Page 13 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Fuck him. Fuck him so hard.” Harleigh was fuming as we climbed the stairs back to the VIP area where my colleagues were mingling.

Despite everything, I couldn’t leave. This was my event, my project, and if anything went wrong, the blame would fall squarely on me.

Harleigh and I found a small corner toward the back, away from most of the crowd. She pulled two chairs over, her expression softening as she gestured for me to sit.

“I can cover for you,” she offered gently.

“No. I’m fine.”

I sat down, surprised by how much I meant it. The brick on my chest, the one I’d been carrying for years, felt lighter. Maybe tomorrow the pain would settle in deeper, but in this moment, I could finally breathe.

For once, I didn’t feel the urge to run to the bathroom or obsess over how close I was to the dirt and grime of the arena below. I simply sat, the chaos around me distant.

I let out a sigh, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “My parents died right before I met him. It’ll be weird, you know? Without him. Mike and I dated all through college, so he was my family. It feels like I’m losing the only family I have left.” I paused, my chest tightening. “I’m sure it’ll hit me tomorrow.”

Harleigh slid her chair closer, wrapping me in a warm side hug. “You’ve got me, Fabs. I’m your family.”

I smiled softly, leaning into her. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

I did, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Losing someone who felt like family, even when they were awful to you, still stung in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack.

“One night,” she said, breaking the silence.

I turned to her, brow raised. “One night?”

“Yeah. Just give it one night. No heavy shit, no wallowing. Come stay with me tonight. We’ll deal with everything tomorrow morning.”

I swallowed hard, thinking it over. She was right. I could give myself one night—one chance to feel normal, to celebrate the fact that I’d pulled off the biggest event of my career.

“You’re right,” I said finally. “One night.”

“Roger, can you pass me a-another?” I stammered, gripping the edge of the black fence as tightly as I could.

I wasn’t a big drinker, and I wasn’t drunk, but I was borderline tipsy. The final bull rider was climbing into the chute, the energy in the arena thick with anticipation.

Roger handed me another beer. “Careful now.”

I tipped the cowboy hat I’d stolen from him and smiled. “Yee-haw,” I shouted, raising the beer in mock celebration.

Harleigh doubled over laughing, clutching her side as if I were the funniest thing she’d seen all night.

John appeared at my side, his face amused but curious. “I love how passionate you are about this. I didn’t realize you were into bull riding?”

I shrugged, still watching the arena, my voice louder than usual thanks to the adrenaline coursing through me. “Me either, honestly. But I love the rush. The dirt, the grime—it’s raw, you know?”

John nodded, his expression thoughtful as I continued.

“It’s more than just a sport. There are so many moving parts, so many people making this happen, and yet the concept is so simple—stay on the bull for eight seconds.”

Roger gave my shoulders a squeeze. “She gets it.”

Harleigh raised her beer. “That’s my girl,” she said, and I laughed.

The last rider was up—currently sitting in second place. It was the older guy with the distinctive mustache they kept calling Beau. He stood out like a beacon, wearing a bright gold helmet and red chaps that practically glowed under the arena lights.

Roger leaned closer, his voice low. “The bull he’s on is wild. I know the sire line—one hundred percent buck rate. This one’s no joke.”

The cowboy gave a sharp nod, signaling he was ready. The gate swung open, and the bull exploded out, kicking and twisting with relentless power. The rider held on, his body moving in perfect rhythm with the animal’s chaotic energy.