Chapter 7
I nailed my ride. I was also taking a page out of Cody's book and playing it safe.
I didn't push myself to the limit. I didn't bail off the moment the timer ran out.
Instead, I rode an extra buck to make sure I got off with plenty of space to avoid hitting the wall.
There, a few of the Americans pulled me up, but my bull was headed out on his own.
I wasn't going to win tonight. With a score in the upper eighties, I'd get a little money, but that was all I wanted right now.
Renato, on the other hand, put us all to shame.
His ninety-one had him on the leaderboard, yet when I told him to meet me at the bar when he was done, he said no.
I had to sit my ass down, wait through the ending bullshit, and ride over with him.
Sadly, the crowd didn't hang around that long.
Not in the stands, nor behind the chutes.
Cody certainly didn't. Down in the halls of the convention center, only a few of the new guys were still standing around, chattering amongst themselves.
I almost felt sorry for them. These boys had never seen the Pbr when things were good.
They'd bumped up due to all the injuries knocking guys out, but to them, it was still very exciting.
And that was when a man in a very stiff white shirt noticed me. "Ty!" he barked.
"What?!" I shot back.
So he made his way over. "What was that today?"
"A nice, clean, safe ride," I told him.
"I meant before you rode."
I laughed once, pretty sure that whichever bigshot this was, he was about to let me know how long my vacation was going to be - and not the voluntary kind. The strange thing was, I gave exactly zero fucks. So I shrugged, pretty sure my exhaustion at this bullshit was written all across my face.
"I let Austin know his shit is why I'm more worried about staying in one piece than giving a good ride."
"Austin has nothing to do with how you ride," he corrected.
I scoffed at that. "Which one are you?"
"Excuse me?"
"What's your name?" I clarified.
"Antonio Sousa," he said.
"The director who handles the bullfighters," I realized. "I see. So are you the one who calls Casey's family?"
"We'll be notified of Casey Davis's condition later," he said, but now the man had a look on his face like he'd smelled something bad.
"Mm," I murmured, not really caring about that. "Gotcha. But you are the one who picked those useless idiots out there. The same ones who couldn't make that save, and now - because we don't trust them - the Pbr won't be breaking records anymore."
"What?" he asked, sounding honestly confused.
I thrust an arm back to where the end of the night ceremony was still carrying on in the arena.
"Do you really think we all ride that bad?
Has it crossed your mind yet that the reason we're not showing off is because we're more worried about getting off the bulls than staying on them?
That none of us want to break our bodies for no reason, because a buck-off and a broken leg?
That's called career-ending. Never mind dying!
Why fight this hard for fame, sponsors, and everything else if one man snoozing is what can make us lose it all? "
"Is that why you hit Austin?" he asked.
I nodded slowly, adding a little hum to show how disgusted I was with all of this.
"Yeah, sorta. Partly it was because he didn't seem broken up about Casey's accident.
Yeah, and Austin's the one who put Tanner Burns under a microscope.
The Pbr didn't want to be embarrassed, so our best bullfighter is out.
That means the wolf pack is gone. Those idiots you put in for us aren't even helping with our gear!
Doesn't matter if we took a set of horns to the face, got stepped on, or anything else.
They're more worried about playing it up to the fans than doing their job, and that only ends one way. "
"With more seats sold?" Mr. Sousa asked snidely.
I grunted. "With more cowboys in the hospital.
Only way to prevent that is to try less hard.
Ride safe, get off the dirt, and don't worry about scores.
Rides are determined by bull scores right now, nothing more and nothing less.
We all know it, just like we know Cody Jennings won't get a fair shake from the judges. "
The man's eyes narrowed. "You're wrong."
"Prove it," I said, jerking my chin at him in a taunt. "And no, I'm not sorry I punched him. Don't care if the fans saw. Don't give a shit if it was unbecoming. Fine me. I'm done ignoring this shit."
"Well, because you have a good point, I think we'll drop it down to unbecoming conduct, hm?"
Those words felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. Not because I was surprised to get fined. I was shocked it was only a fine. I'd been ready to make a scene before I was kicked off the tour, but that? It was bullshit - and the kind I couldn't really say anything against.
"Yeah, I'll pay it tomorrow," I said, turning around and heading back to my gear.
Thankfully, Renato walked up only a moment later. He didn't have a smile on his face, and wasn't trying to brag up his first-place score. The man simply grabbed his bag, asked if I was ready, and the pair of us headed out to his truck together.
"Want me to drive while you celebrate?" I asked.
"Nothing to celebrate," he assured me.
And when we walked into the bar, it seemed that was what everyone thought.
Normally, the night after a ride was a little wild.
Men were drinking too much, women did their best to get some attention, and everyone was laughing.
It didn't matter if that was because of a good ride or a bad one.
There was an understanding between us that kept even our failures from hurting too much.
This was different.
The music was country, but it wasn't loud.
The waitresses were hurrying to tables with trays of beer bottles.
The guys had clustered into groups of friends, separating themselves a bit.
Granted, I was pretty sure that was partially because the asshole who usually camped out at the bar was missing tonight.
So was his rookie.
My eyes scanned the crowd anyway, looking for a hint of pink, but I only saw buckle bunnies wearing that color. They were plentiful, although there weren't too many hanging on cowboys. Letting out a heavy sigh, I gave up and found a table. Clearly, Cody wasn't going to be joining us tonight either.
"What's going on?" Renato asked as he sat down across from me and lifted his hand to get a waitress's attention.
"I got fined for that fight," I told him.
His head twitched slightly. "And you're sighing?"
"Oh, that's because I was hoping to see Cody."
"Right." He just nodded, looking at me like I'd lost my mind. "What the fuck, Ty?"
"I was hoping to talk to her about what happened."
"With you and her?" he asked.
Because each time I saw him, I did my best to avoid that topic. He wanted to tell me how to fix what I'd done, and I'd already realized it couldn't be fixed. I'd lost the girl. I needed to let her go, figure myself out, and move on. So what if my version of moving on meant staying friends with her?
To me, that was part of fixing my shit. Women didn't have to be my entertainment. Neither the mine part, nor the entertaining part. The irony of this mess was how it had been Renato's girlfriend who'd made me realize that. But today, my concerns had nothing to do with a woman.
"No," I groaned. "I wanted to talk to her about me getting fined." I swore this man's mind was stuck on women.
Granted, he had a good reason. He'd taken a few weeks off to set up his girlfriend before their baby came. Mostly, he'd explained, it was to convince his mother their relationship was real, he was excited about the baby, and Hannah wasn't using him.
She wasn't. In truth, Hannah had been ready to walk out of this man's life.
Never before had anyone offered to help her out.
She was the kind of woman who wasn't scared of doing things on her own, and Renato had been scared shitless he was going to lose her.
Instead, he'd gotten the family of his dreams, or would in a few more weeks, just as soon as the baby was born.
But strong women weren't easy. Shit, I was figuring that out with Cody.
I was also starting to realize I didn't want easy.
I was bored of placid. All my life, I'd been taught to expect women to fawn over me, take care of me, and let me take the lead.
Cody? She had her own plans, and there wasn't a damned thing that was going to stop her.
And she deserved this as much as anyone else here.
So I was going to get the fuck out of her way.
I'd do my best to lift her up, help her out, and maybe offer a little muscle when she needed it.
Not because I didn't think she could do it herself, but because I respected her enough to fight at her side.
But this? Yeah, it might be the one fight she couldn't win, since all signs pointed to the Pbr - or at least someone higher up in the organization - being willing to do everything they could to chase her off.
"Listen," I told Renato, trying to make him see why I was so annoyed, "Mr. Sousa asked me about the fight. I made it clear we're all playing it safe because of his bullfighters, and that they're shit. He said I was getting a fine, but it'd only be for conduct unbecoming in the Pbr."
"Ten grand," Renato said, nodding to show he was keeping up.
"I punched the fuck out of Austin - a few times. It was on the big screen," I hissed. "I should've been suspended. Instead, I got a stupidly low fine? Not even the fifteen thousand for fighting. That's what we usually get, and it wouldn't shock me at all if Austin gets nothing."
So Renato leaned back and looked over at the side. "Jake! You know if Austin got fined?"
"Shit," Jake drawled. "Probably. Why?"
"But do you know?" Renato asked.
"No," Jake admitted, yet the conversation in the bar was getting softer, like everyone else was listening. "Why?"
"Ty got ten grand."
"You good, Ty?" Wes asked.
I lifted a hand, holding him off. "I got it. But fighting's fifteen thousand. Someone wanna explain that to me?"
"Damn it!" Jake snarled, hurling his beer to the side.
It slammed into the wall and shattered, leaving a foaming, glassy mess behind.
His reaction seemed to come out of nowhere.
Immediately, the place paused. Every bull rider, half the girls, and the guys hoping to rub shoulders with us all turned to look, but Jake didn't seem to notice.
The man was staring blankly at his table, clearly thinking much too hard.
"What the fuck?" I asked, mostly because I had no damned clue why he'd react like that.
I saw his jaw clench hard enough to make the muscle along the side jump. "You're not suspended?"
"Nope."
"What's going on, Jake?" Jackson Cloutier asked from a few tables over.
And now the entire bar was quiet. Not silent, because there was still some softer music playing and the clink of glasses at the bar could be heard. A few women were muttering softly over by the bathrooms, but the rest of us? We were all turned to face Jake. He had our complete attention.
Jake shoved a hand across his mouth, then looked from table to table, suddenly aware how many people were focused on him.
"Who knows what that fight was about?" he asked before pointing to me. "Not you two."
"Austin's a dick," Kaleb offered.
"Anyone else?" Jake asked.
Wes jerked his chin at Jake. "Something about the bullfighters. I caught that much."
So Jake looked at me. "Close, Ty?"
"I wasn't trying to hide it," I admitted. "You gonna let me explain yet?"
So Jake gestured, giving me the floor like he was some king or something. I grabbed my beer, taking a swig just so I wouldn't be obeying his command, then leaned back.
"Austin's convinced having a woman on tour is going to put this shit on 'easy mode,'" I said. "He tried to blame that 'dumbing down' for what happened to Casey. Casey was supposed to be his friend." And I took another sip. "Not a single thing in all of that sat well with me."
"So you saw red," Kaleb said, nodding to show it made sense to him.
"Nope." I shook my head to make the point. "No, that wasn't some uncontrollable rage. That, my friends, is what that dick deserved for getting his 'friend' killed because he's scared of a girl beating him."