Chapter 11 #2
I didn’t claim the title again that year, and the reminder pisses me off.
“Alright.” I purse my lips and stab my finger on the screen to pause the video that isn’t even halfway over yet. “That’s enough.”
“This you?” Granger smirks, holds up the frozen image on his phone, and points to it.
“Are you in high school?” I ask, ignoring his question that he already knows the answer to.
“What? No, I’m not in high school.”
I rub the side of my neck, thinking. “So, you’re on a college team?”
“No,” he defends himself. “I’m pro. Almost nineteen, and I made at least twenty grand this year.”
Christ. In the professional rodeo world, the amount of money you make in a season determines who gets to the world finals. He’s one hundred and fifty thousand short of the standings, if not more. That’s not a big hill to climb to the top of the circuit. It’s a mountain.
He straightens his back and puffs his chest out a little bit.
At full height, he’s a good six inches shorter than me, and at least fifty pounds lighter.
Maybe more. But he’s confident, I’ll give him that.
“Someone told me that if I wanted to get better, I would have to learn from the best,” he explains. “That’s you.”
I almost laugh. Not at the kid—I’ll give him credit for having faith in himself. And in me, for that matter. But the fact that he assumes I’d be capable of mentoring is downright comical. My hand scrapes down the side of my face while I think of what to say.
“Three consecutive world titles,” he says, refusing to give silence any space to hang around.
“Four total, counting your first one in 2010. They really screwed you over in 2011. Everyone knows they clocked you late on purpose. Don’t get me started on Denver in 2015.
They should have let you keep the record. ”
A massive headache starts right behind my eyes. He’s idolizing a version of me that no longer exists. If it did, I’d have already told him to fuck off.
“Okay, kid. I got it, Thanks.”
“Just give me a chance,” Granger pleads. He looks to Gage and Tripp for help, but they just shrug at him. “I don’t have a ton of money, but—”
“Give you a chance for what? I’m no teacher.”
I haven’t given rodeo a single thought in years. More than just years, it’s almost been a decade. Apart from some charity events that I’ve helped my dad put on, I’d never go back. Not for a twelve and a half million dollar bribe, and not for some kid, either.
I hate to tell him to kick rocks. When I first scrounged together a rig and enough money to get me to a few rodeos, I was about his age.
I had to win, or at least hit the average, if I didn’t want to turn back and head home.
I had a lot of grit back then—I knew what I wanted, and I did whatever it took to get it.
Even with a supportive family, no one really took me under their wing and warned me about all the ways competing professionally could go wrong.
I shake my head. It’s not my job to hold somebody’s hand and guide them through all that shit.
If he’s tough, he’ll figure it all out on his own like I did.
“A chance to at least show you what I’ve got,” he answers.
I rub my chin and turn to look out the window. “That your old Astro Van out there?”
“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “Pretty sweet, huh? It’s got a bumper pull hitch, too.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “And where’s the trailer? Where’s your horse?”
“Okay, so . . . I don’t actually have a trailer with me. Or a horse at the moment. My old one’s retired.”
I stare at him and find myself on the verge of laughing again. “That’s a bit of an issue, don’t you think?”
“But I know a guy,” he perks up. “He’s letting me borrow one.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a deep sigh. “Who?”
“Rafe Murdoch. He’s not far from—”
I hold a hand up. “I know where he’s from. Jesus.”
Gage snorts while Tripp shakes his head and says, “You might be out of luck, kid.”
“Just give me thirty days,” Granger offers, bound and determined. “A trial run.”
“Do you know anything about cows?” Gage asks.
My brows furrow as I slowly turn to face him. What, he’s going to offer this kid a job now?
“Some,” Granger admits. “But I’m good on a horse. Oh, I can operate a forklift. Does that help?”
Gage purses his lips, thinking it over. “Can you pass a background check?”
Granger swallows hard. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tripp whispers. “We’ve all been arrested; he’ll only hold it against you if it’s robbery or arson.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I cut in, hardly believing that this is even under consideration. “I’m not a coach, or whatever the hell it is you think you need.”
And Rafe Murdoch wouldn’t be caught dead with one of his horses on this piece of land, but that’s besides the point.
Gage scratches the side of his head and pins me with a look. “I seem to recall a time when you first showed up here out of nowhere, looking for someone to give you a shot, too.” He shrugs, then looks at the kid. “You want a job?”
“Hell yeah.” Granger nods with enthusiasm. “But I guess it’d have to be part-time so I can practice in the afternoons. And I’d be on the road a lot for rodeos, especially this summer.”
“Fine,” Gage agrees. You can have my old room if you want. No alcohol, tobacco, or guests allowed.”
Granger tries his best not to wince. “Seriously?”
Tripp chuckles. “He’s kidding.”
The rodeo world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. If I turn him down, and he doesn’t get good enough to compete against the ranks in the finals or bring home sacks of cash, he’ll thank me later. Or hate me. Either way, it ain’t my problem.
“I can’t help you,” I say.
But the three of them have already turned away from me and are walking down the hall toward Gage’s old room.