48. Diablo
48
DIABLO
DAKOTA
“ G ive it up for Kodie Cutler, the Cowboy Killer! Let’s see if she can stay on the wild and wicked Diablo!” the announcer’s voice slashes through the arena’s applause.
The crowd erupts while my stomach swarms with nerves. I’m glad I packed an extra pair of jeans in my bag after that little romp in the hay bale with my summer boy. I was feeling good after that—calm, settled, ready—but now all those worries come rushing back.
But I can do this.
I’ve got this.
Even if I am riding Diablo.The bull who almost broke Nash Sawyer.
I don’t even want to think about that day because it was the last time I ever saw his goofy grin. He came back from the hospital, sweating, pale as a sheet, with his smile petrified into a grimace, but at least he survived. Only from then on, we didn’t call him Smiley…
We called him The Ghost.
That made him grin a bit when he got his new nickname. It’s actually an honor in the bull riding community to earn one based on the hellish ride you survived. Only the toughest riders get a badass nickname.
Cheers fill the late-summer air, but I tune them out. Same as always. I can’t afford to be thinking about Diablo just like I can’t afford to be thinking of the crowd’s applause. I need to ride out my emotions in that middle lane, not too fast, not too slow.
My dad strides up to me through the relentless heat with that same grumpy scowl under the brim of his hat. Leaves might be changing everywhere else, but September is still brutally hot in Texas.
“You ready to ride Diablo?” he grunts, but I see the worry there in his eyes.
“I’m ready to hurl behind the chutes.” All bulls can be mean, but that Bramer’s especially tough.
It’s got me all twisted up, but it also means if I do well, my score will be even higher. He’s the most aggressive bull out there, so if I can just stay on, I’ve got a good shot of impressing the scout today.
My dad doesn’t crack a laugh at my joke. He takes me in his arms, gripping me fiercely. “Remember, you stay loose and—”
“Flow like good tequila. Smooth and steady,” I finish for him, our well-rehearsed mantra washing a familiar wave of calm over me.
“Right you are.” He taps the brim of my hat with a trembling finger. “If you stay on this round, that’ll be one hell of a score. You’ll have a shot at making the Austin Rattlers one day, you hear?”
I straighten at the thought, imagining sitting in the draft and them calling out my name. It’s everything I’ve wanted, but now the thought of saying goodbye to Wyatt and Vienna taints the dream a little. I need to figure out how to make them part of my world. This dream won’t mean anything if I can’t have them by my side.
My dad eyes the snarling bull in the chutes. “Diablo’s got a wicked spin though.”
“I know.”
“And an even more wicked kick.”
“I know, Pops. I’ll be fine.”
He nods, but his eyes keep darting to the thrashing black bull in the chute. One of the flank men shouts, “Woo doggy, that kick almost got ya, boy! Back off now, back off. Give ’em some space! Goddamn, Cowboy Killer, this one’s gonna get ya!”
They all chortle obnoxiously.
I might piss myself.
My heart jumps into my throat, and it feels like all the blood drains from my face. My dad shoots them a murderous glare before he tightens his grip around my shoulders.
“Hey,” he commands. “Don’t listen to them. You listen to me now. You’ve been practicing every day this summer. You’ve got everything it takes. Just remember those lessons.”
Suddenly, he tugs me close into his leather jacket, leading me in a quick two-step, and then spins me around right there in front of the chutes.
“Pops!” I shout as he twirls me, stumbling into his solid chest. “What are you doing?”
He continues leading me in a confident two-step, and I forgot how good of a dancer my dad is. “Just making sure you’re nice and loose. You might be dancing with that boy now, but don’t forget who taught you how. I love you always, darlin’.”
I gaze up into his shimmering brown eyes. “I’ll never forget who taught me how to dance.”
He kisses my cheek, his whiskers tickling my skin, and quickly walks away, almost like he can’t bear a longer goodbye. As his figure fades down the animal corrals, a tightness grips my throat.
My mom might never miss a Sunday night phone call, but my dad never missed a bedtime story, never forgot to pack my lunch, never missed the matching prom pictures, and never missed a rodeo. He cheered me on through every high and caught me at every low. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know where I’d be.
“Hey, Pops?” I call out, just as he’s about to round the corner by the horses.
He looks over his shoulder, the setting sun casting an orange halo around his hat. “Yeah, darlin’?”
I try to keep my voice steady. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world, getting you as a dad. You know that, right? You’re my reason for riding.”
He swallows hard and looks down at his boots. He pulls out a handkerchief from his jean pocket to wipe his eyes.
“You’re my reason for everything, darlin’. I still remember when you were just a girl, and anytime we’d have people over, you’d ask them to buck you around on their backs, piggy-back style. People always thought you were a little wild, but you’ve always been my crazy child. Now, stop making me cry like a fool and go kick ass in that arena.”
We don’t have time for long-winded goodbyes, so I salute him, swiping away the tears. I put my best smirk in place, confidence with a dash of fake arrogance. “Always, Pops. I’m your girl. What else do you think I’d do?”
“That you are. Raise hell, darlin’.” With a final nod, he strides away.
I’m my daddy’s girl through and through, which means I can handle Diablo. I will. This time is different. Now, I have people who need me to stay on. People I’m riding for. Specifically, two very important people.
Steeling my shoulders, I head to the chutes and turn to face off with the beast. The massive black bull snorts and smashes his hooves at the dirt, muscles rippling under his dark hide. The rodeo arena buzzes with the cheers from the crowd, the distant calls of cowboys, and the snarling bull .
“You sure you got this one, Cowboy Killer?” the flank man asks.
I bend down to get eye-level and glare right into Diablo’s fathomless black eyes. Doubt will get you killed in this sport, so I growl right in his huffing face, “Yeah, I got this one.”
After securing my helmet, I climb up onto the metal chutes, gripping the cool steel beneath my hands. I swing a leg over the rail and settle onto Diablo’s broad back, feeling his muscles tense beneath me.
He instantly tries to buck me off, but I grip the rope, thinking of Vienna, thinking of how desperately I want to stay on for my little girl. For Smiley. Pops. And Wyatt, always for my summer boy.
“Alright, folks!” the announcer shouts. “Give it up for the Cowboy Killer!”
The crowd goes wild, but all I’m thinking about are my people. No one else matters.
“Let’s dance, you big ol’ brute,” I mutter to the snarling bull beneath me. “I’m not letting you take this round, you hear me?”
My ears ring loud enough to drown out the crowd. I use one hand to grip the bull rope, and the other is poised and ready in the air. I take a deep breath, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
The world narrows to just me and Diablo.
The gate man unlatches the metal chute, and I tighten my grip, feeling the rope bite into my palm. “All right,” he says. “Three… Two… One!”
The metal gate shoots open, and we’re off.
Diablo bucks around like Satan has a tight hold of his balls, and I’m whipped left, then right, then left again. The behemoth is a whirlwind of muscle, snot, and fury. I’m clinging on, every fiber of my being fighting to stay perched atop this raging beast, but I stay centered, loose, and fluid.
It's terrifying .
It's exhilarating.
It's intoxicating.
Diablo kicks me around the arena, and I thought I’d be mentally chanting my dad’s tequila phrase or thinking of all those two-step lessons with Wyatt, but the only thing on my mind is my little devil and how I have to stay on for her. I never thought I’d fall in love with someone else’s kid, but I love Wyatt, so of course I’d fall hard for his daughter.
The crowd’s roar grows louder and louder with each second I hold onto the beast, until finally, the buzzer rings through the arena.
Holy fucking shit.
I did it.
Eight seconds.
I made it all eight seconds—and then some.
A rider comes to help me off Diablo’s hide, and I run away in the dirt so the bull doesn’t come after me. A grin spreads across my face as I search for Wyatt in the stands. He’s the first person I want to see, so I keep scanning until I find him. He’s standing alone in front of the rails with his knuckles clenched tight, but he’s grinning bright.
I fucking did it, I mouth.
You fucking did it , he says like he knew I would all along.
His smile has me smiling, but it drops when his eyes narrow on something over my shoulder. The air shifts and I feel it, the crowd sucking in a collective gasp.
“Dakota!” he booms out, eyes wide with panic. “Run!”