Chapter 4
Fable
“Fuck him. Fuck him so hard.” Harleigh was fuming as we climbed the stairs back to the VIP area where my colleagues were mingling.
Despite everything, I couldn’t leave. This was my event, my project, and if anything went wrong, the blame would fall squarely on me.
Harleigh and I found a small corner toward the back, away from most of the crowd. She pulled two chairs over, her expression softening as she gestured for me to sit.
“I can cover for you,” she offered gently.
“No. I’m fine.”
I sat down, surprised by how much I meant it. The brick on my chest, the one I’d been carrying for years, felt lighter. Maybe tomorrow the pain would settle in deeper, but in this moment, I could finally breathe.
For once, I didn’t feel the urge to run to the bathroom or obsess over how close I was to the dirt and grime of the arena below. I simply sat, the chaos around me distant.
I let out a sigh, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
“My parents died right before I met him. It’ll be weird, you know?
Without him. Mike and I dated all through college, so he was my family.
It feels like I’m losing the only family I have left.
” I paused, my chest tightening. “I’m sure it’ll hit me tomorrow. ”
Harleigh slid her chair closer, wrapping me in a warm side hug. “You’ve got me, Fabs. I’m your family.”
I smiled softly, leaning into her. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
I did, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Losing someone who felt like family, even when they were awful to you, still stung in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack.
“One night,” she said, breaking the silence.
I turned to her, brow raised. “One night?”
“Yeah. Just give it one night. No heavy shit, no wallowing. Come stay with me tonight. We’ll deal with everything tomorrow morning.”
I swallowed hard, thinking it over. She was right. I could give myself one night—one chance to feel normal, to celebrate the fact that I’d pulled off the biggest event of my career.
“You’re right,” I said finally. “One night.”
“Roger, can you pass me a-another?” I stammered, gripping the edge of the black fence as tightly as I could.
I wasn’t a big drinker, and I wasn’t drunk, but I was borderline tipsy. The final bull rider was climbing into the chute, the energy in the arena thick with anticipation.
Roger handed me another beer. “Careful now.”
I tipped the cowboy hat I’d stolen from him and smiled. “Yee-haw,” I shouted, raising the beer in mock celebration.
Harleigh doubled over laughing, clutching her side as if I were the funniest thing she’d seen all night.
John appeared at my side, his face amused but curious. “I love how passionate you are about this. I didn’t realize you were into bull riding?”
I shrugged, still watching the arena, my voice louder than usual thanks to the adrenaline coursing through me. “Me either, honestly. But I love the rush. The dirt, the grime—it’s raw, you know?”
John nodded, his expression thoughtful as I continued.
“It’s more than just a sport. There are so many moving parts, so many people making this happen, and yet the concept is so simple—stay on the bull for eight seconds.”
Roger gave my shoulders a squeeze. “She gets it.”
Harleigh raised her beer. “That’s my girl,” she said, and I laughed.
The last rider was up—currently sitting in second place. It was the older guy with the distinctive mustache they kept calling Beau. He stood out like a beacon, wearing a bright gold helmet and red chaps that practically glowed under the arena lights.
Roger leaned closer, his voice low. “The bull he’s on is wild. I know the sire line—one hundred percent buck rate. This one’s no joke.”
The cowboy gave a sharp nod, signaling he was ready. The gate swung open, and the bull exploded out, kicking and twisting with relentless power. The rider held on, his body moving in perfect rhythm with the animal’s chaotic energy.
The crowd roared, but I barely heard it, my focus locked on the rider. His face was tight with concentration, every muscle in his body engaged.
Seven seconds.
His free hand stretched high in the air, the bull bucking harder than I’d seen all night. It was mesmerizing, almost unreal, the way man and beast moved together in that battle for control.
Eight seconds.
The buzzer rang. He’d done it.
The arena erupted in cheers, the sound deafening as the crowd leaped to their feet. It was obvious from their reaction that this ride had just taken first place.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“Beau completed his one-thousandth ride, and ladies and gentlemen, we have our champion—Beaudreau Banks!”
The cheers and applause shook the walls as Beau raised his hand in triumph. It was chaos, unpredictable and dirty, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
“Wow,” I shouted in awe. “That was fucking amazing.”
Harleigh nodded. “Cool, right? This is what Dad and I did growing up.”
“Why the fuck would you ever want to move up here? If I grew up around this, I’d be hooked.”
I didn’t care if it was dirty or gross. I was fascinated with the energy of it all.
Harleigh shrugged casually. “Dunno. I wanted a change. And honestly? After I got my degree, working for a badass like you has been worth it.”
Her words caught me off guard, and I turned to her, warmth spreading through my chest. I pulled her into a quick hug. “Thank you for pushing me to come tonight,” I whispered, meaning every word.
As the crowd slowly filtered out to their cars, the buzz of the evening began to settle, but for us, the night wasn’t over yet.
We were about to tour the backstage area—the locker rooms, the chutes, and the heart of the operation—with the Bucking Energy team and a handful of important guests and influencers.
Before catching Mike and Trishelle in the hallway, the thought of going backstage would have been unbearable. The grime, the dirt, the overwhelming smell of sweat and animals—it all would’ve been too much for me. I would’ve found an excuse, any excuse, to stay behind.
Something had shifted. When John and the guide announced it was our turn to head back, I didn’t hesitate. I was already halfway out of my chair, practically leading the group.
I waved at Harleigh, who was doubled over laughing. “Look at you,” she called after me.
“Gotta go, kiddo,” Roger said as I paused near the entrance. “Come visit us at the ranch sometime soon.”
I turned and hugged him. “Thanks for teaching me everything. Without you, I’d still be calling them cowboy riding people.”
He chuckled and patted me on the back. “Glad I could help, kid.” Then he turned to say goodbye to Harleigh, leaving us to rejoin the group.
I slipped off my jacket, tying it around my waist as if loosening my layers would make it easier to breathe.
“I hope someone sends me a good-looking rider tonight.” Harleigh teased as she fell into step beside me, her grin wide and mischievous.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You mean you haven’t scouted the whole roster already?”
“Alright, folks, we’re going to cross the arena and head back to the chutes,” the guide announced. “After that, I’ll show you the locker rooms and some of the gear bags, then you’ll head out through the north entrance.”
I froze, my chest tightening as his words sank in. Crossing the arena?
I grabbed Harleigh’s hand, pulling her back before she could follow the group. She stopped, turning to look at me with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“We have to . . . cross the arena?” I managed, my voice shaky.
“It’s sand, Fable. Just sand.”
Panic rose in my chest. “No, it’s not sand. It’s full of fecal matter and . . . and . . .”
The thought of stepping into the dirt, of being surrounded by it, was too much.
Watching from a distance was one thing, but being in it was a completely different story.
My eyes dropped to my sparkling boots, pristine and clean, and the idea of ruining them made my stomach churn. “I’ll get these dirty.”
It was a stupid excuse, and it was dumb, but I couldn’t go there. I looked down and waited for the inevitable judgment, the teasing or the eye roll. But Harleigh didn’t do any of that.
Without missing a beat, she turned to John, grabbing his attention. “John, we’re way too pretty to be walking through all that dirt. Mind if we take the back way and meet up with you?”
He gave a quick nod, barely glancing back as he led the group toward the arena.
She smiled, her grip on my hand tightening as she guided me back toward the hallway—the same one where I’d caught Mike and Trishelle earlier.
“Thanks for understanding,” I said meekly, feeling both relieved and embarrassed.
“Always, Fabs,” she replied, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve got you.”
The weight in my chest loosened slightly as we walked, her easy acceptance making the moment feel less humiliating. I might not have been ready to tackle the dirt, but at least I wasn’t facing it—or avoiding it—alone.
“One day, I will be better.”
“It’s okay to ask for accommodations, too. People get it.”
“Mike didn’t.”
“Mike is a dick.”
I giggled. “He’s a douche.”
I laughed, the tension from earlier easing, as Harleigh and I rejoined the rest of the group. We slipped back in as the guide was already explaining the intricacies of the chute system, gesturing toward the gates where the bulls waited.
While his explanation was interesting, my attention drifted to a conversation happening in the corner of the arena. An older guy wearing a shirt with our company logo was gesturing animatedly, his voice sharp as he spoke to a bull rider.
The rider, younger and blonde, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat, looked no older than me. He stood there, his hands resting on his vest as the older man went off on him.
I took a small step backward, the guide’s words fading into the background. The conversation in the corner was far more intriguing.