Chapter Thirty-Five
Royce
I watch the next kid climb onto the practice bull, adjust his grip, and nod toward the chute.
“Open it.”
The gate swings wide.
The bull surges out, bucking hard, and the kid manages to stay centered through the first few jumps before getting pitched sideways and hitting the dirt.
He rolls clear and pops back to his feet.
“Better,” I call out. “But you’re looking down. Keep your eyes up.”
He nods and climbs back through the rails, and the next kid takes his place.
We work through another round before one of the boys raises his hand.
“How often should we practice?”
I look at him. “Every damn day.”
His eyes widen.
“I’m serious. If you want to be a great bull rider, get on ten bulls a day, every day. You get on ’em enough, you learn how to stay on ’em.”
I gesture toward the practice pen.
“That’s what Axle and I did when we were your age. Practice bull after practice bull. We rode every day after school. All day on the weekends. We rode until our asses were dragging.”
Micah, standing near the chute, snorts.
“If you can’t put that kind of effort into it, you can still be a bull rider.” I pause. “But you’ll never be a great one.”
The kids quiet down.
“So, you have to decide what you want. You want to be mediocre, or you want to be great? Those are your two choices.”
I walk a few steps closer.
“And understand something else. Nobody can want it for you.” I point toward the group. “Not your parents. Not your coaches. Not your friends.”
I tap my chest. “You have to want it so damn bad that you’re willing to work for it when nobody’s watching. When you’re tired. When you’re sore. When you fall off and don’t feel like climbing back on.” I glance at the bucking chute and back to them. “If you want it that bad, nothing can stop you.”
Micah raises a hand. “Except a broken neck.”
A few of the kids laugh.
I turn toward him, and he shrugs.
“A broken neck stopped J.B. Mauney.”
“Yeah, well …”
“Stop scaring them. Damn.”
The voice comes from behind us, and every head in the arena turns. Axle walks through the gate, grinning.
The students erupt. Cheering his name and asking for photos. They swarm him so fast that I barely have time to jump out of the way.
Axle throws an arm around one kid while another is already asking him about Widow-Maker.
He catches my eye over their heads. “You ready to run some bulls?”
I grin. “Hell yes.”
His smile widens. “Then let’s get to work.”
I shake my head.
So much for my lesson plan.
“Buck’n Diesel Energy,” Axle says.
I look up from my plate just in time to catch the grin spreading across his face.
We’re crammed around one of the picnic tables outside the bunkhouse, plates of burgers and fries scattered between us, the afternoon sun beating down on our backs.
Axle doesn’t seem to notice the heat. He’s too damn excited.
“The tagline is: Fuel the Fight. Own the Ride. They want the three of us. We’ll do a few rides each while they film. Nothing complicated.”
He shoves another fry into his mouth, chews, then launches right back into his pitch.
“The voice-over goes, The gate drops. Your heart pounds. Eight seconds can change your life forever. Fuel every ride with Buck’n Diesel Energy—built for cowboys who never quit.” He pauses dramatically. “Then the best part: Side effects may include flying through the air.”
Micah snorts.
Axle points at him. “Tell me that ain’t good.”
I shake my head. “It’s something.”
Apparently, Buck’n Diesel is a new energy drink hitting shelves, and they want Bryce, Axle, and me for the campaign. Better yet, Ax and I are getting sponsorships for the coming season.
It’s a damn good deal.
Axle leans back, looking pleased with himself for negotiating it all—with the help of our agent, of course.
“And,” he adds, “to sweeten the deal, the Buck’n Diesel girls promoting the brand on the circuit are smoking hot.”
Micah starts laughing.
Axle looks between us. “What?”
“Nobody bothered to fill you in, huh?” Micah asks.
Axle’s grin fades a fraction. He looks at me and back to our bigmouthed cousin. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“Royce is off the smoking-hot-rodeo-girl train.”
Axle blinks. “Since when?”
Jovie appears beside us before I can answer, sliding into the empty seat next to Axle. He immediately throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his side like it’s second nature.
“I told you already, remember?” she says.
Axle looks down at her.
Then his eyes lift slowly to mine.
I can practically see the moment everything clicks.
“Marina Kincade?”
I stab my fork into a fry.
Axle’s grin spreads. “Good for you.”
He gives me the look. The one that says, We’re going to talk about this later.
“I’ve only got a second,” Jovie says, already starting to stand.
Axle catches her around the waist and pulls her right back down.
“Axle.”
He kisses her. Not a quick kiss either.
When he finally lets her go, she smooths her shirt and looks at me.
“Don’t forget. PT today.”
“I’ll be there.”
Axle watches her go, then turns back to me. “So, how’s that going?”
“Good.” I roll my shoulder once. There’s still soreness but only if I push too hard. “I don’t even notice it anymore.”
Micah looks at me over his burger. “Which means you’re skipping surgery for now?”
“I haven’t made up my mind,” I say honestly.
I shove another fry into my mouth and decide we’re done discussing my shoulder.
I look at Axle. “So, in other news …”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Your baby brother has apparently turned into the town gigolo.”
Micah nearly chokes.
Axle just stares at me. “Excuse me?”
I grin. “That’s what I said.”