Page 87 of Lost Trust

“I’m coming with you.”

Jovie laughs. “I didn’t invite you.”

“I don’t need an invitation.”

She shakes her head. “Fine.”

The walk to the house doesn’t take long. We step through the front door, and the first thing I hear is a familiar voice coming from the living room.

“And then he misses the bull. See?” He points at the screen and then at his head. “He should’ve waited.”

I look around the corner.

Ryder is planted on the floor in front of the television between Uncle Albert and Grandpa Earl, both old men sitting in their chairs with patient expressions, listening intently to the four-year-old.

A rerun of a PBR Teams event is playing on the screen, and Ryder is providing commentary.

Not just commentary.

Analysis.

He points at the television. “His feet ain’t right.”

Albert nods solemnly. “They’re off.”

“And now he’s gonna fall before the buzzer goes off.”

The rider on the screen gets bucked sideways and hits the dirt.

Ryder throws both hands in the air. “Told you.”

Grandpa chuckles. “I think we’ve got ourselves an announcer.”

“Color commentator,” Albert agrees.

Ryder doesn’t hear either of them. He’s too busy dissecting the next ride.

I lean against the doorway for a second, watching him.

The kid could sit behind the broadcast desk tomorrow and probably give half those announcers a run for their money.

He may not fully grasp it yet, but he’s catching mistakes and noticing positioning. He understands enough about what he’s seeing to recognize when something doesn’t look right.

I move into the room and sit on the arm of the couch.

Ryder glances over, and his eyes light up. “Royce!”

Before I can answer, he’s scrambling off the floor and climbing up and sitting beside me.

“Did you ride bulls in the PBR Teams?”

“Nope. Never did teams.”

“Why not?” he asks.

I shrug. “Just preferred individual. That way, I could control my own schedule and keep all my winnings.”

“Do you win a lot?”