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Chapter 1
I'd givenup everything for this chance. For years, every spare second went to getting better, to showing I could do it, and now I was finally here. The excited hum of the massive crowd was like a drug, making my heart pump harder. The sour scent of cattle proved it was real. Then there were the lights. Those were the best part. They didn't use lights like these in small-town arenas. This was the big leagues, and riding under the pale blue metal halide glow was the goal I'd been chasing for so long.
I wanted to look up and bask in them. In my daydreams, I'd hold my arms out and spin like something from The Sound of Music, but I tried to be a realist. If I lifted my head above the level of the spurs around me, every cowboy behind the chutes would notice that I wasn't quite like them. The protective vest and ornate chaps helped me keep my secret, but my best defense was the black Resistol hat that hid my face when I looked down.
So long as I kept my nose to the ground, all they saw as I squeezed between the packed bodies was a scrawny boy hoping to prove something. That was fine with me. I wasn't here to make a statement. I didn't want to get famous. I really didn't care if anyone knew my name; it was safer that way. Yes, I wanted to prove something, but just to my old man. Mostly, I wanted a check, and there was no way to get that unless I could last for eight seconds. Right now, I was a nobody, and if I couldn't hold on, it'd stay that way.
Just ahead of me, a chute attendant was looking around. I could see his concern from the set of his shoulders. In the arena, the clown was trying to fill the gap that came after the anthem but before the first bull began to buck. His jokes were bad, making them easier to ignore, but the PBR wanted to keep the crowd entertained. They also wanted us to hurry. I was trying, but there was so much to take in. I'd never been behind the chutes as a Professional Bull Rider before. If I screwed this up, I might never get the chance to do it again.
"Cody Jennings?" the chute attendant called out. "I'm looking for Cody Jennings."
That was me. I wanted to answer. Hell, I even tried, but nerves had my throat locked shut. Instead, I just handed him my rope. It said enough.
"Cody?" he asked, taking it.
The brim of my Resistol bobbed as I replied the only way I could - by nodding. It seemed to be enough for him. Then again, he probably didn't care who got on the bull, just so long as someone did.
While he and his friend worked the rope under the beast's chest, I scrambled over the pipe, carefully resting my feet on the lowest rail I could reach. It put my crotch just above the animal's back. If he tried to make a break for it, I'd probably go with him, but that was the downside of short legs. I never knew my mom, but I'd always heard they came from her. Every time I got in a chute, I cursed her a little, because a few more inches would be a real help right about now.
The man on the gate pulled the rope taut. While he held it, I reached over and ran my glove across the lower part, warming the rosin to make it sticky. When that was done, the process got repeated on the handle. This was my lifeline, the only thing keeping me and this bull together. When it was good, I took the rope, laying it across my palm before wrapping it around the back, just to grip the end against all the rest. I'd never been brave enough to go with one of the complicated wraps, but I usually didn't need to. Being half-sized was my best advantage - it meant I didn't have a lot of weight to sling around.
Then it was time. Over the loudspeakers, I could hear the announcer calling a no score. I'd been too focused on getting ready and hadn't even noticed that the event had started. The first rider had already given it a go and, from the sounds of it, failed. Now, I got to show these boys how it was done. I just had to get on the back of this beast.
The only problem was that he kept leaning against the wall. Using my heel, I tried to give the bull just enough spur to convince him to stand up, but this bad boy didn't care. To my right, the chute attendant worked his foot between the pipe to help, pushing at the animal's shoulder. The bull pushed back, so he tried again. The third time, with a disgruntled huff, the beast stood up.
That was all I needed. Sliding down on his back, I waited for the first tantrum, but my bull wasn't that kind of guy. He just tensed and shuffled, giving me the time I needed to scoot into place. I wanted to be high, right up on his withers, with a good seat over my hand. As soon as I got there, I knew. My legs locked into place, the bull's head came up, and I nodded.
The big metal gate clanked and swung open. A split second later, the bull saw. Up. It was always up first as the beast heaved himself into the arena. After that came the haunches. This animal was big, and his kicks nearly gave me whiplash, but it was nothing compared to the concussion when his feet came back down and slammed into the ground. Every leap shoved my tailbone into his back. Every landing was like an earthquake, but the bull knew I wasn't going anywhere. I hadn't budged except to wave my free hand in the air, keeping myself centered right where I wanted to be, so the bull doubled down.
He launched all four feet in the air before he kicked out. It felt like I was riding Pegasus - if that mythical creature had been made of power instead of grace. This was the part I loved. This was what made me keep coming back for more. Right now, I was in control. I was unstoppable, unbreakable, and immortal. Every time we touched the ground, I rocked, flowing with my partner like it was a dance, then back up, predicting his next move on instinct.
That was when the bull decided to surprise me. His kicks weren't getting me off, so he went for the next trick: the spin. He bucked like a metronome, giving me plenty of chances to balance and even spur. Those were points. Every time my leg swept over his side was moving me up in the rankings, and right about now, I needed all the help I could get.
Of course, that was when it all went to hell. The bull doubled back, right into my hand while in the middle of a buck. My outside leg slipped. My arm jerked straight. I could feel every tendon on that side screaming in pain, but I just had to hold on. I couldn't let go now. I needed eight seconds. I had to prove that I could do this! Then he kicked again. Out of position, I flopped forward, just as the beast's head came up.
Pain.
The world spun. For a moment, I felt like I was turning with it, but I knew better. I had this. I could ride through this. I just needed eight goddamn seconds, and I could finally prove to the world that I could do it. The animal reared up again, but I was barely hanging on. Thankfully, over the bull's shoulder, I saw a guy in purple waving both arms and pointing.
I didn't need to look. I knew what that meant. I'd done it. I'd made eight. Now, I had to get the hell off this thing without getting myself killed.
A jerk at the end of my rope broke my grip. Between hops, I managed to flip it around the back of my hand, and I was free, but the bull was still bucking. The next time his haunches came up, I went with them, a nice little pop to send me into the air.
For a moment, there was peace. I saw the lights, their blue glare turning the ceiling behind them into perfect blackness, and then I found the ground. With a whump, the air rushed out of my lungs, but I was already moving. Away from the bull. Always away. At the edge of my vision, I saw the bullfighters rushing in. Red, purple, and yellow were their jersey colors, and whichever direction they were going was the one I didn't want to use.
One hand pushed into the sand, propelling me forward. My boots sank deep, my spurs helping to dig in and I ran. The blue and black of my chaps flapped around my legs until I reached the solid white wall. Only then did I bother looking back. The bull was trotting his happy behind through the gate just like he was supposed to, and the crowd was cheering. The only problem was the way that much noise made the throbbing in my head almost impossible to bear.
My face hurt. That was the beauty of adrenaline: it kept pain from being a distraction at the wrong time. The downside was how it felt when everything caught back up, and that was where I was right now. Bending over with my hands on my knees to hold me up, I tried to breathe deep, hoping to shake it off - and a single drop of blood splattered down on the inside on my chaps.
"And that's how it's done!" the announcer was saying. "For the first full ride of the night, our newest bull rider, Cody Jennings, just scored an impressive 86.5! Let's hear it for the new guy!"
I heard it. I also didn't really care. All I'd wanted to do was stay on for the full eight, and I'd managed. Everything else was just icing on this cake. Belatedly, I lifted a hand at the crowd but didn't look up, terrified that the pounding in my head would be more than I could take. The last thing I wanted was to be carried out after a successful ride. Instead, I took another breath, watching more droplets stain my chaps. Something was bleeding, and I had a funny feeling it was me.
"Hey." A hand patted my back. "Still alive over here, cowboy? You took an impressive facer just before you came off."
