Page 55 of Untamed
Grayer grabs me, a warning, and a bitter cold creeps over my bones when he touches me. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“You’re so frustrating!” I look at him and I can’t tell if he’s telling or begging. The bad part is I think I’m okay with either.
I let him lead me inside the barn and when we get inside, he locks the barn doors.
Stomping around, he grabs a bucket with water, a blanket and rag from the stable next to the spigot. “Sit down.” He motions to the hay bale he placed a blanket over. I do, and then he really lays into me. “What the fuck were you thinking? You had no business being on Hammer,” he yells, slamming the bucket down and sitting in front of me. “And Joel had no business letting you. I thought I told you to stay away from him.”
I knew Grayer had an aggressive side—I’d seen that before—but this was more than I imagined he would have shown over me getting hurt. “I’m sorry.” I try to ease his anger a little. I understandwhyhe’s mad, but I was trying to impress him, and it seems I can’t do that at all when it comes to Grayer. Everything I do around him hangs me up even more. “I just wanted to impress you.”
Grayer softens at my words and sees through me when I start to cry. It’s not that I want to cry. It’s the adrenaline wearing off as I shake and wonder what the hell I was thinking. In the distance, I hear Joel’s truck speeding down the driveway—it catches Grayer’s attention for a moment, his anger flashing again.
“I thought you were leaving today?”
The tension in his face doesn’t fade. “I’m leaving in the morning.” He blinks away the hostility he’s holding onto and looks at me. “Take off your shirt.”
I do, gingerly, and lie back on the hay bale. I’m scared I’ve broken some ribs. “Do they look broken? I’m having a hard time breathing without shooting pain.”
Squinting his brow in concentration, Grayer gently touches my ribs with his fingertips and I jump a little at the touch, my skin pebbling as he does it. It’s not the first time he’s touched me, but judging by my reaction, you would think this was the case. “I don’t think so. Probably just bruised.”
“Have you broken your ribs before?”
It seems like such a dumb question to ask and I realize that once I say it.
With the wet rag in hand, he wrings out the water and touches it to my side that’s caked in dirt. He doesn’t look at me, focused thoroughly on what he’s doing. “So many times I lost count after twenty.”
I’m trying to calm him and myself down by making conversation, and it’s working, I’m relaxing and he’s caring less about going after Joel for allowing this.
“I once drew this bull, Asteroid. He was a mean fucker. Kinda like my pops.” His eyes get distant, but then he catches himself. “Every time I got on this bull he drew blood. Tore my ACL on him, broke my wrist, ribs, torn tendons, lacerated liver, even took a horn to the shoulder. . . .” He shakes his head, his eyes on my ribs. “You name it and I broke it on him. It sort of became an obsession with me. I had to draw him. Wanted to just so I could have another chance at him.”
“And did you?” I smile that he finally told me something about himself that I didn’t have to pry out of him.
“Yeah, eventually I stayed on him at the World Finals. I was all bent because I didn’t draw Bushwacker like I wanted. He was ranked number one that year, but it was finally my chance at Asteroid. Anyway, he broke four of my ribs in the first round, but I taped them up and acted like he didn’t get me. Got back on him the final night.”
“Are you saying I should get back on?” I’m joking, but Grayer gives me this look that I’m totally lost as to what he’s talking about.
“Fuck no!” He laughs. “That wasn’t the point of the story.”
“Okay, what was then?”
“Staying on for eight seconds isn’t always the thrill.”
His words give my heart a tug, a hope that maybe he’s finally giving me a chance. “I’m sorry I did that.”
His eyes soften. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”
I snort. “What have you done to not be proud of?”
With distant eyes and a tight expression, he shrugs and replaces the rag in the bucket. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees, watching me. “I don’t know. I avoid any situation I’m not in control of.”
“Why?”
His tongue darts out, sweeping across his bottom lip. I sit up on my elbows, our eyes locked on one another when he whispers, “Being untamed, unprepared . . . it scares me.”
My heart pounds almost uncontrollably and to the point I have to draw in a carefully controlled breath. He’s beautiful and says beautiful words. Mind. Blown.
I can’t look at him when I say my next words, because I’m really not sure if he’s going to be angry, or what his reaction might be. “I’m eighteen now.”
Grayer doesn’t look at me. He traps me in the silence, his breathing barely controlled as adrenaline slowly trickles through my veins. Crap.
He looks at me and winks. “I know. Morgan told me.”
