41. Cole
COLE
“Who’d you get?”
I look up from where I’ve been sitting on my tailgate, watching video footage of my bull’s last few rides. Wyatt, Brady, and Jagger approach, all three of them wearing their Rattlesnake Ranch pearl snap shirts, looking every bit official, stopping by me to get the run down.
“Hateful Dread,” I tell them, releasing a hard breath. Of all the bulls in the draw, I picked the meanest, most notorious one on the roster. Just my fuckin’ luck.
“Who’d Watson get?” Wyatt asks, pulling up to sit next to me.
“Brick,” I deadpan, thinking of Stanley Watson’s constant good luck when it comes to picking bulls.
Brady guffaws, throwing his head back. “It’s gotta be fuckin’ rigged.”
I shrug, glancing at Wyatt. “Girls here yet?”
“They should be pulling in any second,” he says, checking the time on his watch.
Clara and the kids were driving in from Summer with Darcy and Bailey, since I had to be here a few hours earlier for registration.
And despite picking the biggest bull of the draw, I’m feeling pretty good about tonight.
The purse is huge, as it always is at this event.
All I gotta do is stay on the back of Hateful Dread for eight seconds and the ten grand’s as good as mine because ain’t no other fucker pull a bull worth as many points as I did.
“You seen that fucker around?” Brady asks, scanning the crowd.
“Watson?”
He nods, teeth gritted hard if his clenched jaw is any indication.
“Pfft, nah.” I shake my head. “Asshole’s probably snortin’ lines in his trailer.”
My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I tug it out of my pocket, unable to contain my shit-eating grin at the sight of Clara’s name on the screen.
Clara: We’re here.
I feel the tension I’d been storing in my shoulders ease—it’s the same tension that appears every time Clara and the kids aren’t nearby, where I know they’re safe. They’re here now. They’re safe. And fuck, I can’t wait to see them.
We’re still staying at the farrier’s cottage on the ranch despite no more than a few quick-passing thunderstorms during the week.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the whole tornado lie—the weather’s been better than expected.
There’s been no sighting of Cain, or anyone hanging around Summer who shouldn’t be, but I know someone’s out there because I’ve got the fuckin’ tracker I found tucked deep under the driver’s seat in Clara’s car as proof that I ain’t crazy.
So I’m not comfortable sending them back to my house just yet.
And Clara hasn’t mentioned it, so I haven’t brought it up either.
Besides, Billie and Tommy love being at Rattlesnake.
Every day after school I’ve taken them on an adventure in one of the Gators and the way their faces light up, I know they’re having the time of their lives.
Plus, Mama Joy loves having them there, and Austin said they’re welcome to stay as long as they want. Why leave?
Me: Come give your man a good luck kiss when you can, darlin.
Clara: Billie just spotted the ferris wheel… we might be a minute.
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Chrissake, brother.” Brady snorts a laugh causing my head to snap up only to see that it’s me he’s laughing at.
I deadpan, glaring at Wyatt to see him biting back his own smirk. “What?”
Bringing his fist to his mouth, Brady fakes a cough. “Whipped.” Cough.
I roll my eyes, jumping down off my tailgate. “Fuck yeah, I am. So what?”
The hint of a smile cracks Jagger’s face when I throw him a conspiratorial wink on my way past. “Come on, dickheads,” I call over my shoulder, heading for the holding pens. “Let’s go size up this mean motherfucker.”
The steel rattles around me as Hateful Dread slams his shoulder against the chute, making the entire frame shudder, causing dust to shake loose from the rails. The bull’s hide is black as midnight, streaked with battle scars making every inch of him look even meaner.
Eight seconds.
That’s all.
Eight seconds for ten grand.
Everything else is just noise. None of it matters. Not the crowd. Not the announcer. Not the music. Not the rattling steel of the chute. Just me and Hateful Dread.
Eight seconds. Eight fucking seconds.
I sit low over the bull’s shoulders, gloved hand wrapped around the rope so tight my fingers ache.
Hateful Dread shifts beneath me, eighteen-hundred pounds of pure muscle and animosity packed into a living earthquake.
His hide twitches under my legs. Every movement feels loaded, like a bomb counting down, ready to go off.
The chute vibrates as he slams into the steel causing the entire structure to shudder violently again.
Someone outside yells something but I don’t hear the words.
My eyes drift automatically toward the stands. Toward Clara. I spot her instantly. Pink sundress, honey hair bright beneath the glow of the setting sun. Billie sitting on her lap, bouncing up and down excitedly. Tommy sitting beside her, trying to look tougher than a ten year old has any right to.
They’re smiling. Watching me. And fuck I love having them here.
But my stomach knots because I can’t stop looking beyond them.
Scanning, searching every crowd for a shadow that looks like someone who don’t belong, who shouldn’t be here.
A baseball cap pulled too low. A man standing too still.
A face disappearing behind another. I’ve had this same feeling all week because I know he’s here. He’s close. Watching. Waiting.
My heart hammers harder in my chest, but not from the bull or what I know is about to happen the second the gate opens, but because Clara doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how close to danger she might be, and fuck, I hate lyin’ to her.
The flank strap is tightened and Hateful Dread explodes, thrashing against the gate again. The steel rattles and the crowd roars.
“Come on, Cole!”
Tommy’s voice somehow manages to cut through everything and I smile despite myself. But then my smile disappears because another voice cuts through, echoing around my skull.
The doctor.
One more bad concussion, and you may not recover fully.
You need to stop.
I tighten my grip. Not today. Not when I’m this close. Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve bled for. I can almost taste it.
“You ready, Cole?” the chute boss asks.
No. Not even close. I never am. But I nod anyway and less than a second later the gate swings open and all hell breaks loose.
Hateful Dread launches forward like he’s been fired from a cannon, the first jump nearly tearing my arm clear from its socket.
I snap forward. Back. Forward. The world around me blurs, pure chaos mixed with unrestrained violence.
He bucks high, causing my teeth to smash together.
He twists left like I suspected he might, I counter.
He spins right, and the arena disappears into streaks of color, the crowd noise becoming one deafening scream.
I don’t think. I react. Years of riding taking over my instincts, hips moving, arm swinging, legs squeezing. Every single muscle firing off at once.
Hateful Dread is one pissed off motherfucker.
He’s trying to kill me. I feel it in the way he changes.
He’s meaner, bigger, more unpredictable.
He launches upward and twists midair and the force whips my head sideways causing white light to flash behind my eyes.
Pain shoots through me—sharp and instant—like a warning.
My stomach drops. Not now. Stay on. Dammit, stay the fuck on.
The doc’s voice is gone. Clara’s face flashes through my head.
Billie’s giggle, Tommy’s knowing grin. And suddenly it hits me.
The possibility of waking up one day unable to remember any of them.
The possibility of never waking up at all.
It’s like a sucker punch and it hits hard.
Before, I had nothing to lose. Now, I have everything to lose.
For a half-second I want off. I want my boots on the ground. I want to be sitting on the other side of the fence. I want a normal life. I want a life. But then Hateful Dread bucks again, and survival is my only option. I need to last.
The crowd is chanting my name. I hear it. I feel it.
The bull spins so violently, my body is almost perpendicular to the ground, my free hand skimming the dirt.
My balance falters and everything slows.
This is how riders die. One mistake. One inch too far.
One heartbeat. I can feel myself start to slip, but the instinct and possibly something else saves me, and I shift my hips and find my center, recovering at the last millisecond.
The horn screams, cutting through the roar of the crowd. Eight seconds.
I yank my hand free and launch myself clear, hitting the dirt hard. Rolling, I get up and run as fast as my jelly legs can carry me, my boots slipping in the dirt.
Hateful Dread charges past me, the bullfighters dressed as clowns move in, but the bull keeps bucking long after it’s over, furious he didn’t beat me.
I stagger to a stop near the fence, pulling myself up and over. My eyes meet the black stare of the beast and call me crazy, but I feel something pass between us, a gratitude of sorts. A mutual respect.
Breathing hard, my chest burns as the scoreboard flashes and then the numbers appear. A massive score—higher than Stanley Watson—highest of the day. And for a second I just stare. I did it. The points. The win. The ride everyone’ll be talking about long after it’s over.
I turn, looking up to the crowd, seeing all my friends cheering me on, my eyes meeting Clara’s and spotting something I ain’t ever seen in anyone’s gaze when they’ve looked at me before. Pride.
Billie is jumping up and down. Tommy’s throwing fists into the air. And my heart swells.
For one perfect moment, everything feels worth it. But then suddenly the world tilts. A strange pressure blooms behind my eyes. I blink hard, turning away, the arena around me shifting sideways just enough for my stomach to drop.
No. Not now.
I take a step, but the ground feels soft. I take another step, and the cheers of the crowd grow distant, like I’m underwater. I think I hear someone calling my name. Wyatt. Maybe Brady. Or… Mama?
Suddenly it’s as if my legs feel like they’re disconnected from my body. The pressure in my skull spikes white-hot. My knees buckle and the crowd noise vanishes. For one terrifying second there’s only silence. I reach for the rail, but miss and the world spins sideways.
I try to focus on the stands. On my girl up there.
But instead of Clara, I see nothing but a haze of misty figures, like ghosts in the darkness.
Faces blurred. Voices distorted. And then everything goes black like night, and the last thing I hear before I hit the dirt is the sound of someone screaming my name.