Chapter 6 #2
“Eighty-six points!” the announcer boomed. “First ride of the night, and he just set the bar!”
The crowd erupted. I cheered along with them until my throat burned.
Brock crossed the arena, eyes scanning the stands. He spotted me almost instantly. His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, then he tipped his hat.
Ten minutes later, he found me. I was watching the other competitors ride, cringing whenever someone got thrown. He’d changed out of his gear and into normal clothes, his bag hanging from one shoulder.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“So soon?”
“Got lucky and rode first. We can beat the traffic if we leave now.”
“Don’t you want to stay and watch the rest?”
He shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it from the stands. I’ll check the results on the road.”
He was already moving. I quickly grabbed my handbag and fell in step beside him. Without missing a beat, he headed straight for the parking lot like the rest of the rodeo didn’t matter anymore.
We loaded up and pulled out of the grounds, the roar of the crowd fading behind us.
Twenty minutes later, we stopped at a drive-through outside Cody. He ordered two burgers, fries, and two coffees like my opinion wasn’t required.
I didn’t argue. Mostly because he’d picked exactly what I would’ve gotten anyway, which somehow annoyed me more.
The mountains had faded into shades of purple, the last traces of daylight disappearing behind them. Brock picked up his phone from the cupholder, unlocked it one-handed, and scrolled for a few seconds.
He set it back down.
“Third,” he said.
“That’s good, right?”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. I could see it in the way his thumb tapped the steering wheel twice, then went still.
“Two guys barely beat you,” I said. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s third.”
“It’s prize money.”
He glanced over at me. “Since when do you know about prize money?”
“Since I spent a week researching you.”
He didn’t answer, but his grip on the wheel eased up a little.
The road stretched out empty and dark ahead of us. Headlights cut a narrow tunnel through the night while the radio played nothing but static. Neither of us bothered turning it off.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“You’re gonna anyway.”
“You just walked out of your own event early. You didn’t even wait to see the final standings.”
“That bother you?”
“It confuses me. You’re really good at this, but it doesn’t seem like you actually enjoy it.”
“I like ridin’ fine.”
“Fine?”
He shrugged. “I’m good at it. That’s not the same as it being what I’d choose.”
I hadn’t expected that. “So what would you rather do?”
“The ranch.” He said it flat, like it was obvious.
Fence posts ticked by in the dark.
“It pays the bills,” he added after a beat. “That’s why I do it.”
“Sounds like just a job to you.”
He glanced over at me. “Same reason you’re here, no? You didn’t fly out here chasing me around with that phone ‘cause it was your dream.”
I looked out the window. “No. It wasn’t.”
He shifted in his seat. “I love rodeos, but if I could run the ranch without having to get on a bronc every weekend, I would. That place needs all of us.”
I thought about what Wren had told me, how he turned down the big events so he could get back to the ranch by morning. How he wrecked his body doing twice the rides for half the money just so he never had to be gone long.
"The ranch must mean a lot to all of you."
“It was my mom’s family’s land. Five generations.” He paused, eyes on the dark road. “After she died, we just kept it going. Felt like the only thing we could do.”
I stayed quiet. I hadn’t heard any of them mention her, not once.
“When did she pass?” I asked.
“Eight years ago. She was forty-four.”
“I’m sorry.”
The highway hummed under the tires for a long stretch.
“Can I ask something else? And you can tell me to mind my own business.” I hesitated. “When your sister mentioned your brother, everyone went quiet. Is he…?” I let the question trail off.
“Knox left us about six months before our mom passed away. Didn’t even come back for the funeral.”
He said it flat, with no heat at all. That somehow made it worse.
“I can see why you don't talk about it,” I said quietly.
“Yeah.”
The headlights swept across another line of fence posts. I thought about the video from the bar.
“That fight in the bar… that was about your family, wasn’t it?”
Brock’s jaw flexed. “Guy knew who I was. Said Mom would roll over in her grave watchin’ me chase buckles while the ranch fell apart. Then he threw in that at least Knox had the sense to walk away.”
He was gripping the steering wheel tight.
“So yeah,” he said.
He didn’t say anything else. Neither did I. The silence stretched long and heavy between us as the road kept rolling.
Something still nagged at me. I’d watched that video more than a dozen times. The camera had been too steady for someone pulling out their phone in the middle of a bar fight.
“He’s lucky it was only one punch,” I said.
Brock glanced over. For a second, I thought he was going to say something. Instead, he reached across, stole the last fry from the bag on my lap, and popped it in his mouth.
“That was mine,” I protested.
“Consider it payment.”
“For what?”
“For making me drink that pink crap in the sun.”
I smiled out the window where he couldn’t see.
He reached for the radio and slowly twisted the dial until a slow country song came through. He left it there and rested his hand back on the wheel. The road stretched straight and empty ahead, nothing but headlights cutting through the dark.
Another slow song started. My eyes grew heavy. The warm cab, the steady hum of the engine, and the long day finally caught up with me.
“You can sleep,” he said. “Still a ways to go.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been blinking hard for the last five minutes.”
I turned my head to look at him. The glow from the dash lit his face from below, soft and blue. He looked tired too.
“Wake me when we’re close,” I said.
“Sure.”
I rested my head against the cool window. The vibration of the road hummed through the glass, the music played low, and his breathing stayed steady beside me. I told myself I’d just close my eyes for a minute…
The next thing I knew, my cheek was pressed against something warm.
I blinked awake, disoriented. The truck was still moving, the radio humming softly through the cab.
Then I realized where I was. Brock’s shoulder.
My face went hot. I sat up fast, trying to play it cool. He rolled his shoulder in a slow circle and let out a long breath.
“Thank God. My arm went numb about forty-five minutes ago.”
I glanced at the dash clock. “I slept on you for an hour?”
“Give or take.”
I stared at him. He kept driving, that stupid almost-smile tugging at his mouth.
“You could’ve pushed me off.”
He chuckled low, eyes on the road. “Tried. You bit me.”
“I did not.”
“You don’t remember. You were out cold.”
We drove in silence for another minute. Then the engine made a soft click, followed by a rattle. Brock’s smile disappeared.
“What was that?” I asked.
The rattle came again, louder. The headlights flickered. The engine coughed, caught, then died completely.
The truck rolled slower and slower on the gravel shoulder until it finally drifted to a stop. Total silence swallowed everything.
Brock turned the key. Nothing.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
He sat back and stared through the windshield into the dark. I checked my phone. No signal.
“Brock.”
“Yeah.”
“Where are we?”
He looked at me, then out at the empty black stretching in every direction.
“About thirty miles from anywhere.”