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My face screws up, and I turn my head to keep him from seeing it. I inhale a deep breath and clear my throat. “Is that all? Shit. I thought you’d think of something hard.”
He chuckles again, sniffling, and we sit in silence, drinking our sodas and ignoring the beeping of the machines and smell of antiseptic.
“I’m so fucking angry, you know?” he says finally.
“Yeah.”
“And I know it’s not your fault, but I hate you right now.”
I press my lips together. “I know.”
He sighs. “I don’t really.”
“I know that, too.”
“You have to win that buckle, man. For me. Promise.”
I meet his gaze head-on and ignore the sinking feeling in my gut, reminding me I’ll never care about anything as much as Walker. He should be making this promise, not me. “I swear. It’s yours.”
“Ours.”
My chest clenches in on itself, cracking in two. “Ours.”
The first time I rode a bull, I was ten. I was little, the bull was little, and I’m not sure either of us wanted to be there. I vividly remember being in the chute with my dad and my uncle on either side of me, counting me off, and thinking,Why am I doing this?It’s not that I was scared, which would be a normal reaction for anyone, kid or adult. Mostly, I didn’t get it. I had gotten a dirt bike for Christmas, and that thing was fast and smooth and didn’t try to buck me off. Why couldn’t I ride that thing around instead?
But that was also the day I met Walker. He was behind me in line and super stoked to be there. The kid had nerves of steel. His cowboy hat was brand-new, and his boots were barely creased. Like me, it was his first time ever in the chute, and he was practically vibrating with excitement. Walker was underweight and scrawny, even for ten, and I was sure he’d be thrown the second his denim touched the hide, but he wasn’t. He held on against all odds. Scored something like six seconds on his first try. I knew immediately that while I didn’t care much about bull riding, I needed to be friends with Walker Gibson.
After that, it was all rodeo all the time for the two of us. Walker somehow made riding bulls less idiotic. To him, it was a great adventure—a way to literally take life by the horns. That we were both pretty good at it felt unimportant. We would have gone week after week even if we’d sucked, but always staying at the top of the leaderboard kept sponsors showing up. Foryears, we’d dreamed of joining the PBR, the professional bull-riding circuit. For me, it was a competition against Walker—a puzzle to be solved and some bullshit back-and-forth between brothers. But for Walker, it was a fight for his life. I didn’t know it at the time, but now I do. He’d talk about the PBR, and I went along with it because what the hell else did I have to do? I had my entire life ahead of me.
I’m starting to wonder if maybe I never really wanted that dream. Maybe I only wanted whatever Walker wanted because, deep down, I knew his dreams were keeping the fight in him alive.
And what I dreamed was for him to live forever.
I sent a text to Brody after Pax’s party and the subsequent vocal ass-kicking I got from Winnie, asking to meet at 7:00 a.m. for training. Brody used to be Walker’s and my coach. He’s four years older and rode bulls in the PBR for a rookie season before Walker got sick and he stepped back to be closer to home. We never had a conversation about Brody continuing to coach me after Walker was gone, but I promised Walker I’d get us that gold NFR buckle in Vegas, and despite my recent detour into fuckery, I’m determined to see it through.
Without thinking too hard about it, I’ve decided to make some changes. Small ones. Intentional ones. Maybe Walker’s list really is just him kicking my ass from heaven. Wouldn’t be the first time, but it’s definitely the last, so I need to make it count. To start, for the first time since kindergarten, I’m not in school. Last fall, my entire world and schedule revolved around Walker’s illness. His parents brought in hospice when he was sent home, but we all took shifts staying with him so he always woke to a familiar face. I took the middle of the night so his parents could sleep.And because that was the hardest time for Walker—when he was the most irritable. Something about lying around, nothing to do but die, makes the silence and darkness of the middle of the night feel extra shitty.
Once he was gone, it felt weird going back to daytime. Like too bright or something. Too loud. But it’s been months, and I need to join the living, both figuratively and literally. I also need to channel my energy into something worthwhile, or I might lose my fucking mind.
I might as well focus on the promise I made him the day he learned he was going to die. One more gold buckle, for the both of us, but mostly for him.
So here I am.
Brody is short and stocky and everything you imagine a tough-as-nails bull rider to be, except for one thing: the bubble gum.
Lots of riders chew tobacco, but growing up around Walker was enough reason for none of us to want to mess with that. Instead, Brody has always carried around a pack of Big League Chew. The sugary scent precedes him into the barn where I do my training, and I grin, tugging out my AirPods to greet him.
We get right to work on balance. Bull riding takes a lot of guts and strength and conditioning, but the real secret is in the balance. I saw a documentary about J. B. Mauney once, where he talked about balancing on a medicine ball in his cowboy boots for an hour a day, so I’ve decided to make my goal ninety minutes.
I look ridiculous, but do you know how many muscles you engage to balance on a tiny medicine ball? All of them. The answer is all of them.
I’m finishing up on the ball, sweating my ass off and feeling more than a little shaky, when Winnie and a little girl who could be her pint-size twin pull open the heavy barn door and poke their heads in.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” Winnie says, turning an attractive shade of pink. “I didn’t realize—We’ll just—”
“No!” I stop her, wobbling precariously on the ball and whirring my long arms around. I finally get myself back under control and reach toward her. “It’s fine. You can come in.”
Winnie scrunches her nose. “Are you sure? It’ll only be a few minutes. I need a warm spot out of the wind and out of my hair for Garrett to do some schoolwork.”
