Hung Up

Hannah

“It’s my lucky hat, Mama!” Tears start to spill down my cheeks and I sit back against the soft leather, letting them fall.

“It may seem stupid to you, but things like that matter on nights like this!” I throw my hand out towards the rodeo arena across the parking lot.

The bleachers are filling up with families holding popcorn and plates of food.

More trucks and trailers pull into the contestant lot, carrying some of the best riders from across the country—I’ve worked my ass off to even be considered among them.

My parents have driven me around the country for the past few years as I slowly made a name for myself in the barrel racing community.

“Really?”

“Absolutely, honey,” my mom says, coming to stand next to my dad. He tucks her against him and kisses the top of her head. I’ve never seen a more in love couple; they give me hope that one day I’ll find myself a cowboy just like Mama did.

“Thank you.” I sigh and shuffle out of the backseat. The two of them pull me into a big hug and I rest my cheek against my dad’s shirt, breathing in the familiar comfort they both offer.

“But just so you know,” he says, leaning in close so just me and my mom hear, “at nineteen, you’re already a better barrel racer than any of these women. And a better rider than any cowboy here.” He winks, which makes me roll my eyes. My mom laughs, tugging at his arm.

“Ok cowboy, let’s go.” Pulling him away, she throws a wink over her shoulder.

“Hurry back!” I yell as I lift myself up on Queen, who has been eyeing the commotion from her spot tied to the trailer.

They drive off in a cloud of dust accompanied by a chorus of “I love yous.” I watch the truck blend into traffic before turning Queen towards the indoor arena, clicking my tongue to get her walking.

An hour ticks by, and I’ve run a trail around the arena, trying to keep my mind off my quickly approaching ride.

They should have been back by now. I glance at my watch—not even a minute has passed since I checked it the last time.

I slide down from my saddle and walk Queen over to the side before tying her to the fence, then lay my head against her side and take deep breaths, trying to calm the anxiety racing through me.

“Riders!” A loud voice booms through the space.

Everyone pauses and looks towards the man straddling the top of the peeling metal fence surrounding us.

“Barrel racing is up in thirty minutes. Please stay close and listen for your name.” He nods before jumping down and disappearing down a hallway.

Patting Queen, I slip under one of the railings and walk down another hall towards the restrooms, my boots landing loudly against the cement floor.

“We can’t leave yet!” a whiny voice echoes in the small bathroom.

A curvy brunette is pouting at her friend, one hip leaned against the sink.

Her skinny legs disappear into a pair of cheap white boots that I guarantee were bought for the summer and will be sold online come fall.

“Please stay,” she practically begs, “just until we see him ride.”

“Who?” Her friend gives her a side eye that has me biting my tongue as I slip into a stall.

“Dean.” The brunette sighs and I can practically see the hearts in her eyes from behind my closed stall door.

“Oh my God, Ashley!” her friends scolds. “You don’t even know him!”

“Don’t have to know him to know how good he’d be in bed. Just watch him ride and you’ll see for yourself. I heard he likes to share.” She basically sings the last part as they leave the bathroom.

“Buckle bunnies,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head.

A few minutes later, and I’ve cleared my head as I make my way back to Queen.

While I walk through the soft dirt, I peek out at the stands.

I’ve never heard an outdoor arena be this loud.

The crowd is on fire tonight, and every howl and whistle adds to the adrenaline that has replaced my earlier anxiety.

My phone buzzes with a text from my mom:

Package secured, headed back to the arena now. Remember to breathe, baby. You got this!

The picture attached shows my mom and dad holding my hat between them, grinning big at the camera.

They couldn’t have any more kids after they had me, so it’s always been the three of us.

Growing up in Oakley, Utah, riding is what we did on a daily basis.

My earliest memories are on the back of some horse, riding between my parents.

Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I rub Queen’s neck and look around at the other riders beginning to slow their horses and get in place.

Grabbing the saddle I swing a leg over Queens back, her bright white mane a stark contrast to her tan coat.

We have been riding together for years, and we’ve just hit our stride in the rodeo circuit.

Tonight is our chance to place in the top three.

Only fractions of a second separates the three women in the lead, and I plan to fly by them all.

Queen stomps the ground impatiently as we wait in the line up inside the practice arena.

Dust floats around me and I inhale deeply, the smell of popcorn and arena food overpowered by the heavy scent of freshly raked dirt.

I watch as Mallory George flies up the chute.

Damn, she’s fast. Tilting my wrist, I check the time, again .

They should be back by now, my turn is coming up soon.

I know they would kick themselves if they missed this ride.

The girl before me circles her second barrel.

Her black Quarter horse cuts the corner a hair too tight, and I hold my breath as the barrel spins on its rim.

I’ve been in her shoes, and it feels like the world sits in a stand still.

As she races towards her last barrel, my eyes don’t leave the black Cal Ranch logo as it wobbles then drops to the ground.

The crowd lets out a collective sigh as the announcer makes the call that her score will be docked five seconds.

It may not feel like much, but in a race where the winners are separated by a thousandth of a second, it’s everything.

Racing is a tough sport—it’s easy to get caught up in cheering for someone else’s downfall.

But I’ve been there, it’s not easy climbing up the ranks.

I make a mental note to find her after and tell her she’s got it next time.

As the rider comes down the straight, I can see the tears welling in her eyes.

But I push Queen into the open space and take deep breaths. This is it. My time. Our time.

“And now, one of the best up and coming riders this sport has seen in a long time.” The announcer's voice blasts through my thoughts and my heart slows into a steady pace, ready for what’s to come.

“Hannah Harlow…” The booming voice over the speakers is drowned out by someone shouting my name from behind me.

“Hannah! Wait!" Looking over my shoulder, I find one of the rodeo coordinators running towards me, his heavy boots sinking into the dirt as it sprays up behind him. “Hannah, wait! It’s your folks…”

Turning Queen towards him, I yell over the noise between us, “Where are they sitting?” I can’t go to them now, but I can find them after. When he gets closer, I see fear and pain in his eyes. He gives me a sad shake of his head, trying to wave me over to him.

“Hannah, I’m so sorry.” The ground falls out around me.

Something is horribly wrong, I feel it in my soul.

Oblivious to the blow I’ve just been given, Queen hears our names, and out of habit, turns to take off.

Before I can stop her, she is barreling down the corridor and we enter the arena.

Blinding lights and deafening cheers are a shock to my system.

I’m numb, my hands fumbling with the reins as the first barrel approaches at a breakneck speed.

She leans perfectly into the turn, but my body is frozen.

My mind is blank. They were just here . My vision is closing in around me, unable to focus on the blur of the barrel before me.

Weightless. I’m completely weightless. The ground moves below me, and the hot summer breeze blows strands of hair from my braid.

I don’t realize that I’ve been thrown off Queen until the dirt floor meets my face.

Hard . The sound of my head bouncing off the ground will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Soft, brown dirt coats my face, dust pushing up my nose.

But all of it is a dull ache compared to the pain raging in my heart.

The crowd gasps and then goes eerily silent as I lay motionless on the ground.

All I can see is the black that seeps in from the edges of my vision, the overhead lights going fuzzy all around me.

My parents’ picture from minutes ago fills my mind.

The sting of tears pricks at my eyes and I let them fall.

I don’t need anyone to tell me, I can feel it in my bones.

They’re gone.

“Where do you want me to put her?” A hard wall of warmth hugs me to their chest, his gruff voice vibrating against my cheek as my eyes flutter open and closed as I come back to consciousness.

I want to curl up in the way he smells, like he’s been riding horses all day in a freshly cut pasture.

My head hurts too much to try and open my eyes fully, so I fall back into the haze and let the mountain of a man carry me off to wherever he sees fit.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that I shouldn’t be noticing all of these details about whoever has me crushed in their massive arms. I’ve had a handful of concussions before and remember the haze of confusion that lingers after each one.

But this time is different. Amidst the chaos that is racing through my mind, I find comfort in him.

Through the heaviness in my head, I feel every inch of contact through my clothes.

Despite what my parents think, I’ve had my fair share of barn loft lays, but the way this man holds me is all man, all cowboy .

The way his hands slide out from under me when he lays me down on something soft and has my mind spinning with wicked thoughts.

“There ya go, darlin’.” His accent is thick and flows around me like honey melting on top of Sunday morning biscuits.

I can’t fight the goosebumps that pop up where his skin touches mine.

Through the pounding headache, I pry my eyes open and squint against the bright lights of an ambulance.

A black Resistol hat blocks the blinding lights, and grey-blue eyes meet mine.

Just before they close the doors, lips brush gently across my temple.

My eyes drift shut as warmth floods through my veins, wrapping around the pain and twisting it into a longing for him to hold me again.

A familiar scent of wide open spaces and sunny days caresses me in the heat from his chest, a smell that I want to bathe in and forget everything else around me.

Cracking my eyes open once again, I catch a glimpse of him tugging his hat off his head, running a large hand through unruly, dark hair then smacking the dust off on his black chaps.

From here, he’s all dark and storm clouds, but I still smell him around me, still feel his fingers wipe the dirt off my cheek and tuck my hair behind my ears as he carried me out.

Pain slams back into me with enough force to pull me under, and I’m left dreaming of my cowboy as the paramedics do their best to ease my sobs as I drift in and out of consciousness.