“You didn’t kill him, Two Shots. The sport did.”
He shook his head, confused.
“Every night he rode, he knew what he risked. I knew what he risked. Those boys are tough, Two Shots. Those riders? They go in there knowing that could be their last ride. Their last night on earth, their last breath.”
“It’s the only death in our circuit, Cheyenne. I’m the only killer.”
“You didn’t mean to. That night, I watched him get thrown, watched his hand get caught in the ropes—” Her voice shook, and she blinked hard. “I stood up with the rest of the crowd, heart in my throat as I watched you try to get rid of him. Watched the bull fighters try to keep your attention so he could free his hand. Watched him finally, finally fall…right under where you were landing. I watched— Fuck.” She looked out at nothing for a few moments before she said thickly, “I watched him die like everyone else in that arena that night.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I could’ve taken his place, I would’ve.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I fuckin’ would’ve!” He slammed his fist on the table so hard it splintered. “I had nothing to live for, and he had you. And his mom and his step-dad and all his friends and his fuckin’ sister and niece. He had his whole life ahead of him.” Two swallowed the grief that thickened in his throat. He hated feeling weak. “Fuck this. Fuck this.” He blew out a breath and shoved the note back to her. “It was a long time ago, and I just want to move on.”
“I watched you,” she said as he stood up.
Two Shots froze. “What?”
“Everyone was watching Tarik. Everyone was watching the medics work on him, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
Slowly, Two Shots sat back down. “Why?”
“Because I’d never seen heartbreak in a changed bull’s face before. You were still pumped full of adrenaline, still had your flank strap on tight, and you stood there in the middle of the arena watching them work on Tarik with as much concern as the rest of us. They had to drag you out? Do you remember?”
Two Shots shook his head. “I don’t remember anything after my hoof crushed him, Cheyenne. I don’t remember anything.”
“The wranglers had to rope you and pull you all the way through the gate. You fought and bucked the whole way out of there. You kept looking back at Tarik.”
“Why did you watch me? Why weren’t you watching your husband?”
“I don’t know. I think I already knew he was gone, and you were the only one who would be able to understand my loss.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know your loss.”
“I watched every interview you ever did after that.”
Two Shots huffed a humorless laugh and leaned back on the bench seat. “I’m sure that was entertaining.”
“You never apologized. You were hateful. Because Tarik got on your back, he deserved to get crushed. You verbally spat in the face of every interviewer and fan who shamed you. You acted so cocky, like you didn’t give a single fuck about him dying. And I was confused because I remembered your face. I remembered how you changed and came back out to the chutes, watched them take his body away. You looked like you were going to get sick. Your heart was in your eyes. But in the interviews, you were horrid. You were aggressive and remorseless, and for a while, I hated you. I hated that you shit on his legacy like that. Some interviews I believed you that you didn’t care. And then I got the letter.”
She pushed it back at him. “Read it.”
“I don’t want to read it.”
“Please. I’ll never ask for anything again. Just…read it.”
Two Shots chewed on the corner of his lip as he unfolded the letter. He took a steadying breath and read.
“Dear Cheyenne. I hope this letter finds you well, but I know it won’t. That’s the stupid thing about hope. It sets a person up for disappointment. You had hope. Had a future. Had a life. I took that from you.”
He looked up because, truth-be-told, he didn’t need to read this. The words had been etched into his brain from the moment he’d put them on paper. He would never forget these words because they were the only thing—the only words—he’d ever said from the heart.
Two Shots stared directly at her while he recited, “I didn’t mean to take him from you. I act like I don’t care, but it’s all I care about. All I think about. Now, I get in a chute and think about a rider’s life. The people he will leave behind. The people I could hurt. I know hope is stupid, but I still hope someday you can forgive me.” His voice cracked, and he couldn’t continue on. Not without exposing a tremor in his voice that would make him feel utterly weak.
“I watched you differently after that,” she said softly. “You were burning out like a damn firework. Reckless, drinking, getting in trouble, getting suspended from the circuit. You got worse in the interviews like you wanted everyone to hate you. Like you were punishing yourself.”
He cracked his knuckles under the table. “Maybe I deserve my reputation.”
“Maybe you let your guilt create a reputation no one deserves.”
“Everyone hated me after that night. Figured I should just own it at some point.”
“You aren’t the monster everyone thinks you are. That…that’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not here for Quickdraw or Dead of Winter. I’m here to get a front row seat at watching you get where you’re going.”
“And where is that?”
“Number one bull in the entire circuit. And you’re gonna do it with fans behind you.”
He laughed. She was kinda cute. “Lady, I don’t have fans.”
“You will when they see the real you.”
He stood and handed her back the note, glad she hadn’t asked him to recite the rest of it. “It’s actually done me good talking to you.”
“We’re just getting started.”
He searched her soft brown eyes. Pretty girl, so open and vulnerable right now, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears. And that smile. God, her pretty smile. How could a woman look so pretty when she was sad?
“What do you mean we’re just getting started?”
“I cut us open, and now we’re going to be okay.”
His heart was beating so hard. So hard. His chest rose and fell with his rushed breath. “How do you know?”
“Because your letter said you hoped that someday I could forgive you.” She lifted her chin a little higher, and that sad, pretty smile got a little bit wider. “I forgive you.”
Chapter Five
He wasn’t coming.
Cheyenne huffed a sigh and sat down in the office chair at the end of the conference table. This hotel was nice enough to have a room she could rent for this meeting. Too bad the boy she really wanted to show up was the one client who definitely wouldn’t.
She glanced up at Two Shots’ empty chair and then back down at her notes.
“Did you use glitter on these?” Dead of Winter asked, scrutinizing the name tags she’d painstakingly made for each of them.