Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(136)

Ava’s voice, soft and curious, asked, “What makes a champion? Besides winning the big belt buckle?”

Chase’s stomach clenched as he waited for his onscreen response. “Winning is the only gauge of a champion. Lots of guys want it, they try for it, fight for it, spend years chasing it. If the title was applied to all the great men competing in the sport of bull ridin’, just because they’re great men? Then the title would be meaningless. A champion is called a champion because he’s won. He’s proven to be the best.”

The next image was Chase receiving his championship buckle and oversized cardboard check at the Man of Steel competition last year. The announcer’s words were lost in the thunderous crowd response. The noise and image faded to the next scene, the low fanfare of the Scottsbluff Rodeo win. Two officials shaking his hand. The camera panned the nearly empty stands and then zoomed to the cowboys who didn’t win, as they packed up their gear behind the chutes.
A crash sounded onscreen. Although the screen remained blank, he heard his voice. “I’m nekkid here, Hollywood.”

“I see that. What do you want me to do about it?” she purred.
The dark screen morphed into a background of a cheap motel room. He watched Ava, fully clothed, crawling across the bed toward him. He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. His playfulness had vanished. His face was filled with such love, with such wonder, with such longing as he looked at Ava onscreen, that Chase’s stomach clenched watching it.
“Chase?”

“To be honest, I’m too beat to shit even for a blowjob.” Pain creased his brow. “My head is killin’ me.”

“Do you want some aspirin?”

“Took it already. Didn’t help. Which makes me wonder why am I even doin’ this? Putting my body through hell every f*ckin’ night?”

“You just had a bad buck-off.”

He snorted. “Like that’s news. The thing that really sucks is none of this matters. The injuries I get on the road trying to prove myself. The PBR will probably flip me the bird and not let me back on tour anyway.”

“So quit.”

Horror distorted his face. “And do what? Bull ridin’ is the only thing I want to do. It’s the only thing I can do. It’s my life. Who am I without it? Nobody, that’s who.”

Ava sat back on her haunches. “You’re so much more than just a bull rider—”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped. Sighing, he let his head fall back against the headboard. “I need them to call me back. And the longer I have to wait, the less likely that phone call becomes.”

Chase watched himself onscreen. Christ. Was he…crying with his eyes squeezed shut like that? Fucking awesome. He looked like a whiny-ass baby loser who complained about everything and couldn’t even take his girlfriend up on giving him a blowjob.
She moved out of camera range.
His eyes snapped open and his gaze tracked Ava’s movements across the room. “Where are you goin’?”

“I need some air.”

He reached a hand out to her. “Don’t go. I can’t…” His voice broke. “I’m sorry I’m an * tonight. I feel like shit.”

Chase’s cheeks burned. She’d f*cking taped this? He opened up to her and this was what she did? He thought back to that night. He’d knocked his noggin pretty damn hard when he’d hit the ground. No wonder he hadn’t remembered much of the conversation.

Evidently he hadn’t realized she’d set up a goddamn camera in their room either.
He hit the pause button, his head spinning, his gut churning, his thoughts focused on one awful thing.