Page 153 of Sunrise & Serenity

“Good.” I nod. “Means you’re not stupid.”

That gets half a smile out of him.

I adjust the rope, show him where to set his hand, then make him do it twice himself. His fingers shake the first time. Less the second.

I remember those nerves. Trying like hell not to let anyone see them.

“You really rode Black Casket in Houston?” he blurts out.

My lips quirk. “Not something I’ll forget anytime soon.”

His eyes go round. “You scored ninety-two.”

And got stepped on after.

I give the rope back, then grip his shoulder. “Don’t ride my old scores. Ride the bull under you.”

He nods, quieter now. “Yes, sir.”

As he walks off, a feeling spreads through me. Not exactly peace, but something close to usefulness.

Then the first chute gate slams open and I turn to watch.

The bull explodes into the arena, all muscle and rage beneath the lights. Dirt sprays high. The rider’s free arm snaps up, and the crowd roars as his body whips with the motion.

My fingers tighten around the rail, and I count without meaning to. One. Two. Three.

The bull twists left, drops its shoulder, and the rider corrects half a beat late.

Four. Five.

He loses his seat at six and hits the dirt hard. Rodeo bullfighters move fast, drawing the animal away while the crowd groans. The rider’s climbing to his feet before the medics reach him.

Adrenaline flashes through me. For one long second, muscle memory kicks in and my fingers twitch like I’m reaching for a rope. Then my shoulder throbs again. Whether it’s physical or in my head, it’s enough to remind me I’m done.

Nearby, two older men, hats pulled low over weathered faces, eye me. They lower their voices as they turn back, but not enough.

“Hell of a rider before that shoulder got him.”

“Thought he became a drunk after that.”

Heat crawls up the back of my neck at the reminder. That damn photo’s still haunting me.

“Hey.” Rick nudges my shoulder. “You all right?”

“Fine.”

Another lie.

The next rider lasts the full eight. The buzzer sounds and the crowd erupts. I wait for the hunger to hit—the urge to be the one the crowd cheers for.

I mostly just feel tired.

The kid I helped earlier goes three rides later. Gravedigger comes out hard left as expected, then drops on the second jump. The kid almost loses it, but he shifts back just enough to hang on.

Eight seconds. Barely.

The crowd cheers as he scrambles off and nearly falls flat on his ass from relief.