I know that feeling and that taste.
I roll, scrambling to get clear as the bullfighters move in, drawing Hade’s Ransom away before he can double back on me.
I push to my feet, the high of the ride drowning out most of the pain, but not all of it.
Shit.My nose.
I reach up, fingers coming away red and slick with blood.
Yeah, that’s broken.
I huff out a half laugh, half groan and tilt my head back just enough to keep the bleeding from pouring straight down my face.
The crowd is on their feet, cheering loud for me.
I lift my arm and give them a wave, blood streaming down over my lip, staining the front of my shirt. It probably looks worse than it is. Or maybe not. Hard to tell with adrenaline still pumping through me this hard.
Either way, I stayed on, and that’s all that matters. The score from this round should keep me on the board even if my next ride is shit.
I turn and jog toward the exit, boots kicking up dirt, the roar of the crowd following me all the way out to the on-site PBR Sports Medicine Team.
“Sit.”
Dr. Chastain doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.
He never does.
I drop onto the folding chair in the medical area, grabbing a towel and pressing it to my face while he moves in close, already snapping on gloves.
“Well,” he says dryly, tilting my chin up, “you’ve looked better.”
I snort, then instantly regret it.
“Yeah, I’m guessing it feels about as good as it looks.” He hums, examining my nose with practiced hands. “Broken,” he declares.
“No shit,” I grunt.
He shoots me a look. “You want my help, or you want to keep being a smart-ass?”
I grin despite the pain. “Both?”
He shakes his head, but I catch the hint of a smile as he reaches for supplies. “Hold still.”
I do, letting him work. He’s done this enough times on me that we’ve got it down pat.
“So,” he says as he starts cleaning up the blood, “you riding again tonight?”
“If they’ll let me.”
“They’ll let you. If I do,” he mutters. “Question is, whether you should.”
I look at him hopefully. “Got points to earn, Dr. Chaz.”
He pulls out a huge cotton swab and starts to clean my nostril, careful but firm. “I know you do.”
“I’m hoping to qualify for finals.”
“So is every other cowboy who’s darkened my tent tonight,” he mutters.
