He was right. My horse was phenomenal, and I’m leading after the first round. Toby is fourth, but anything can happen at these events.
The second round doesn’t go in my favour, and the horse I’ve drawn is a lower-scoring one.
As I ready my bronc and the men around help me on, an odd feeling settles on my chest. Dread. I don’t know why, but my usual confidence on the back of a horse vanishes.
“Something’s wrong,” I say to one man as I remove my hand from the rigging. “I need to reset.”
“No time, son. Everything is fine.”
Then it all happens too fast. The man on the gate thinks my sign is to open the chute, and I’m forced to shove my hand back in and hold on. But I’ve missed my cue out of the gate to have my feet at the shoulders, so it will be a no-score no matter what happens. The horse bucks hard, and I try to keep some kind of form, but it’s like something spooked it.
The horse turns back towards the chutes and slams my left side against the gate. A fiery pain shoots up my free arm as I search for a pickup man to get me off this horse.
“Can you grab on, Rhett?”
The pickup man is as close to me as he can get. In the distance, I hear the buzzer go for eight seconds as I wiggle my hand out of the hold and launch behind the man on the horse. His hand reaches back, grabbing anything he can to keep me on while we turn away from the bronc.
When we finally get to safety. I slide to my feet and thank the man before walking out of the ring.
“Rhett…Rhett! Get that hand looked at. You’re bleeding everywhere.”
Finally, I glance down and notice the blood dripping from my left hand. There’s a large gash on the outside of my hand that must have happened when I hit the chutes after the bronc turned.
“Sir?” A paramedic is at my side, pressing something to my hand and taking me by the elbow. “We need to get this assessed. You might need stitches.”
“Do I get a re-ride?” I stop and turn back towards the ring, holding the cloth against my hand and leaving the paramedic standing by themselves. Toby is riding now, and he’s doing great. The event co-ordinator is suddenly in my face.
“You okay, Rhett?”
“I think so. Haven’t been assessed yet, but do I get a re-ride? That bronc was spooked or something. I wanted off, but then—”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll check with the judges and come find you. Get that looked at and stop bleeding all over the place.”
After following the paramedic to the first aid tent, I watch as they flush and clean the wound and talk medical shit that makes zero sense to me.
“Do I need stitches or not?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. It would help it heal faster.”
“What’s the second option?”
The man shrugs. “Tissue glue and a bandage and an uglier scar after.”
“Give me the glue then.”
That shit stings more than I thought. But I’m glued up and bandaged and given a few extra strength pain relievers before walking back out to the ring to find the organizer.
“What’s the verdict?”
He shakes his head. “Judges said no. No marking out of the gate is an automatic no score. If the horse had stumbled out of the gate or slammed you immediately, it would be different. I’m sorry.”
“Goddammit,” I curse and stalk off to the area where the riders wait.
“Hey, are you okay?” Toby and a few other riders come towards me, and I hold up my bandaged hand. “I’ll survive this, but no re-ride. I won’t even make the championship round now.”
“You gonna head back right away?” Toby asks.
“Might as well. With one qualified ride in the first round, I’m not winning money, so there’s no sense staying.”
