Chapter 86
I would not let that man ruin anything else in my life.
I might pretend to be calm, but suspending Cody? No, that was a step too far. With me, he was just trying to protect himself, and I understood that. But with her? This shit he was pulling with J.D. and Tanner? That was all bullshit.
So it was time for him to see what it felt like.
My father hated being backed into a corner, but he sure liked doing it to everyone else.
Too bad for him, I was good at that too.
I'd learned a lot from him in the last few years.
How to keep secrets for one, but also how to use them.
How to slowly gather favors I could later turn into power. And the biggest thing of all?
How to use all that power.
So while everyone else was heading to line up for the closing ceremony that was currently being extended to hide the mess going on back here, I found the stairs that led to the sound booth.
My hope was Austin's "unfortunate" accident would keep my old man busy just long enough for me to make this happen.
When I reached the top, I quietly stepped into the room, then turned and locked the door behind me. The video guy looked over in confusion.
"Jake?" he asked
That made my brother spin his chair around. "What the hell, man? You're supposed to be down there."
"Yeah, and Merrill just suspended Cody because she defended herself against Austin," I said, heading over to him. "You have to help me."
And that made the announcer look up. "That's what the chatter was about?"
Right. These guys all had headsets to keep things organized. Ok, I'd forgotten about that. I also had no clue where we were in the mess of this, so I moved to the far wall to see what was going on down there.
Currently, the buckle girls were all posing around Cletus, who was doing his best to dance to the song that was playing. Ok, that would give me a couple of seconds to explain this.
"Austin tried to kill her. She stabbed him. Now she's the one suspended, and the president is trying to cover up his corruption. I want to expose it."
"All?" Clay asked, and there was fear in his eyes.
"Most," I decided. "This time."
And to my surprise, the announcer simply pulled off his headset and offered it up. "Do you know how to do this?"
"Nope," I said.
"I got you," Clay promised. "Jake, all you have to do is talk when I point at you. From there, you'll have the floor until I make a slash." And he gestured at his neck, showing what he meant.
"Can you give me a record scratch to break me in?" I asked.
"He's a natural," the video guy said.
So I looked at him. "Anything you have of Cody from this weekend, along with J.D. and Tanner? That would be great. Not just them, but you know, mix it up?"
"I can wing it," he promised. "May not be pretty, but I have a feeling they won't notice."
So I slipped the headset on and moved to stand where I could see. I knew the moment I did this, I was going to be suspended as well, but I was counting on one single thing to keep that from happening. If I didn't give out his big secret?
Then again, I'd said something in front of Cody and her guys.
They knew, but Don didn't realize that. He also thought they were all but gone, so I could do this.
I'd make it work. I would make sure he couldn't keep destroying the Pbr to protect himself, his ego, and his "happy" little family that didn't include me.
So I told Clay, "Let's do this."
Through the speakers on this headset, the record scratch sound came back crisp and at normal volume. The music died. In the middle of the arena, the lights came on, and Cletus stopped his bad dancing routine.
"This," I said, trying to keep my voice clear and smooth, "is not your regularly scheduled entertainment."
Clay held up a finger like he wanted me to pause. Down there, I could see people looking, but after only a second, my brother pointed again.
"This is a takeover by the riders of the Pbr.
You may have noticed something going on lately.
The rider strike in North Carolina. The bulls who were sent out wearing only a rope yesterday.
Tonight, that continued with riders making sure they were bucked off before getting a score. The question is why."
And again, Clay gestured for me to pause.
That was when Cletus replied. "Who's this? What's goin' on?"
And Clay pointed at me. "I am Jake Cunningham, ranked fourth in the world standings. I'm not one of the big names. I'm the guy who just keeps riding, scoring well enough to continue moving up. I'm also not here for my own issues. I'm here because the Pbr's judges have become corrupt."
And Clay shoved a flat hand at me, making it clear that was a hard stop.
Across from us, the big screen started playing a clip of J.D.
's ride. I could see the men around me talking, but I couldn't hear them.
These headphones were meant to block that out, but the video?
It showed J.D. right in there, doing everything we were expected to do - and then it flashed to his worst rider score of the weekend. Again Clay pointed.
"All the riders want? Fairness. They demand to be judged for their rides, not their personal lives. It shouldn't matter what race they are, how often they go to church, or if one of us happens to be a woman."
I got the stop motion again, and this time the video was of Cody. This time, it was short clips of her at all her events. Time after time, she rode like she was born up there, but overlaid on top of it were her ever-declining scores.
And I was figuring out this system. When Clay pointed, I picked right back up.
"What about the bullfighters? You all love our Deviant Rescue Squad, right?
Three brave men willing to jump between a rider and a bull.
And this weekend, they're proud to show off their new sponsor, but why did they need one?
Well, that was because they were suspended over things that happened outside of the arena: who someone dated. Now, how stupid is that?"
And Clay turned to me with a shit-eating grin. On the big screen, zoomed in so it couldn't be confused, J.D. and Tanner walked toward each other. It took me a second to understand why he was playing this clip, but then I realized it was their kiss! Someone had caught it on camera!
Yet just as they leaned in, a big heart bubbled up, covering their mouths, faces, and then the entire screen.
"Like it or not, we don't get to pick what someone does with their own life.
We certainly shouldn't bring that into the workplace, and this?
This is our career. We bull riders have dedicated our lives to being able to do this.
We were raised on keeping our nose out of everyone's business and pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps.
Well, disqualifying and suspending anyone we don't like is the exact opposite of that! "
And pictures started to roll like a well-crafted slideshow. They had riders warming up, friends congratulating each other, and plenty of handshakes or back-thumping hugs down there on the dirt. That? It was the camaraderie we shared, put into a visible form.
But Clay was rolling his hand, making it clear I should keep talking.
"Tonight, one of our own was attacked by another!
That crosses a line. Naturally, we expected punishment.
We expected the Pbr's management to handle it.
Instead, the victim was blamed. The victim was suspended.
The attacker? I have no idea what punishment he's going to face - or if there will be any. "
Then Clay pointed down. I was confused until I saw the riders starting to walk out, but this wasn't the normal sort of line we had. No, this was more like a dam bursting and the thing held inside flowing where it wasn't wanted.
They weren't lining up. They were moving to make a mass in the middle of where the bulls bucked for us. Groups, pairs, and more until they were simply one giant blob down there, and the whole time, I kept talking.
"The president of the Pbr told us to shut up, line up, and perform for you, our fans, like trained monkeys!
We were expected to make sure the show went on, not caring if our friend was hurt.
Not knowing what happened to the one who dared to make a friendly competition into something deadly. But we are not cogs in a machine."
I pulled in a breath. "We. Are. Bull riders!"
And down there, every man in the arena lifted his hand to the sky in a show of solidarity.
"So reach out on social media. Pick up the phone. Whatever way you're comfortable with, use it. Tell the Pbr if you support this sort of thing - or if, like us, you just want to see good bull riding, fair judging, and to know the winner really is the best of the best, not just the most popular."
The big screen was still going, and it shifted to the bullfighters, which made me realize I was forgetting something.
"Show your love for the men who take the risks that scare even us. Pick your favorite bullfighter. Post under the videos on YouTube. Send a tweet. Tag the Pbr on Instagram. Share our TikTok’s, and follow the riders you support.
That? It's how you, the fans, can help. That's all we need, because this?
This is about the toughest sport on dirt.
It's about seeing who's man enough - or woman enough - to last a full eight seconds with a bull.
It's about the feeling of invincibility that comes when the lights go off and the music gets loud. "
And I made a circle of my own, letting them know I was wrapping up.
"This is professional bull riding. We're not here for a popularity contest or to make anyone happy.
We're here because we all grew up a little more country than everyone else.
Doesn't matter if that was in downtown Nashville or the middle of nowhere, Alberta, Canada.
These men have come from all across the world to prove they really do have what it takes, and all we ask is for the chance to prove it. Fairly."
And Clay slashed across his throat.
The lights went dark - all of them. And down there, right in front of the riders, a flame flickered to life. It grew and traveled. Within seconds, the letters P, B, and R were burning, the only illumination in here, just enough to let me see the riders making their way out of the arena.
And then the lights began to come back up. I pulled off the headset, aware that was the end of the show, and held it out.
"You're a natural," the announcer told me. "Let me know when you want to change from riding to announcing."
I just chuckled. "I'm about to be suspended for that, and if Donald Merrill asks, I made all of you do this."
"Nope," the video guy said. "We think this is shit too."
I nodded. "Yeah. Well... thank you."
And I turned for the door, ready to accept my fate, and hopefully with as much grace as Cody had. But just before I reached it, Clay stopped me.
"Jake? Is she ok?"
"Cody?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Austin choked her hard enough she can barely speak," I said. "He tore her shirt open, and her head's bleeding, but yeah, she's ok. She's a bull rider. She's not going to let this stop her."
"Then you shouldn't either," he told me. "Use that trump card, Jake." But he paused to lick his lips almost nervously. "And text me her room number so we can send flowers?"
"Or come visit?" I suggested. "I mean, she knows you've been helping."
"We all have," the video guy told me. "We're also not blind, so if Donald wants to pick a fight? Well, he should've realized that he'd catch a lot more with honey than vinegar."
"True that," I agreed, and finally left.
But as I made my way down the stairs, I remembered something the guys had said. Tanner was sugar, J.D. was spice, and Cody was everything nice. I'd taken that as something all girly and pretty, but now I realized they hadn't meant it like that.
She was the smile that made someone feel appreciated. She was the reason to step up when we thought we were too weak. She was someone to lean on when we needed it most. Those were the nice things.
And that? It wasn't something I was going to let my father chase off without a fight. A real big and ugly one. He might knock us down, but we were bull riders.
We would always get back up.