‘Okay, plan B,’ she said, pulling out her phone and tapping on Jesse’s name. ‘Don’t know how likely he is to answer now, not with everything going on back there.’
I already knew it wouldn’t work, could feel my desperation growing as though my body sensed how close we were. Her phone rang and rang, and eventually, as it went through to the answerphone, I’d decided.
‘Hang up,’ I said, looking back towards the gate, watching as a competitor approached and exchanged a few words. The official simply slid back a latch on the gate to let them through. It wasn’t locked.
‘What?’ she asked, puzzled, but doing it anyway. ‘Why?’
‘Because if you can distract him, I can probably get through unnoticed.’
She eyed me, deliberating.
‘Okay,’ she replied, clearly turning over the options. ‘What kind of distraction?’
‘Pass out,’ I blurted, taking inspiration from the way I was feeling, my heart already hammering. ‘I’ll go over there.’ I pointed towards the bathrooms in the corner, parallel with the gate. ‘Then if you call out to him, maybe say you don’t feel great and then fall down, preferably when no one else is nearby and he can’t really refuse, I’ll run out behind and slip through.’
The side of the chutes jutted out behind the gate. Once through, I’d be able to dive round the side and out of sight.
‘Fuck, okay,’ Lottie breathed, nodding. ‘Well . . . guess I’ll see you in the medical area, huh?’
I smiled, giving her arm a quick squeeze. Then I headed for the bathrooms and waited just inside the first door, out of the official’s line of sight.
Within a minute or two, after waiting for a few groups of spectators to pass by, Lottie edged a little closer to the official, looking down at her phone. Then, just as he reached down to his belt for the walkie-talkie, eyes on an area to her right, she called out, waiting for his attention to turn before her knees buckled. She landed side on in the dirt, her hat rolling off, hair splayed out.
He swore, opening the latch on the gate in seconds, leaving it open as he ran to her, pulling out the walkie-talkie in the same moment and speaking into it.
I bolted, holding onto my hat as I charged towards the gate, keeping my eyes on him as I ran right through, praying he would stay focused on Lottie until I was round the corner. Another second and I was out of sight, the edge of the chutes blocking me from view as I came to a standstill, breathing heavily, one hand on my chest.
Suddenly faced with far worse, I steeled myself as I looked into the organized chaos backstage. There were so many people – competitors with their numbers displayed on their fronts and backs, a maelstrom of hats, chaps and horses.
Staying clear of anyone official-looking, and very aware of my bright hair beneath the black hat, I stayed on the periphery, following the backs of the chutes all the way round, eyes searching for him. The noise was intense: the roar of the crowd from the other side of the stands, the occasional crash of hooves against steel making me jump.
‘You okay there, ma’am?’
I flinched as an official approached from the side, eyes scouting for whatever ID was needed around here.
‘Actually, no,’ I said, letting my anxiety flood my voice. ‘My friend just passed out round there, I’m trying to look for her boyfriend, he’s a bull rider.’
Surprised, he grabbed his walkie-talkie.
‘She with anyone?’ he said, turning the dial on the top.
‘Yeah, I think one person, I just know she’d want to see him, but I don’t know—’
‘It’s okay – bull riders are mostly in that far back corner just around the side there, y’see?’ He pointed, curving his hand around to indicate the other side of the biggest group of competitors in front of us. ‘I’m gonna head over and see if she needs more help. Don’t worry, we’ll look after her.’ He nodded and tipped his hat as he took off, talking into his radio.
Picking up my pace, I skirted what appeared to be the roping teams, keeping my head down. Rounding the corner, I slowed, looking down towards where the loudest animal noises were coming from. The volume of competitors thinned out there compared to everywhere else.
Then, just as I was about to turn back, unable to make anyone out, I heard a horribly familiar laugh that set my teeth on edge.
Chrissy and a small group of women, not twenty feet away, laughing together over drinks. And behind them, at the very far end of the chutes, three competitors leaning up against the chute.
The one in the middle looked up for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd out in the arena, his face unmistakable in the golden-hour glow.
‘Oh shit,’ I choked, putting my hand to my mouth, my feet frozen to the ground. The need to go over there, to touch him, talk to him, was utterly eclipsed by my fear. The thought of his rejection playing out in front of everyone – especially her – was too awful to contemplate.
But before I had the chance to act or move away, I felt multiple eyes on me and heard someone curse.
‘What the hell . . .’ Chrissy said, marching over, half spilling her drink into the dirt. I backed up, my eyes still on Jesse; I was unable to take them away from every angle of his face.
