And it was wrong. All of this was wrong, and each time I tried to push past it, I felt like something else was rubbing it all into my face. My scores were still going down. Tanner still wasn't allowed to work - not even when the accidents were hurting orkillingriders, and new rookies had to keep moving up from Touring Pro to fill the empty slots.
Back in Boise, the show had taken almost an hour longer than normal because of the breaks for Sports Medicine to assist the riders. The number of full rides was lower than I'd ever seen before, and tonight hadn't been any better. The points were down, the wrecks were up, and it all came back to one single thing.
Me.
I'd been able to qualify simply because I had the luxury of a boy's name. No one had questioned "Cody Jennings" signing up for the Tulsa event. Initially, I'd kept my head down, looking like every other lanky bull rider in the chaos behind the chutes - but the moment that had changed?
I'd become a sensation. Everyone had noticed me, and most hadn't approved. Sure, that had changed lately, but I had a feeling it was because I'd taken my knocks. I'd proven I could actually ride bulls. I'd "cowboyed up," and for some of these guys, it had been enough.
But the PBR was a man's world. The riders, the fans, and even the brands sponsoring us all catered to men, mostly. Me? I was in their way. I was changing things, and a lot of these guys didn't like a lot of change. They would rather stick to tradition, ignoring all those changes that had already snuck in, like our vests, helmets, and other safety gear.
And the bullfighters.
The Safety Team was the biggest change in bull riding tradition that I could think of. Back when this had been nothing more than a rodeo sport, the men in the middle had been clowns. They'd worn face paint and rag skirts. Granted, the skirts were to mask the size of their body so the bull couldn't connect, but that was beside the point.
Now, our bullfighters wore sponsored jerseys and shorts. They had protective padding, too. Most of all, they knew how to manage the livestock, protecting us from those bulls and keeping the riders as safe as anyone could be in this sport.
Or they had until I'd shown up. Tanner had been attacked because of me. The scoring was no longer fair because of me. People were in danger because of me. And as we drove back to the hotel, I stared out at the darkness, unable to ignore the last piece of that: Casey had died because of me.
I leaned back, letting my eyes close, and tried to ignore the way this felt. The problem was, I didn't have a word for it. This wasn't guilt, because I hadn't made them suspend Tanner. I hadn't started the rumors. I'd done nothing but prove I belonged here, and yet the PBR was falling apart at the seams simply because I'd shown up.
Tanner reached over at some point to clasp my hand on the console between seats. In the back seat, J.D. watched me, and I could almost feel it. Oddly, those two let me wallow in my thoughts all the way until we made it up into our room.
Then J.D. headed to the mini fridge and pulled out a trio of Mike's hard drinks. Giving me the sweetest of the bunch, he passed another to Tanner, then flopped down on the couch and pulled out his vape, holding it up like he was thinking about using it.
"So," he said, "talk."
I twisted my bottle open. "Huh?"
"You're too quiet, Cody," Tanner clarified. "What's spinning in your head?"
I took a long, cool drink, trying to avoid answering. When J.D. pulled off his hat without looking away from me, I realized he had no intention of letting this go. Considering how often I compared him to a pit bull, I had a feeling he was about to start acting like a dog with a bone.
"I don't know how I feel," I told them.
"Whatcha mean?" J.D. asked.
"Casey died!" I huffed. "I hated that fucker, but he's still dead, and it sucks. He fucking got killed because the bullfighters are so shit, they can't do a damned thing."
"So, frustrated?" Tanner offered.
I rocked my head from side to side. "Close, but also no."
"Helpless?" J.D. suggested.
"No," I said, trying to find the word to explain this feeling. "I want to say guilty - "
"Why?" J.D. broke in.
I grunted at him. "Hello? Because I'm the reason things are going to shit!"
"No - " Tanner tried.
But I lifted a hand, holding him off. "I know it's not my fault. Fuck, it pisses me off, because it'stheirfault.Theykeep hurting everyone else to try to push me down, and I'm not going to fucking quit. But Casey died, and a part of me wonders if I'm risking everyone else, and if that's fair, you know? But I didn't ask for this either, so why should I be the one to pay for their mistakes? I followed the rules - and I'm still following them. I'm not going to give up, but there isn't adamnedthing I can do to makethemgive up, and it..."
J.D. shifted closer. "Powerless," he said softly. "That's the name for that feeling, and it makes you angry, right? You want to lash out, but the only ones you could reach are the very oneswho don't deserve it none. You have this rage building up, and it gnaws at ya, like it's a beast with a mind of its own. The only way you can think to make it shut up is to win, but the odds are all stacked against ya."
"Yeah," I breathed.
