After a while, Shooter lets out a sigh and reaches over to wrap an arm around my middle, hauling me over to him. Suddenly, my back is flush with his front, and his face nuzzles into my neck, causing goosebumps to bloom and a chill to work its way down my spine. His breath is hot against my flesh as he says, “You’re thinking so loud, Addams. Relax.”
So, I do. Somehow, I quiet my mind and let myself melt into his touch like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world.
28
Shooter Graham
The large arched-style window in the loft that’s positioned directly in front of Sterling’s bed doesn’t have any blinds or curtains on it, so the morning sun is shining in, blanketing the room in a warm glow. It’s early, and I know the only reason I’m awake is because I’m in a bed I’m not used to. Much to my surprise, I slept really fucking hard next to Sterling. I fell asleep quickly and stayed asleep—two things that are kind of a rarity with me as of late.
I lean over the side of the bed, grabbing my discarded jeans off the floor, and rummage through the pockets to find my phone. A few texts from Daisy wait for me, asking if I’m okay and if I want to talk about what happened. I know she wishes I would open up to her more about this, but a large part of me is hesitant to. She doesn’t get the same version of our dad that I do. Not bothering to text her back, I shove the phone back into the pocket and set them back down on the floor.
As I situate myself back in bed, my gaze slides toward the man beside me. His features are soft with sleep, full, pink lipsslightly parted, dark curls kissing his forehead. He looks so peaceful. A gnawing ache makes itself known in my chest over everything I divulged to him last night. For the way I let him see me. I can’t remember the last time I cried, but last night, there was no holding it back. If it were anybody else, I’d probably be mortified knowing I let myself be that vulnerable, but there’s something about Sterling that makes me think he won’t judge me. My secrets feel safe with him, and I’m not sure why that is, but I’m also not going to question it.
Stampede Days starts tonight, and a renewed, wicked sense of dread burrows deep in my gut. I know that no matter how much I don’t want to see my dad after our argument last night, I will because, not only would he never miss the opening night of the event, but he’s one of the sponsors, so he has to be there. He would never try to rehash what happened in front of the whole town, but even seeing him puts me on edge.
I meant what I said to Sterling; I’m honestly not sure if I want to keep doing rodeo for the right reasons anymore. It’s a question I’ve refused to give much brain space to because what the answer could be scares the shit out of me. I’m not sure what came over me that had the words spilling from my lips, but it feels really damn good getting them out there, even if I’m still not sure if I’m ready to face it or not.
I’ve never questioned my reasoning for competing, never wondered if my head was totally in or not, until last year. I beat so many of my own personal goals last season, and performed incredibly well. Numerous articles were written about me, my performances were viral all over social media and YouTube, and my name was spoken about everywhere. Last season was my best yet, and that’s saying something because I’ve had many fantastic seasons.
When I won finals in December, I was damn proud. Hell, I was on top of the world. Coming back to Copper Lake aftertaking the world title—for a third year in a row, might I add—I felt sure my dad would be proud. Ecstatic even. And he was… to a point. But there were still digs he could make, things he could point out where I could’ve done better. Didn’t matter that I fucking won. I’d never gone from such a high to so low after a win as I did then. All my hard work and dedication felt pointless when what I wanted the most was my father’s pride, and I couldn’t even get that.
A weekend-long bender with beer and feeling sorry for myself took place after that, and it was the first time I questioned if I really wanted this. I remember the immense guilt I felt immediately after the thought crossed my mind because there are so many men who would kill for a shot at what I have, and here I was, questioning it all. I’d never felt so unappreciative. It made me sick. Sicker than the hangover that came from all the beer I’d consumed.
That was months ago, and I’m still nowhere near ready to face those questions any more than I was then.
“Somebody’s thinking hard this morning.” Sterling’s sleepy voice pulls my attention down toward him. He’s now lying on his side, facing me with his hands propped under his cheek.
“Morning,” I say in response to him. “How’d you sleep?”
A sleepy smirk crosses his face. “Pretty dang good, actually.”
“Me too.”
Sterling and I have never woken up next to each other like this. Sure, in the camper, our beds are across from one another’s, but one of us is usually up and out of bed before the other is even awake, and even if we do wake up at the same time, it’s not likethis.Looking back, I can’t even pinpoint a time when I slept the night withanybody, especially when we didn’t have sex. Sterling and I barely even kissed last night, yet I opened up to him more than I ever have with anybody else.A part of me feels like the embarrassment over coming here so distraught should set in,but it just…doesn’t. Even though I know he’s going to want to talk about it because that’s just who he is.
Yawning, he lifts his arms above his head, stretching his lean, toned body beside me, the sight stirring something within me. Me and my morning wood are tempted to roll over on top of him and wake him up with something a little more fun than awkward pillow talk, but something stops me. Not only do I know I owe him some sort of explanation past what I gave him last night, but I also have questions of my own.
“Thanks for letting me crash here last night,” I mutter as I turn on my side to face him.
Sterling’s honey-colored eyes set on mine, something washing through them I can’t quite name. “No problem. And… I won’t say anything, you know,” he replies with a shrug. “About what you said last night.”
“I didn’t think you would, but thank you.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you should base your success on your dad’s opinion when it’s obviously skewed.” He sits up, carding his fingers through his messy, curly hair. “Probably a lot easier said than done since he’s your dad, and probably someone you’ve looked up to your whole life, but you’re inspiring, and it would be a shame for you to give up something you love and something you’re so good at because one asshole can’t appreciate your talent.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at his uncharacteristic name calling, but he must take my silence as annoyance because his eyes widen.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have spoken badly about your dad toward you. That was so out of line.”
“Stop.” Without thinking, I bring my hand up to rest on his side. It’s over the blanket, but the feel of him beneath my fingers is still like an electric shock in the very best way. “Heisan asshole sometimes. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
A sleepy smile pulls on his lips, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “So, what are you gonna do?”
“I’m going to eventually head home, shower and get ready, then show up at Stampede Days, and do what I do best.”
“You’re not going to talk to him about last night?”
Shaking my head, I say, “Hell no. That would throw me off more than the knowledge that he’ll be watching me tonight.”
