AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Well shit,” she mumbles.
Her response makes me laugh. “You know how you always see riders with their arms up in the air?” I lift my hand and show her.
She snorts and mocks me. “Mm-hmm, the typical cowboy riding a buckin’ bronco pose.”
“That’s the one, and it’s for a good reason. Once the gate opens, you can’t touch yourself or the animal. You can only hold on with that one hand, and the other has to stay free, or you don’t get scored.”
“You get disqualified? That’s messed up.”
“Basically. Takes a lot of practice to keep that other hand away because you want to hold on with both because it’s a long-ass fall to the ground.”
Maize glances over at me. “I think I have a newfound respect for these cowboys. I had no idea it was so intense.”
I take my hat off and tip it at her.
“Wait, how’d ya know what bull you’re gonna get?”
“Ahh. Good one. You’re matched up. At some competitions, you can choose, but usually, it’s random.”
“So it’s not like Tinder where you can swipe right or left?” She snickers, and I join in on her sentiment.
Soon, the first rider is being loaded in the chute. Though the announcer says something, and the clock starts, I’m brought back to the last time I rode as soon as the gate opens. The bull was known for cycloning, which I fucking hated more than anything because I understood its dangers. When I fell off, he charged after me, and thankfully, one of the rodeo clowns deterred him. The moment I looked that big angry fucker in the face and stood on my feet, I decided right then it was my last ride regardless of how I placed. Little did I know, my score was ninety-seven, and I ended up winning the whole damn competition on one of the most notorious bulls at the championship.
The only thing that brings me back to reality is Maize’s gasp. The guy falls and gets up and runs as fast as he can to the edge, where two people help him climb up. The clowns make a show out of getting the animal's attention, and the crowd goes wild. If it weren’t so risky, I’d find it entertaining. Maybe one day, I will.
More men go, their scores not that high, and I know it’s getting close for Cooper. I take Maize’s hand and lead her to where the rest of the riders are impatiently waiting for their turn. Cooper comes and stands next to me, and I let go of her hand so I can give him a pep talk.
“The scores on the board right now, you can beat them. You’ve got the upper hand. Stay out of your head. Keep focused, and you can win this and qualify. Guaranteed. Don’t be passive in that chute, Cooper. You gotta be aggressive and take control of that animal. If you need anything while you’re in there, you tell those guys who are helping you load.”
He nods and lets out a howl. “I think I’m ready.”
The man before Cooper gets ready to go, and the chute boss lets him know he’s next. Cooper waits to be situated on Troublemaker, a fire engine red bull who’s already pissed as hell. I never understood why and how they got names like this. Doesn’t make anyone feel good about getting on their backs.
Maize stands off to the side, and I shoot her a wink as I climb the metal railing and keep giving Cooper positive reinforcements. Safety is what I’m focused on right now because the last thing I want is for my rider to get hurt. We’ve practiced for months, and he’s got it as long as he doesn’t psych himself out when he climbs on.
“You’ve got this,” I tell him one last time, then go stand next to Maize, watching his every move.
Cooper puts on his helmet and mouthpiece, then gets in the bucket shoot. The guy who’s gonna be pulling on the rope to tighten it for him hands it over. He grabs the opposite side of the railing and puts his foot on the bulls back to let him know he’s there and is about to get situated. After a few seconds, he sits, putting his feet forward so he doesn’t break an ankle. Cooper starts loosening the rope and warms it up, then he asks for it to be tightened. The bull is already losing his mind, moving around and kicking the gate. A spotter holds on to Cooper, making sure he doesn’t fall or break something before they let him go.
I’ve done this process a hundred times, but my nerves are fucking wrecked because it’s all so unpredictable. Maize stands next to me, and I don’t think she’s taken a single breath.
He gets the rosin hot by roughly running his hand up and down it, and I can tell it’s getting real sticky. After he taps his fists against the rope, the helper releases it, giving him enough slack to grab it when he’s ready. The music is loud as hell, and the crowd is already excited. Funny how when you’re in the pen, you can barely hear anything other than your heart and erratic breathing.
