Neither of us is oblivious to what’s at stake.
Now, with three of the four meet and greets out of the way, I prepare myself for the riding demo. Richard has left Evelyn’s family for the end of the night. He said something about saving the best for last, but I’ve begun tuning him out and didn’t care enough to hear the rest.
The barrel racers have gone. The steer wrestlers have gone. Hell, even the kids riding sheep have gone. And now, as soon as the competing bull riders have wrapped up, I’ll do one ride for show.
Through the speakers, the announcer explains bull riding. The way it’s scored and what it entails, because this rodeo always brings out spectators who don’t really know what they’re watching.
I walk toward the holding pens, and I can see the crew, the women, and their family members scattered throughout the stands. Behind the scenes, everyone knows me by name, but I barely recognize anyone. It’s been too long, and I’ve avoided these events like the plague just to keep my distance from Carl.
Darkness falls over the rodeo grounds, and the rodeo workers light the arena with large overhead floodlights. I watch a few of the younger riders go, offering them tips and encouraging words before I get myself dressed and warmed up. I strap on my chaps,my vest, my helmet, my gloves—everything I have is littered with sponsorship logos.
Most of the guys riding here can only dream of competing at the same level as me. And hell, one or two of them might make it. Mostly, what they’re going to get are head injuries and bad knees.
Who knows, maybe if they’d had Carl on their ass every step of the way, they’d make it further. Fucked-up as it sounds, enduring Carl has been worth the success it’s brought me. I’m a fierce competitor, unapologetic, focused, and willing to tolerate an abusive parent all because I love winning.
It’s damn near impossible to make it to the top of the sport, but even without an asshole for a dad, I’ve had unmatched natural talent on my side. Balance, inherent coordination, strength and stamina from days on the farm, mental toughness that doesn’t allow me to overthink. It’s all served me well. Some people might say admitting that makes me cocky—I say it makes me realistic.
I channel that arrogance as I make my way toward the pens, not feeling the least bit nervous.
Until I catch sight of Julia. Curly hair, baggy jeans, a cropped T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers.
I feel like in her mind she’s dressingnotto impress, flying under the radar. But it doesn’t work on me.
She could wear this outfit, the denim minidress, or that red dress. She could wear a paper bag or a barf-covered sarong, and I’d pick her out of a crowd.
Either way, her presence here sets me on edge in a way I’ve never felt before.
I push away the nerves as I hop up onto the metal fencing bordering the chute. People are talking to me, giving me instructions, directing me, but I tune most of it out. This is all second nature to me.
I drop onto the bull in the narrow pen, and it jostles me, eager for the gate to flip open and set him free. I’m not worried, though. This isn’t a WBRF bull, and that’s where all the best bulls end up.
I wrap my hand, heating the resin on the rope. The motion lulls me into a certain sense of peace and familiarity. As I zone out, I enter a headspace where everything else falls away.
This always happens. Years of practice coming together in a perfect symphony. The moment flows from there. I secure my gloved hand and feel slaps on my shoulders.
The announcer’s voice crackles on the speaker. I hear my name.Bush, not Brandt. For a moment, I’m transported back to my teenage years. Being hauled from rodeo to rodeo. As much as I hated spending time with Carl, I fucking loved riding bulls.
I still do.
It’s one of the few things that no one can take away from me. I’m good at this. Hell, I might be the best.
I glance down at one of the rodeo cowboys surrounding me and give a quick nod, signaling for him to pull the gate open. And he does.
The bull shoots out. But it doesn’t turn hard or try to get rid of me in any overly dramatic way. It’s easy fun, and I smile as the bull bucks beneath me, mostly in a straight line. It’s just like the bulls of my childhood. It’s where I came from. And I enjoy the hell out of the moment.
Hand in the air, heels kicking back to see if I can make it buck just a little harder, the eight seconds come easily. When I jump from its back, I land on my feet in the center of the ring, and one of the clowns pulls the black bull away from me.
The crowd cheers, and people shout my name. I ignore all of them, because it’s Julia, standing at the outgate and grinning at me, that draws me out of the ring. I swear she bounces on her feet as I toss her a wink.
God, I can’t help it. I’m like a moth to a flame where she’s concerned. I make a beeline toward the exit—in her direction—but I’m intercepted.
By Evelyn and her family.
She squeals, jogging straight into the ring and wrapping me in a hug like we’re actually an item. Her parents stand by the fence line, watching placidly.
I wonder if they know she’s certifiable.
“Oh my god, you were amazing!” she shouts, buzzing with excitement.
