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"So, you're the famous Cody Jennings, eh?" His Canadian accent was hard to miss. "I'm Jackson Cloutier. Usually I'm already face-down in the dirt before you're even up by the chutes."
"Working your way up?" I asked, recognizing his name from hearing the announcer say it.
He nodded. "Yep, I'm a rookie too. Unlike you, I only had two years of this, so I'm still learning a bit."
"The trick is in the hips," I told him. "Keep your head tucked and your hips moving with the bull. Don't try to predict." Then I giggled. "J.D. tells me it's like fucking."
The guy grinned. "Well, might be a bit different for you than me."
"Dunno," I countered. "Considering it's J.D. who's saying it?"
"And that's a good point too," he relented just as Anthony pushed to his feet. "Looks like you're up, Cody."
"Good luck today," I told him.
"You too," he said when Anthony paused beside me.
"I got a room for you since we gotta take that shirt off," he said, offering me a hand.
I clasped it with my good one, shocked when he pulled me up easily. Ok, not only was he big, but he clearly had earned a few muscles doing this. Plus, I kinda needed the help getting out of that chair. Using my left arm was still a bit of a habit.
The pair of us headed for the back, into that short little hall, and then to the same room I'd used last time. Anthony gestured to the bed, so I sat. Then I started working open the buttons down the front.
"I should really have a witness in here," he said as he grabbed a tray and began loading it up with supplies. I saw gauze, tape, different-sized tape, and then some more tape.
"I'm wearing a tank under this," I assured him. "Always will be. My sponsor wants me to wear them."
"Which makes me feel better," he agreed as he moved the tray and a stool over in front of me. "So let's get this brace off and see what we're working with."
Nope, that part was not fun. He pulled. He pushed. He also helped me get my sleeve off, then looked at my elbow from all sides. His very cold hands felt the joint - being surprisingly gentle. When he reached for the tape, I couldn't take it anymore.
"Is it bad?" I asked.
"It's not good." He stretched out a long strip, judging it against my arm. "Cody, that's going to take a few weeks to heal."
"I know."
So he turned his nearly black eyes on me. "How long has it been since you rode with your right hand?"
"Two years?" I guessed. "I'm not really sure, but maybe three at most. Not that long."
"Mhm." So he clasped my hand. "Pull."
"You know I can't."
"Pull anyway." He flicked his brows up in a taunt.
Naturally, I tried, but the pain was immediate. I could barely even make his arm move, and he wasn't exactly pulling back very hard!
"Now, how hard do you pull at the tail of your rope?" he asked. "Warming it? Wrapping it?"
I hadn't thought about any of that. "Fuck," I mumbled.
Anthony nodded slowly. "Yeah. So, if you wanna scratch, that's still an option."
"But I can't."
He reached for the gauze and began rolling a layer around my joint. "They'll strike the bull and put him on the re-ride string. Your fees are already spent, sure, but if you take a few weeks off - "
