Three seconds. Four. Gravedigger switches direction, a trick, a mid-spin reversal that's probably thrown every other rider into the dirt. Ace's body whips sideways and for one horrifying, split-second moment, his hand slips.
I see it. The rope loosens. His balance shifts. His body tilts at an angle that is wrong.
"ACE!" I scream.
Hunter's hand locks around the rail beside me. Colten stops breathing, dropping his cigarette on the ground.
And then Ace does something I will never be able to explain. Something that isn't technique or training. Something that is pure, stubborn, I-will-not-fucking-die refusal.
He wrenches his body back center. Regrips. Locks in. Rides the next buck like the last one never happened.
Five seconds. Six. The crowd is on its feet, screaming so loud the sound blurs into a single roar that vibrates in my chest. I'm screaming with them. I'm screaming his name, over and over, my throat already raw, tears streaming down my face that I don't even realize are there.
"COME ON, ACE! HOLD ON! HOLD ON!"
Seven seconds. Gravedigger gives everything he has left. A final, furious, full-body convulsion that looks like the earth itself is trying to throw Ace off its surface.
The buzzer sounds.
Eight seconds.
The arena explodes.
Ace lets go of the rope, and Gravedigger bucks him forward, which launches him off the front like a ragdoll. He hits the dirt hard, rolls twice, and for one sickening moment he's face down and not moving, and the bull is turning, two thousand poundswheeling around with its head low and its eyes locked on the body in the dirt.
"GET UP!" I scream. "ACE, GET UP!"
I feel sick.
The bullfighters are already moving, two of them sprinting in, waving their arms, throwing themselves into Gravedigger's line of sight. The bull charges left, drawn by the movement. It buys a second. Maybe two.
Ace pushes himself up. He’s staggering trying to find his feet. I’m not even breathing.
And then he runs.
He hits the fence at full speed and climbs it like his life depends on it, hauling himself up and over the rail in one desperate motion as Gravedigger slams into the panels below him hard enough to rattle the entire section.
He's over. He's safe. He's sitting on top of the fence, chest heaving, helmet tossed on the ground, dirt covering every inch of him, and he's…
He's looking for me.
His eyes scan the stands. And then they land on me, and his whole face changes.
He grins.
That stupid, beautiful, infuriating, I-told-you-so grin that makes me want to kill him and kiss him in equal measure.
He raises his hand, presses his fingers to his lips, and blows me a kiss across the arena.
I catch it. The way he catches mine. Close my fist around it and press it to my heart.
The scoreboard lights up. I don't even look at the number. I don't need to. The roar of the crowd tells me everything.
Hunter lets out a breath beside me. "That little shit," he mutters.
Colten's already lighting another cigarette, his hands shaking. "I'm going to kill him myself. Fuck, I might need an ambulance, I’m pretty sure I’m about to have a fucking heart attack. I can feel my pulse in my throat. Is that normal?"
I laugh. Or cry. Or both. My legs give out, and I sink back into my seat, pressing my palms to my face, and just breathe. In and out. In and out.
