“Just that you’re twenty-one, riding bulls, and drink like a fish.” I lifted my eyebrows, making her shake her head. “You used to drink like a fish—all of two weeks ago. I mean, your dad and mom had you pretty much just out of high school, right?”

I nodded before sliding out of my protective vest. They’d been high school sweethearts, minus the sweet part. Well, and minus the heart part, too. They’d been something, and their something had created me. I was a preschooler by the time Clay could walk into a bar and order a beer.

“And Clay was close to your age when that bull busted his leg up, right?”

I nodded once more, tugging off my gloves. I didn’t like where she was going. I didn’t like being compared to Clay, and while I knew Josie wasn’t doing it out of malice, that she was comparing us made me uneasy. I never wanted to be compared to Clay, unless it was to say I was totally opposite. That Josie, the person I cared about most in the world, was comparing us made my stomach turn. “Yeah, you’ve got Clay Walker’s life story down. He was born, he got his girlfriend knocked up, and I was the result. He was a high school dropout at eighteen. A bull over in Bozeman came down so hard on his leg it shattered, ending his bull riding career and, to him, his whole life. Fast forward a couple of decades, and he died inside of a white-trash trailer because he was so passed-out drunk the whole thing going up in flames around him didn’t rouse him.” I’d managed to keep my voice calm, but I punched the metal gate at the end. Too much emotion charging through me.

Josie grabbed the hand I’d just used to punch the gate and sighed when she saw a couple of the knuckles open and bleeding. “How are you doing with that? You haven’t said anything since Clay’s funeral. You do know I’m here whenever you need to talk to someone? You know I want to be that person you come to when you have to talk to someone, right?”

Josie dabbed the sleeve of her shirt against my knuckles before I could pull it away. I didn’t want to ruin her nice clothes. “I certainly don’t miss dodging whiskey bottles or fists, that’s for sure.”

Josie brought my fist to her mouth and kissed it. “But what about the other things? Isn’t there something you miss?”

“There wasn’t anything else to miss.”

“Garth—”

I gave my head a swift shake. “No. You’ve known me for long enough to know I’m not the person who likes to talk this kind of shit out. I accept the hand I’ve been dealt, I deal with it, and I move on. I don’t miss something or someone when they’re gone. I move on.”

The skin between her eyebrows came together. “What about me? You wouldn’t miss me if I was gone?” Her voice was almost sad.

Whatever I was feeling made sad look like a newborn lamb. I lifted my hand to her cheek. It was the only clean part of me thanks to my gloves. “I’ve been saving up all my missing for you.”

“Planning on leaving me after all, aren’t you?” That she didn’t sound or look surprised broke my heart.

“No, I’m certainly not planning on it. But no matter what happens, no matter how long or how far we take this thing, one day we’re going to be separated. Whether that’s because I did what I do best and screwed things up. Or whether another guy came riding in and stole you away. Or whether death separates us. One day, it’ll happen . . . and because I know that day is coming, I’m glad I’ve saved up all my missing for you. Because I’m going to need every last ounce of it when you’re gone, Joze. Every last ounce.” I smiled at her, feeling like a damn fool for saying what I just had. It was true, but I wasn’t the kind of guy who said that kind of truth.

Josie stepped closer and removed my hat. Lifting her other sleeve to my face, she wiped the muck and blood from it, one swipe at a time. It felt so nice having someone . . . take care of me that I didn’t step back to save her shirt. “You do realize bull riding is something that only accelerates death separating us?”

My smile went higher. I listed a handful of reasons Josie and I could be separated one day, and the one she picked was death. It was the option I’d take too, but we had a lot of life and living before that day. With my record, going a month without screwing up royally would be considered a miracle—forget about a lifetime. “Bull riding isn’t going to kill me.”

“No? Because you’re about two and a half bruises away from death, from the looks of it, Black.”

Whenever she called me Black, I knew she was upset but trying to mask it with cynicism. She’d started calling me Black in eighth grade when she found me making out with one of her friends in the janitor’s closet. “Bull riding won’t kill me. If it could have, it already would have.” Lord knows it had beat me within an inch of my life lately, but that was an inch I wasn’t letting go of.

“How does that saying go when it comes to bull riding?” Josie tapped her chin. “It isn’t a matter of if you get hurt, it’s a matter of when you get hurt.”

“That’s the one. Did you miss the part where it mentions hurt, not dead?” I unbuckled and worked off my chaps.

“No, but given your ego, that saying applies to you differently.” She leaned into the chute fence and crossed her arms.

“Believe me, if I didn’t have an ego bordering on insanely unhealthy, you wouldn’t want me on top of a bull. A guy with self-confidence issues who still wets the bed won’t last a second.”

“How long were you on that bull just now?” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“I’m going through a dry spell; give me a break. I’ve spent so much time on the back of a bull I’ve probably logged as many hours as a pilot a few years from retirement.” I settled my hands on my hips. “And by bed-wetter-low-confidence boy not lasting a second out there, I meant his life—not an actual second on a bull.”

Josie was still chewing her cheek. Obviously she found what I was saying rather funny. “Okay, point taken. As much fun as this is, I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“What did you come here for then?” I lowered my voice and stepped toward her.

Josie’s eyes rolled. “Not that. A roll in the mud and cow shit is hardly my idea of romance, but nice try.”

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath.

“I came here to tell you that you don’t need to keep this secret from me anymore. I’m not asking you to change for me. All I’m asking is that you be the best Garth Black you can be.”

“Oh, that’s all. No big deal.”

She continued, not letting my commentary stall her. “Bull riding is a part of you. I get that. It might scare the shit out of me, and when I actually watch you ride, I feel like I’m about to vomit, but I get it. I don’t have to like you doing it in order to support you riding on the back of a two thousand-pound beast that would prefer to stomp you to death than have you on its back”— it was my turn to chew on my cheek to keep from smiling—“I guess.”

“Now that right there, Joze, those words were the stuff of romance in my book.”

“You have a book of romance?” Her eyes twinkled. “It sure doesn’t show.” That time, she couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Oh, it doesn’t, does it?” I teased, pinching her sides until she was laughing. “I can be romantic. I can’t believe you’d say that I’m incapable of it.”

Josie was still laughing, but she managed to get out some words. “Your idea of romance is buying a girl a cheap beer before jumping into bed with her.”

That earned her another round of torture by side pinching. “I can be romantic. Admit it.” Neither of us were leaving that chute until she had. I stopped pinching her so she could catch her breath but left my hands on her waist.

“I’ll admit it when you prove you’re capable of it.”

“And you’re saying nothing I’ve done has proven that to you already?”

“Really? Come on. My experience with you has been having drunken sex with you while my boyfriend was out of town, and these past couple of weeks where the only time you’ve touched me is when your arms are around me at night. Those are on opposite ends of the spectrum.” I lifted my eyebrows. “And not on the romance spectrum.”