Axle stands.
I smooth a hand over his vest. “No more blood.”
He bends down and kisses me softly. “Love you, Doc.”
“Love you too.”
I point toward the arena. “Now go kick Bryce Raintree’s ass.”
He laughs as he exits the tent.
The final ride of the night.
I pace along the fence near the arena floor while thousands of fans scream around me.
Axle climbs into the chute.
Royce stands beside him, talking quietly.
The giant screen flashes the numbers—92.25.
That’s what he needs.
Anything less, and the gold buckle belongs to Bryce.
My stomach is in knots as he settles onto the bull.
But he looks cool as a cucumber as his hand goes into the air, and he nods.
The gate swings open, and the crowd goes wild as the bull launches violently into the air. Twisting, kicking, spinning.
Yet, somehow, Axle looks like he’s having fun.
I hear one of the commentators shouting over the speakers, “Axle Trust is absolutely in rhythm with this animal!”
My pulse pounds in my ears as the clock counts. One second. Three. Five. Seven. The buzzer sounds. Eight.
Axle launches from the bull’s back and lands cleanly.
Then he jumps and throws his fist into the air.
The arena explodes.
I stop breathing as we wait for the score to hit the monitor. It takes forever.
The board finally flashes—92.37.
For a moment, everything stands still.
Then, “And he has done it, folks. Axle Trust is your PBR World Champion!”
The words echo through the arena.
The crowd gets so loud that I can barely hear myself crying as tears spill down my cheeks.
Across the dirt, Bryce is already sprinting toward him, and the moment he reaches Axle, he lifts him completely off the ground.
Royce crashes into them a second later.
