And before she could say a word, before I let her soft warmth or her sweet scent keep me there, I walked away.
Each footfall of my boots on the wooden grandstands reverberated through my bones as I made my way down the center aisle toward the left half of the arena. I slid my hand along the handrail, following as the aisle dipped downward, until nothing but empty air and the crunch of gravel and dirt beneath my feet greeted me. I reached out my hand and made a few steps to the right before coming into contact with the pipe-stall fencing of the arena.
My heart raced as I settled my arms atop the middle wrung and leaned forward, my unseeing gaze resting toward where I assumed the bull chutes were. I could hear them easily enough. The crashing of horns against pipe, the excited din of chatter from the contestants. The cowboys working behind the scenes to get the bulls loaded into the proper chutes. Adrenaline and terror pumped through my veins, so intense it was almost like I was competing again.
Whywas it this hard? How was simply standing here such a damn big deal?
Because it mattered, a little voice whispered in my head. Because this was who I was for so long. This was what I did. This was my life. And even though I’d given it up, I’d never moved on. I’d never addressed this part of me. And it was hard and it was terrifying and as much as I was tempted to just walk away, stomp my ass back to Quinn’s rental and wait for the rodeo to be over, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Ihadto do this.
The commentator announced the first rider and bull—Ryder Wright and some bull I’d never heard of. Only reason I knew Ryder was because he and Cash were buddies. Back when I was professional rodeoing, he’d still been making a name for himself—competing in two events. From the sound of it, he was doing pretty good for himself and was looking like a potential candidate for NFR, according to the announcer. I’d done my best to erase anything about PBR or rodeos from any aspect of my life for the past three years. I didn’t know what the latest standings were or who was in the running for heading off to NFR this year. A thought of Reid popped into my head. I wondered how he was doing.
But all thoughts of Reid—or anything really—vanished as the gate slammed open with a thunderous crash. And then the strangest thing happened. The music died—vanishing on the breeze until it was nothing more than whispers in the wind, and even though I was at least twenty yards away from the actual action, I could hear the bull’s snorts, the slap of leather against its thick hide. I couldfeelits hoofbeats as they pounded against the earth with each rock and buck and spin.
I wasn’t an onlooker, I wasn’t standing outside of the arena. For eight seconds, I was atop that bull. The phantom feel of the bull rope appeared against my right hand, and I felt myself clinging to it for dear life. I rode that rush of adrenaline that thrummed through me like a shockwave to my heart, wondering how the fuck I’d ever thought I could give up this part of me.
Then the buzzer went off, and sound returned—the music blared and the crowd was going absolutely nuts. Reality set in then.
“Well, hot damn ladies and gentlemen. This kid sure knows how to ride ‘em right, don’t he? That was another spectacular performance by Ryder Wright with a–holy cow! A ninety point five ride. That one’s gonna be tough to beat, folks. This kid just got himself sponsored last year and his future’s lookin’ bright.”
I blew out a shaky breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding in, my lungs searing as I sucked down hot, humid air.
I wiped at the moisture pricking in my eyes. Fuck. That was…I still didn’t know exactly. One of the hardest, yet most freeing things I ever had the opportunity of doing. I’d fought so hard to forget about the rodeo, but having this moment made me realize that there was no forgetting. No moving on. No letting go.
I’d stopped living three years ago. I was alive, but I wasn’t really living, ignoring who I was at my very core. And that was a rodeo cowboy.
And even if I never competed again, my accident, my blindness, couldn’t take away the fact that I was, and always would be, two time World Champion bull rider, Huxson Lane.
I found myself glued to the spot I stood in. Despite wanting to get back to Quinn, my feet may as well have been roots spearing into the ground, holding me in place.
One more time. What I’d give for just one more time. To gear up. To climb into the chute. To ride out eight seconds.
“Well shit, man. Did you just come, cuz I just came.” I jumped at the closeness of the voice, recognizing the cocky, suave tone immediately as I tried to hold back the shudder of surprise that coursed through me and set me on edge. How the hell had I not heard him?
“What the fuck, Mooney?” I grumbled.
He laughed, and I felt the air shift as he settled at my side. “Got another smoke?” he asked, his tone carefree and casual. He was always like that. Always so laid back. Before the accident I’d been more like him, but even then, no one was quite like Cash fuckin’ Mooney. He was as offensive as he was charming. And he knew it. Yet somehow it always worked out in his favor.
I fished in my back pocket for my pack of cigars and pulled two out, along with my lighter. I lit mine and pressed it to my lips, before handing everything to Cash.
For a moment there was nothing but relative quiet surrounding us as a wave of sweet tobacco billowed around me, but then Cash said, “You miss it, don’t cha?”
My chest squeezed painfully tight, and it had nothing to do with the smoke in my lungs. “Course I fuckin’ do.”
“You should be out there.” Cash’s voice held an honesty to it I’d never heard before. Or maybe I’d just never really talked to him on a deeper level. He’d never really been the guy to have a heart to heart with, and three years ago, I sure as hell wasn’t that kind of guy either.
I huffed. “Yeah, well, fate had other plans.”
“You really think you’ll never do it again?”
I took a puff from my cigar before blowing out. “Doctors said one hit to the head and I may not walk away next time.”
“Yeah, that’s what doctors are supposed to say. But what they say and what you decide to do don’t always align. What doyouwant?”
My hand trembled as I took another drag of my cigar. Fuck. Was I shaking that bad? I opened my mouth, that annoyingly familiar knot lodging in my throat once more.What did I want? The list was surprisingly short.
Two things in particular: I wanted Quinn, and I wanted to ride.
The first I could have. If she wanted me—which I wasn’t ever the smartest kid in school, but I was pretty damn sure she’d have me. But the second…the risk was so high. As wild and reckless as I’d been before my accident, I just didn’t know if the risk outweighed the reward now.
