that comment stays with me the entire walk to the corrals.

“And next up, we’ve got Kodie Cutler, the Cowboy Killer!” the announcer shouts.

I suck in a shaky breath. I wish I could press a button and make all this self-doubt disappear, but the only way I’ve learned to combat this is to chant positive self-mantras in my head while imagining proving all the assholes wrong, which is exactly what I do as I scan the crowded rodeo stands for Wyatt.