Chapter 29 #2
I can hear June somewhere in the noise. Can’t make out the words, but her voice reaches me anyway, a distant anchor in the storm. She’s there. She’s watching. She believes I can do this.
Brutus bucks again, a massive, earth-shaking motion that rattles my bones and threatens to liquify my spine. I absorb it through my hips, let it roll through my body, and keep my upper half as stable as possible.
My free hand stays up. It has to. Looking confident is part of surviving Brutus, part of the scoring, part of the show.
Suddenly, he drops, plants his front hooves, and kicks his back end so high that for one heart-stopping moment, I’m looking straight down at the ground. I’m nearly vertical, clinging to a living cliff face, gravity trying to tear me loose.
I hold. I don’t know how, but I do.
Brutus lands and immediately spins, trying to catch me off-balance from the recovery. I move with him, barely, my body operating on pure instinct now because my brain checked out about three seconds into this nightmare.
The crowd is a distant roar. The buzzer sounds.
Eight seconds.
Eight fucking seconds that felt like eight years.
Relief crashes through me so hard it nearly knocks me loose. My body wants to go limp, wants to collapse, wants to surrender to the exhaustion and pain that’s been building with every passing heartbeat.
Not yet. Not until I’m clear.
I wait for Brutus to buck again, use the upward motion to push myself off his back, release the rope I’d been gripping for dear life, and hit the dirt running.
My legs feel like they’re filled with fire instead of muscle.
My forearm is completely numb from the elbow down.
But I’m moving, I’m upright, and I’m getting distance between myself and the animal who just tried to destroy me.
Brutus kicks and struts across the arena, clearly pleased with himself. His head tosses, snorting at the crowd, and I swear he’s taking a victory lap even though he lost. That’s Brutus. Win or lose, he owns the room.
The crowd is going absolutely berserk. I climb up and over the enclosure and head to the announcer. I grab the microphone from him.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” My voice is ragged, rough, barely recognizable as human. I don’t care. The adrenaline is still pumping, the crowd is still roaring, and I have something to say.
“Let me be clear about something.” I turn to face Brutus, who’s now standing in the center of the arena, watching me with those dark, intelligent eyes. “I didn’t win today. He did.”
The crowd murmurs, confused.
“This bull right here,” I continue, gesturing at Brutus, “is the most incredible animal I’ve ever had the privilege of riding. Ninety-seven percent buck-off rate. Years of dominance. A legend in every sense of the word.”
Brutus snorts, as if agreeing.
“I stayed on for eight seconds. That’s all, and let me tell you, those were the longest eight seconds of my life.
” I laugh, still shaking, still riding the high.
“So when you go home tonight, when you tell people about what you saw, make sure you’re telling the right story.
This wasn’t about me conquering Brutus. This was about Brutus letting me survive. ”
The crowd erupts again, louder than before. They’re cheering for the bull now, cheering for the legend, giving him the recognition he deserves.
“Welcome back, Brutus!” I shout into the microphone. “The rodeo has missed you, you beautiful, terrifying bastard!”
Brutus tosses his head, grunts, and resumes his parade around the arena. The handlers have given up trying to wrangle him. They’re just letting him have his moment, watching with a mix of amusement and terror as the black menace struts past the cheering crowd.
I drop the microphone and turn toward the rails.
My body is screaming at me now. Every muscle aches, every joint protests, and my forearm is starting to throb as feeling returns to it. I can feel blood soaking through my glove, can feel bruises forming on bruises, can feel the exhaustion trying to drag me down.
But my pack is waiting for me.
June reaches me first. She throws herself over the rail, not waiting for me to come to her, and suddenly she’s in my arms, her body pressed against mine, her face buried in my neck.
“You did it,” she’s saying, over and over.
I hold her tight, breathless. Seth and Carter are there a second later, and then it’s all of us, tangled together at the edge of the arena while ten thousand people continue to lose their minds.
Carter is slapping my back hard enough to leave marks.
Seth is gripping my shoulder with the kind of intensity that says he was more worried than he’ll ever admit.
“That was insane,” Carter states. “Literally insane. I swear I had three heart attacks watching you.”
“Only three?” I manage, forcing a crooked grin. “I had at least seven.”
“You’re never doing that again,” June says, and when she pulls back to look at me, her eyes are wet. Not drama. Real fear. The kind that crawls under your ribs and stays there. “Never. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I mean it, Kai.” Her voice wobbles on my name. “My heart can’t take it.”
“I know.” I cup her face in my hands, sweat on my skin, and I don’t care about any of it.
All I worry about is the way she’s holding herself together by sheer will, the way she’s staring at me as if she was already planning a life and I almost ripped it out from under her.
“I know. And I promise you, that was the first and last time. One ride with Brutus is plenty for a lifetime.”
Her laugh breaks out, shaky and wet, relief tangled with fear and something softer that makes my chest tighten. I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth, each one quick and gentle because I’m still keyed up and I don’t trust myself not to turn it into something deeper.
“Come on,” Seth says. “Let’s get you cleaned up before the closing ceremonies.”
“And maybe some ice,” Carter adds. “Lots of ice. You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“I got hit by something worse,” I mutter, glancing back at the arena as they lead Brutus toward the gate.
The bull goes with that slow, deliberate swagger of a creature that knows he owns the place. His performance is done, his point made, and even in defeat, he looks untouchable. King of every man who ever thought he could control him.
I tighten my arm around June as we start walking, holding her close so she can feel what I’m trying to say without words.
As we make our way through the crowd, people reach out to clap me on the shoulder, to shake my hand, to tell me what a ride that was. I accept the praise graciously, but my attention keeps drifting back to June walking beside me.
“That is something I will never forget,” I say quietly, more to myself than to anyone else.
June squeezes my hand. “None of us will.”
And she’s right. Years from now, decades from now, we’ll remember this moment. The day Brutus came out of retirement. The day I survived eight seconds on the most dangerous bull in rodeo history. The day that proved, beyond any doubt, that I would do anything for the people I love.
The afternoon sun is warm on my face as we walk away from the arena. Behind us, the crowd is still buzzing, still replaying the ride in their conversations, still chanting Brutus’s name.
In front of us, the rest of our lives are waiting.
And I can’t wait to see what comes next.