Chapter 37
Knox
Kalispell, Montana
Iwarm the rosin up on my rope. This is the last bull of the week, then I get two days off. Kacey and I are both tired, but it’s been amazing having her with me.
I still can’t get over the fact that she took three weeks off and flew out here to help me.
I thought maybe she’d come for a week, not three.
I don’t know a single other person on the planet who would do that for me.
My mom and sister support me, but it’s different.
This isn’t something either of them could help me with.
Kacey had no reason to do this other than the fact that she cares and wants to support me.
It’s cooling off in the Northwest and I’m grateful for it. I have a tough bull tonight, but I’m feeling good, really good actually. Something about having Kacey with me just feels right.
I take my wrap, a deep breath, slide up, and nod. The bull rears up like he’s trying to jump over the opening gate.
Shit.
I climb out over him as far as I can. Thankfully, we avoid a wreck.
He turns back to the left. He has a belly roll at every kick.
I drop my free arm and try to touch my left ear to my left shoulder to keep him from shifting me to the outside.
And the way his loose hide rolls under me makes it that much tougher.
This is going to be a bear fight the entire ride.
No wonder this bull doesn’t get ridden very often and has never been ridden by a righthander. He isn’t what we call rider-friendly.
My internal clock is telling me we have to be getting close to the whistle.
He rolls again and almost gets me to the outside when I use every bit of my core strength to shuffle my hips as hard to the left as I possibly can.
He rears and I drive over him, but something feels off. His back end drops like he’s falling.
The whistle blows, but I’ve slid too far away from my rope, and he has gathered himself back up. I panic and try to get my tail as the bull lunges forward. Like in slow motion, I see the tail of my rope wave in front of me as my free hand misses it by a half inch.
Well, fuck. This isn’t good.
When the bull kicks, he throws my body forward, nearly hitting a horn on the cage of my helmet. I’m hung up, standing on the dirt next to the bull, but my hand is stuck in my rope.
When a bull rider is hung up, his number one goal is to stay on his feet. If you can stay standing, you’re far less likely to get stomped all over. His second goal is to grab his tail and yank it out, freeing his hand, which is much easier to do if you’re on your feet.
Unfortunately for me, this bull is smart and mean.
As soon as he sees me, he turns back into me, slinging his horns, trying to hit me.
I catch one to my right thigh as I reach over him with my free hand, trying to grab my tail.
A bullfighter is on the other side trying to grab it when the bull throws his head at him and catches under a knee, sending him up into the air.
His focus goes back to me, and he gets his head under my chest and bounces my ribs off the top of his horned head—knocking every bit of air out of my lungs. When I make contact the second time, he hits me harder, and my hand comes out of my rope. I get flung through the air and hit the dirt.
I look up, see the bucking chutes, and begin to crawl toward them. Trying to suck in any air I can, hoping the bull isn’t coming back to finish me off. As soon as I reach the chutes, a latch man grabs hold of me and helps me climb the gate.
The bull fighters did well keeping the bull from me while I made an escape.
As soon as he’s out of the arena, I stand at the gate with my arms raised, trying to catch my breath.
Sports Medicine reaches me asking if I’m okay.
I just nod and tell them I need air. It’s going to hurt way worse tomorrow than it is right now.
Trey
You’re supposed to let go.
Great, this must have been on TV.
Knox
Shut up. You’d be here if you would’ve held on.
He sends me the middle finger emoji.
Trey
Seriously though, you good?
Knox
It would be nice if my ribs could stop taking a beating this summer, but yes, I’m fine.
Knox
Now we have approximately twelve good ribs between the two of us. Go us
Trey
Hilarious.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve caught my air and I’m packing my bag when I look over and see Kacey standing on the other side of the panels.
Shit.
She looks worried; I should’ve texted her and told her I was fine. I’m not used to having anyone but Trey around, so it didn’t even cross my mind. I drop my chaps I was folding and head her way.
She has the strap of her purse in a death grip and she’s chewing on her lower lip.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I walk up and wrap her in a hug.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is shaky, but she’s released the death grip on her purse and now has one on me. My ribs are sore—again—but I’m not about to complain about being in her arms.
I’m such an ass. She isn’t used to this stuff. Most of the time, hang ups look worse than they are. I should’ve immediately let her know I was okay.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry I didn’t text you, I’m not used to having someone to text.” I really am fine. I’ll be sore, but I’m not hurt.
“It’s okay, it just freaked me out a little bit. You’re really okay? It didn’t look okay.” She releases me and takes a step back, looking me over like she’ll see an injury.
“It knocked the wind out of me for sure and I might have a bruise on my leg, but I’m not hurt. I promise.” I look into her eyes so she knows it’s nothing to worry about. “I laughed when Trey texted me: you’re supposed to let go.”
She huffs out a laugh. “That’s horrible. If you can avoid wrecks like that, that would be great.” She smiles, but it’s strained. I can tell she’s still shaken.
“I couldn’t agree more. Let me grab my bag and we’ll go back to the truck.”
After I pack up, we grab food from hospitality, then head for the camper and both take showers. I watched the video back while Kacey showered and I’ll admit it didn’t look good, but it also could’ve been a lot worse.
Once we’re both done showering, she’s still quiet.
She’s been quiet all night. I tried asking her about the book she’s reading while we ate earlier, but she was distracted, in her head, giving me short answers.
I’m starting to worry she’s more affected by the danger of the sport than I initially thought.
We’re staying here tonight and have the next two days off.
I’m sitting on the lower bunk searching for a movie to watch as Kacey stands at the counter brushing her hair.
I can smell her shampoo—the scent fills the small space of the camper.
I reach forward, grabbing her hips and gently pull her backward into the bed next to me.
She bends one leg up and turns so she’s facing me.
“Talk to me.”
“About what?” she asks, but I know she knows.
“You know what. You’ve been off all night. I can tell you’re still freaked.”
She brings her other leg up onto the bed and crosses them beneath her.
“Okay, yeah. I’m freaked. You could have been really hurt tonight.
I know it’s a dangerous sport, but it was a lot harder to watch in person than I anticipated.
I just—I . . . .” she trails off, her head down, hand nervously rubbing her forearm.
“Just what, Kace?”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers.
My heart stops in my chest.
I didn’t hear correctly, did I? One bad dismount and she’s threatening to end things?
“I’m sorry—” she starts to say as the first tear rolls down her cheek.
“No.” I push off the bed. I have to stand. I need to pace, but this damn camper is too small. I settle for running my hands through my hair, looping them together on the back of my head. “It was one bad night, but I’m fine. We’re fine. You’ll get used to the minor injuries.”
“You don’t understand.” Another tear rolls down her cheek and I want to go to her, but I can’t breathe.
“Then help me understand, Kace. Things have been great between us. I know you feel it too, so please help me understand where this is coming from.”
“I know and I know Megan messed with your head—”
I cut her off. “She doesn’t matter. It’s you, Kacey; you are it for me.
You're the spark, the flame, the full-blown wildfire I never saw coming. You blazed into my life, lighting my soul on fire. I tried to fight it, I really did. I knew the season would be hard on us both, but we can do it. I know we can. So, please, help me understand.” Because I don’t give a shit about what Megan did, not anymore.
But we can’t figure this out if Kacey doesn’t help me understand.
If I can’t fix this—if we can’t fix this—I don’t think I’ll ever recover.
I don’t say the words because I knew in my gut she isn’t ready to hear them, but I’m in love with her. Hell, I think I’ve been in love with her since that first night on her porch.
“Knox—” she chokes out, fighting back more tears.
“I promise I’m not trying to mess with your head, it’s my head that’s the issue.
Seeing you get tossed around like that .
. . it brings up memories . . . and I can’t watch that happen to you.
” She stands in the small space, leaning against the counter and covers her face with both hands.
“What memories, Kace?” I put my hands on her shoulders until she lowers her hands and looks me in the eyes. And when she does, the look of pure anguish on her face almost brings me to my knees.
“I can’t just sit there and watch you die; I can’t fucking do it again.
I just sat there, helpless, as she died.
” The words tumble out of her mouth between sobs.
Big fat tears start streaming down her face now, and I wipe them away as my heart plummets into my guts.
“The truck came out of nowhere, crashing into the driver's door. It flipped our truck on its side, and I sat in the backseat, begging her to open her eyes, but she never did. The first responders arrived and did C.P.R., and I stood there, watching. But she never woke up.”
Her mom. She watched her mom die.
All I can envision is a little girl inside of a mangled vehicle, watching as her mother dies. She never told me she was also in the vehicle.
“Shit,” I rasp, pulling her into my chest. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I don’t talk about it.” She hiccups.
It all starts to click into place in my mind.
The tremble and tone of her voice the night I was thrown into the chutes.
The panicked texts when Trey got wrecked out.
It’s not just the danger; it’s the helpless feeling of losing those she cares about and not being able to do anything about it.
Most people don’t think about losing people they love until they’re gone, but Kacey walks around every day in fear that I’ll die doing my job.
How do I fix this? Can I fix this?
“Do you want to talk about it? Maybe it will help.”
She’s tense in my arms but nods once.
I move us to the bed, cradling her in my arms. After a few deep breaths, she tells me about that day.
Several times she has to stop and collect herself, calming her breathing.
I don’t ask questions; I just listen and rub her back.
I can’t imagine a seven-year-old having to go through and witness what she did.
When she finishes, we sit quietly for a long while. I don’t want to push her—I know she’s emotionally spent after sharing all of that with me. I want to know if we’re okay, or what I can do to fix this, but I don’t ask.
I just hold her until she says, “I don’t know where we go next.”
My voice sounds like it’s been dragged through glass. “Do you want to break up?” I hate asking that question, but after everything she shared, I can’t stop myself from giving her an out. I love her too much to put her through watching me get hurt and banged up on a regular basis.
“No. But what do we do?”
Hearing that releases some of the pressure on my chest. I know she cares about me—she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.
So, I say the only thing I can think of, the thing my mom always told me when I was little, and my emotions were too much to handle.
“We talk about it. I know it’s hard, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it.
You’re allowed to be scared and anxious. ”
She looks up at me, and I keep going. “I’ve been doing this for years, so I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling.
To me, it’s just part of the game. That being said, I want you to know you can still talk to me about it, or anything, for that matter.
And if we need to, we can find someone else you can talk to.
Have you ever talked to a therapist about this? ”
The more she shared with me about the crash, how bad it was, seeing them try to revive her mom, I’m guessing she has some PTSD. Who wouldn’t?
“No, but I’m open to it. Because it’s not just you, it’s everyone I love. And I’m tired of living in fear all the time. So, I’ll think about it. In the meantime, just . . . be patient with me.”
“I will. Just promise me you’ll talk to me. Bottling things up will only make it worse.”
“I promise. I know I have a tendency to bottle things up. I just don’t want you to think I don’t support you, because it terrifies me. I’m scared because I care about you, thinking about something happening to you is my worst fear.”
“I would never think that.” I kiss the top of her head.
“In a way, being scared for me is being supportive. It shows you care. It’s a dangerous sport and you acknowledge that but choose to be with me and support me anyway—all because it’s what I love to do.
But I promise to be careful, listen to all your fears, and reassure you when things get tough.
Your support means more to me than you will ever know. ”
She shifts, tilting her head up, then kisses me. “Scared or not, I’m not going anywhere. You’re mine, Knox Ward.”
How she knew the exact words I needed to hear, I’ll never know. In this moment, nothing could’ve soothed my worries more than that.
Her sea green eyes are rimmed red, but dry now. “You’re really okay? I need to hear it again.”
“I’m really okay, but if it would make you feel better, I’m happy to show you just how good I feel.”
Now that I think about it, I might not let her leave this bed for the next two days.