Page 105 of Untamed
If a rider is fouled, it means something happened during the eight-second ride that gave the bull an unfair advantage over the bull rider. This can include the bull rubbing on or hitting the bucking chute at the start of the ride or the flank strap falling off the bull before the ride is over. When a foul occurs, the judges often award the bull rider the option of a re-ride.
Fuck you, happy evernever. You’ve let me down.
Before I reach the door, Haylee catches me, holding up her palms and giving me a disapproving look. “Don’t go with him, Maesyn.”
I shake my head. I shrug. What am I going to tell my best girl? That I’ve failed at finding true love? I can’t ruin hers too.
I let go of her and step back. She tries again, but I pull away when my eyes find Grayer’s over her shoulder. I swallow hard, anger and humiliation washing over me with his penetrating stare.
There’s a feeling deep in my bones that won’t go away, no matter how hard I try to make it. It spirals inside me, wrapping around my heart, tugging at my soul. It’s suffocating me, drowning, dying, slow and so painful it’s excruciating. It’s as though my heart is going to shatter, and I wish it would because maybe it’d stop the pain.
My body shakes when I step into the night, ignoring Haylee’s pleas. The sky is dark, angry clouds moving in, but it does nothing to the humidity. If anything, it makes it even more unbearable, like walking into a steamy shower.
I shake my head and attempt to clear my thoughts.
Henry reaches for my hand. It’s not the hand I want to hold. It’s not the comfort I want.
What I want hates me.
“Your past won’t follow you on the road.”
I call bullshit on that starry night. My past did follow me.
I ache so bad. Tears sting my eyes, burn like drops of acid. My chest feels heavier with each step in the parking lot. I can barely see to get in Henry’s truck with the tears, a lifted Chevy parked near the highway.
I hate myself for what I’m about to do. I hate myself even more when I think about Grayer’s expression and the way he spoke to me. Hatred makes you do things you said you wouldn’t. It makes you believe that maybe you deserve that pain you’re dealt.
Inside the truck, the leather’s warm on my bare legs. I slide over closer to Henry, my body seeming robotic in a sense. Like if I don’t think about this, it’ll be okay. If I don’t think, I won’t hurt. Right? I know what I’m about to do is wrong, but when Henry reaches for the button of his jeans, I know what he’s expecting of me.
“What do you want?” I ask, anxiety, regret, and disgust laced in my words. I run my hands down my face, wiping tears away. I can feel Grayer in my beating heart. It’s filling my visions with memories of rainy nights in his truck and his buckle. His starry eyes and the way his slow southern drawl always made me smile.
I stare at my hands in my lap and think of Grayer’s when he reached down and grabbed my hand that first night, palm to palm, and the way I never wanted him to let go.
He let go.
I breathe in, counting the beats in my chest, waiting for Henry to tell me what he wants.
“I think you know,” he finally says, gripping my thigh.
His touch . . . it’s nothing like Grayer’s touch. His touch is embedded deep in my bones just like the memory of him breathing out, “You’re addictive,” as we made love on Route 66 just before sunrise over a purple sky outside Hinton, Oklahoma.
My eyes water, my throat burns, and my hands shake. Hot tears fall from my red-rimmed eyes and down flushed cheeks. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, shakes my bones, rips at my heart.
I know what Henry wants from me.
I don’t want to give it.
Not again.
Stop taking.
My body shifts, facing Henry. The warm leather on my palms reminds me of the heat in Grayer’s touch. Henry’s hand wraps around my hair, fisting. “Come over here.”
I don’t. I can’t. I push myself away from Henry. “I’m . . . sorry. I can’t do this.” I cry into my palms, spit soaking my lips. I attempt to wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, breathing heavily, calming but shaking deep breaths against my hand. I only cry harder now, sobbing. “I have to go.”
Henry reaches for my hand and jerks it away. “Don’t be a tease.”
“I’m not trying to be.” I try to force myself away, crying harder than before. “I thought I wanted to do this, but I don’t.”
