P B R
We walk up a ramp and onto the center stage. Heads down to track our footing in the dim light more than anything.
With every cowboy in the event up on stage, the spotlights snap on the first of us. “From Nova Scotia, riding for the Hellcats, Wade Gillespie...” He goes down the line until he reaches the Bravos. “From British Columbia, and in the top two ranks for this year, none other than HAD-LEY J-O-N-E-S!”
Knox is next and so on down the line.
I let my gaze wander up to the stands. It’s almost impossible to see anything under the stage lighting, but I search for her anyway.
It’s only when Knox gives my shoulder a shove that I’m pulled from the desperate trance and make my way back across the stage and down the ramp.
“Get it together, Jones. Or you’ll come out worse for wear.” Knox’s narrowed eyes almost look worried.
That can’t be right, he hates everything and everyone.Right?
We make our way back behind the chutes and the arena manager, who we’ve never met, is doling out safety instructions and orders like we have any hope in hell of remembering any of it.
We’re dismissed to our teams, and every cowboy starts his own pre-ride ritual. I stretch, doing some little jumps to pump up my body, but the suffocating weight of the broken heart I’m carrying makes everything harder than usual.
Focus, Hadley.
Focus on saving your damn ranch.
Biting dirt isn’t going to get you anywhere.
I roll my neck on my shoulders, and a familiar voice catches my attention.
“Hey bud, ready to take home the bling tonight?” Logan says, his painted-on smile lighting up his happy face.
“Huh, sure thing. Ready to dodge some bullets?”
“Always, motherfucker.” He hops on the spot, his Hawaiian grass skirt-inspired cut-up jeans tutu bouncing around his waist. The guy is beyond ridiculous.
Hooves thunder over dirt as the first lineup of bulls trots into the chutes. Before the adrenaline has a chance to send my head spinning, I hunker down and start helping the first cowboy gear up and strap down.
Levi is right beside me, and we make an efficient pair, working the rope around and getting everything set before the young cowboy nods his head furiously and the gate swings open.
The crowd is deafening.
The judges in the caged oval under the center stage study his every move. The bull’s every move.
The stakes are high.
The energy even higher.
My mind isn’t on the bull I drew. I can’t afford to dwell on that fact too long. Not after our last encounter.
“Jones, need you over here!” Levi shouts. Knox is lowering down onto a bull I’ve ridden, and I notice the big grey bull instantly. Terminator.
I lend a hand, and Knox is bursting out of the chute a few moments later. Why couldn’t I have drawn Terminator? That would have been a solid ride. But no, fate wants to shit all over me tonight.
Nope, not gonna think about the devil with four legs that almost cost me?—
“Jones! You’re up, bud. Chute three.”
Fuck me.
Must be my lucky night, same chute number, same damn bull.
