Every Single Second (Every Single #3)

Prologue

Parker

“Stillwater, you’re up next!” Cade calls from the chute.

I step up behind him, thousands of screaming fans erupting in the stands. The music pumps out a bass so deep it drums in my chest. The energy in the room is alive. Wild. I live for it.

Or at least, I did.

Two palms land on my shoulders. “You lucky son of a bitch. You drew Freakshow,” Lyle shouts as tobacco drips down his stubbled chin.

I chuckle. “We’ll see.”

I climb up on the fence and drape an arm over the top rail as my buddy Skeeter gets set on his bull. His hand rises, and with a curt nod, the gate swings open. He got a tough draw. Not many can hang with Back Woods. He’s a mean bastard and has a spin that will catch you every time.

I cup my hands, hollering as loud as I can as he almost makes the eight seconds. He’s down at six, but regardless of the no time, he’s still sitting comfortably in the standings.

Freakshow casually walks into the chute. His nostrils flare when I lift my dirty boots, climbing each slat before I sling my leg over.

My name sails from the loudspeakers above me, that familiar voice I’ve heard introduce me a thousand times.

I don’t focus on the noise. I focus on the fifteen-hundred-pound animal I’m about to mount.

I think of his power and his muscle. The fact he could crush me with one wrong step.

I guess I’ve always been attracted to danger.

I’ve learned that danger can come in many different forms.

Dropping down over his back, I settle my hind as he remains stoic.

It’s a trick. This bull is anything but clam.

As I slide my hand in and grip the bull rope with my gloved palm, I remember why I’m here.

I’ve come a long way from being the poor cowboy from Wimberly Cove.

It took long days and sleepless nights. Sweat.

Blood. And a lot of fucking whiskey. It took determination. Sacrifice.

My muscles relax, my pulse calming as I allow myself to zone in.

I’m right at the edge of that moment when I’m about to let the wild beast beneath me have the floor.

That moment in time I permit myself to be lost in the memories.

I only get eight seconds. So I hold on. I always hold on.

I set my grip, take a deep breath, then give the signal.

Freakshow launches from the chute the second he senses the freedom, his back feet kicking above his head after the first hop. When he hits the ground, my hips shift left, and my balance wavers.

“Hang tight,” I mutter.

The colors cascade like a kaleidoscope. Red hair. Blue eyes. My heart pounds when I recall that infectious laugh.

Maneuvering back to the center, I use the momentum from his next jump. My jaw clenches as I flex my core to position myself in the middle of his back. Another hop. A twisted spin.

A couple more seconds.

The buzzer sounds, the faint noise in the background breaking through my haze. I don’t want to let go. I hate letting go. Leaving the memory.

But I do. Eventually, I have to.

Except this time, I’m not brought back to the present.

One second, I’m hitting the ground on my weathered boots, a fist in the air to celebrate another ride.

Then without warning, my back slams into the dirt, the air forcefully stripped from my lungs.

White light flashes behind my eyes, coupling with a searing pain that shoots through my shoulder and radiates along my right side, a heavy weight crushing my rib cage.

I can’t breathe. Can’t move. All I can do is search. Claw back to those memories.

Soft feathers float in the sky as I blink, a familiar laugh whispering in the wind. I reach to the sound. Reach to the image that’s been ingrained into my soul. She feels so close but so far away.

Distorted faces appear above me, their mouths moving but no words relaying. They say when you have a near-death experience, your life flashes before your eyes. Turns out, they were right. Because the only thing I saw was her.