One | Harlow #2
Melanie places my phone on the dresser and sighs. “The only way he’s going to put his foot in his mouth is if you stop slumping around and get your ass back out there and practice so you can kick his.” She points out my bedroom door.
It wasn’t entirely truthful when I said my coach, Aaron Jackson, is the only person who doesn’t treat me like an ember.
At times like this, when I need motivation, Melanie is the thunder to my lightning. The spark to my fuse. But she can also be the sugar to my salt. The calm to my chaos.
You get the point.
I just have a stronger personality, and she mellows me out. My parents and I have always called her Mellow Mel. She may be two years younger, but she keeps me balanced.
Since I was old enough to walk, I’ve been like a ball teetering on the edge.
I rarely find solace in being rooted. I like balancing on the line.
Find enjoyment in knowing that it only takes one step to send my body into a free fall.
It shows me I’m alive. That even when I hit the bottom, I can bounce back up and decide whether I want to go again.
I’ve rock climbed and gone bungee jumping. I’ve hurled myself off a plane to dive through the air to feel the unnatural, brutal wind whip against my skin. All those thrills aside, none of it compares to bull riding.
It’s cathartic.
It’s terrifying.
It’s liberating.
One hit, and that untamable feeling poisoned my blood.
It’s irreplaceable.
My first ride when I was fourteen injected a high into my veins, branding me for life. Sure, I dusted myself off and had bruises decorating my body, but I found pleasure in the pain. I felt powerful. It made me obsessed.
Where I viewed my hobby as the cornerstone of my well-being, my parents viewed it as a sickness.
Literally. For a while, they thought something was wrong with me because I always put myself in dangerous situations instead of sticking with the light, fluffy activities they tried to get me to enjoy.
I don’t know why they are so surprised; it’s not like they could expect both daughters to take after their mother.
“I can’t go out and practice.” My dry tone settles between us. “We have to leave for Tucson.”
“You know what I mean. You’re going to see Colson’s face in less than twenty-four hours for the first time since—” She swallows, her gaze shifting to my left leg. I tense the muscles in my calf, reminding myself that I’m not as broken as I once was, even though she’s looking at me that exact way.
I attempt to soothe her racing thoughts. “It’s the first event of the season. I’m ready, Mel. I’ve been ready for six months.”
She nods nervously, smashing her lip between her teeth.
I did the therapy. I’ve trained. I’ve worked my ass off and made the sacrifices that were required to get me to where I am today.
Stop lying to yourself. You know you don’t deserve it.
My brain is a bitch sometimes, so I shove that side of my brain back into the dark where it will have a harder time reaching me.
I’ve hated Colson Payne since I met him at our hometown rodeo six years ago. No matter what he says, I know I earned that spot in the top forty bull riders in the world. His disbelief in my ability to compete in this sport would make you think it’s his religion.
Mel snaps her fingers, drawing my attention back to the present. I didn’t realize she was talking while I disappeared inside my head. “You’d better be concentrating. Your head has to be in it tomorrow.”
I grin, letting the sarcasm slip. “Yes, Coach.” My voice may be full of humor, but truthfully, my bones are quivering, thinking about what tomorrow may bring.
Her pink fingernails drum on the dresser.
“I’m going to get the car loaded up. Mom made some snacks for us to take.
I expect you downstairs in ten.” She walks to the door but pauses, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“I’m serious, Harlow. I can tell that your brain is a mess right now because you aren’t your usual happy-go-lucky self.
You can’t let him get to you this season. ”
I haven’t been my happy-go-lucky self in a while. Hearing your body shatter the way mine did tends to break more than just your bones. It breaks your spirit—especially when you constantly put yourself in a position where you could suffer the same fate.
However, I’m trying to get back to normal.
Without another word, Mel spins around, rushing toward me. I rise from the bed, letting her frame crash into mine. Her arms weave around my torso, hugging me so tight that my ribs grind together.
“I love you,” she whispers. “When you get on the bull, pretend you’re riding Colson instead and squeeze the life out of him with your killer thighs.” She pulls back from me with her lips flattened in a line as she contemplates her words. “I didn’t think before I said it.”
I tuck a strand of long blonde hair behind my ear and snort. “I figured. But thanks for that visual. I’m going to go throw up now.”
Mel’s buttery laugh brings a smile to my face. “It’s hypothetical. Plus, you’d only be imagining it for eight seconds.” She wiggles her brows, shimmying out of my room.
My grin falters, my fingers picking at the lingering traces of dirt under my nails.
I was out of the game for two years because of Colson.
Mel said it’s only eight seconds. Only eight seconds of riding a beast whose only goal is to buck you off.
But the event in Jacksonville, when I let Colson invade my mind, all it took was three.
Three seconds of his voice swirling in my head.
Three seconds of distraction.
Three seconds before I was thrown off the bull, and the mass that landed on me weighed more than Colson's words from the night before at the bar.
I let him get in my head once, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting it happen again.