"It'll take months to get them working together," I pointed out. "Clay, there's no way to get even one of those men up to snuff in time for finals, and the riders know it. More than that, they're talking about it."
"But telling Dad that means he's not backed into a corner, Jake," Clay countered. "C'mon, you know as well as I do that he will shut down if he thinks he's losing. It's what he does!"
"Yeah," I grumbled. "But right now, we're losing everything. Shit, Casey gave hislife."
"And Dad's thrilled because the stands are packed now." Clay sighed. "He keeps saying things like, 'such a tragedy, but he ended up doing some good for the PBR in the end,' and shit like that. It's almost like he knows he shouldn't be using it, but can't help himself."
"Don't forget the kid yesterday," I said.
"The rookie?" Clay asked. "Jake, he didn't die."
I felt a little relief at that - and guilt. I'd almost completely forgotten about him, and while he hadn't looked critical, I still should've checked.
So I asked, "What did happen to him?"
"Torn ACL," Clay explained. "He's sidelined, but he might make it back next year. Looks like some punk from Guatemala is moving up to take his place."
I caught that word. "Punk?"
Clay chuckled. "Yeah, the J.D. sort. Real badass with a temper, but from the looks of it, he can ride. Not sure he speaks English, though."
"He probably does," I assured him. "Might not when it's convenient, but most of these guys learn it so they can keep up. I'm just wondering how Dad's taking it. I mean, a Latino?"
Clay shrugged. "He's fine with that. Tough guys are what he wants, not 'soy boys,' and certainly not any more women - although there are a couple others in the lower levels. I only know because he's been bitching about it."
"Blaming Cody?" I asked.
Clay nodded. "Yep. Not that she's the reason. Some of these women have been riding almost as long as she has," he said.
"And let me guess," I grumbled, "he went looking to see because she pissed him off?"
"Basically," Clay said. "Dad was so sure she had to be some kind of freak, but guess what? She's not. And sure, half of the women in the PBR ride two-handed. It's allowed for some of the levels, but not here. Well, the problem is the ones who aren't. He keeps bitching about how it's too easy now, never stopping to think about all the reasons they might be more prepared."
He had a point, but it sounded to me like this was a lot bigger than I thought. "So what's he doing about them?"
"Shit," Clay mumbled. "Jake, he's doing everything he can to run her off. He can't flat out refuse to allow her to compete. Thatwould give her a sexual discrimination lawsuit, and the PBR isn't broke. Oh, he'll try to say it is, but we're still buying Superbowl commercials, and those aren't cheap."
"There's that," I agreed.
So my brother leaned over his knees, resting his forearms on his legs. "Dad's problem is he feels like this sport is being tamed. He keeps complaining about how 'in his day,' it wasn't like this or like that. He hates how everything is so safe now, and no one's willing to take a risk."
"Because we don't want to fucking die!" I hissed.
He nodded slowly. "Oh, I get that. But Dad also thinks our generation is too soft, and he whines about us being all woke and shit. We don't hate the gays. Our girls are more manly than our boys, and all that crap. You've heard it before, I'm sure."
"Far too much," I admitted.
So Clay reached up to rub his face. "Jake, we both know Dad just wants to go down in history as the man who made the most money for the PBR. It's all he has left now. J.D. Adkins blew his records out of the water. Doesn't matter if that's for most rides, highest scores, or most money earned. Dad was the big man in this world up until that crazy fucker showed up. Now? He feels like he's nothing but a has-been, and his sport is changing too fast for him to keep up."
"Yeah, but without riders on bulls," I countered, "he'll be even more of a failure. Hasn't he considered that? Sometimes, it's better to be a footnote in history than a whole chapter of what not to do."
"Ain't that the truth," Clay agreed. "We just have to figure out how to convince him of it."
"I'm trying," I assured him.
"And you're going to keep failing," Clay told me. "You, JakeCunningham,are the bastard he doesn't want to admit exists.You're just one more of his failures he now has to see over and over."
"Yep," I agreed. "But I'm not the one who made his mistakes."
