Chapter 13
I talked to Jackson about the line we were going to be walking with the media.
He agreed to mention it to the rest of the Canadians.
Ty would likely tell Renato, who'd fill in all the Brazilians.
Hopefully, Jake would figure out which Americans needed to know, because I had one more thing to do before I could ride.
Lately, since he was sidelined, J.D. had been updating my dad on the events.
Supposedly, he sent a text before I got on, and once I was safely out of the arena.
But yesterday, that hadn't been good enough.
Dad had actually called. We'd been back in the hotel room for a bit by then, but only because he'd waited until after the awards. Still, my old man was worried.
So when I made it back to my bag, I dug around until I found my phone, then sent my father a message. It was a little longer than normal, but I was hoping to set him at ease.
Cody:
Dad, we've got something planned for tonight. No, I'm not going to tell you what, but I think you'll be proud of us. Most of the Pbr is on board. It also means I'm going to be safe. Promise.
I was just about to put my phone away when he replied.
Dad:
I don't want you taking any risks out there tonight. From the looks of things, the show's sold out. The pre-game announcers are making a big deal about it on the stream.
Dad:
I also have Gerardo here with me. He says that if you get hurt, we're both showing up and embarrassing the hell out of you.
Cody:
You're safe then. This is something your generation taught us. Think of it like a hat tip to the men who made this a real sport.
Dad:
Ok. I'm still worried. Pretty sure that's a dad thing. Ride good.
I kinda liked how he never told me to win, or score well. He always phrased it in a way that meant he'd be proud of me for the effort, not the award. It was enough to make me smile down at my phone for a moment before putting it away.
Then it was time to get ready. I hung my rope and started warming it up. Ok, so I didn't put in as much effort as I usually would've, but neither were the guys around me. I figured this was more like general maintenance. There was just one thing I still had to decide.
I had two ropes now. Well, three. J.D. said he had an extra locked in his truck for me, just in case.
We left it out there so no one could grease it.
But in here? I had the black one Ty had gotten me, and the pink one the riders had chipped in to make in my color.
Since I wouldn't be riding today, should I just use the backup rope?
I debated for only a moment. Ty had given me the black one. It had sentimental value, even if I wasn't quite sure what that sentiment would be. A lesson learned? Memories of better times? I didn't know, but it felt like something I wanted to protect.
But my pink rope? That one was starting to feel like a signature piece or something.
No one else used that color - for obvious reasons.
It would also make one hell of a statement out there on the dirt.
There was no missing how pink belonged to me, and I wanted to make some kind of declaration with this little stunt we were about to pull.
Because I'd finally figured out the word for this feeling: resentment.
I wanted to lay blame on the people who were responsible.
I was fucking sick and tired of everyone else getting hurt because they hated me.
I hadn't done a damned thing to them except be a woman, but they wanted me gone because of a simple accident of birth!
They were doing this. They were the ones at fault.
They were willing to destroy everything for something so fucking stupid, and a man had died because of it.
I resented all of that, and so much more, but I'd become used to it.
That was why I hadn't been able to name this - because I'd been pushing through it since middle school, if not before.
I resented that I wasn't even sure who they were!
I knew Donald Merrill was involved, but was it the entire Pbr management?
Was it bigger than that? Or maybe it was just a handful of people?
I knew Donald wasn't alone, because the judges had been scoring me so low.
That meant this wasn't just one man screwing it all up.
Somewhere, far above my pay grade, a group of people were doing their best to sabotage us.
But my guys had pointed out something last night.
I was so pissed because this wasn't the first time it had happened to me.
I wasn't shocked or overwhelmed. For as long as I could remember, I'd been told I was an idiot for trying to compete with the boys.
I was reminded that men wouldn't be attracted to a girl showing them up.
I'd been laughed at, harassed, and cut down at every turn.
But for me, this was normal.
For most of these guys, this was completely new.
To them, this was unfair, confusing, and distracting.
They were idolized, not pushed around. Hell, most people would consider these guys alpha males or some shit.
The men who made it to the Tough Enough series were all the best of the best. The top one percent, or whatever crap social media was spewing this year.
They expected to be praised for their manliness, have their tantrums ignored, and people would always be there to help them when they needed it - not cut them down. Not leave them hanging.
For the first time, quite a few of these men were feeling the same bigotry I had as a woman, J.D. had as a Latino, and Tanner had being bisexual. They were used to having power, and sometimes money. But this? This was a fight they'd never been taught how to protect themselves from, so I would.
Eventually, the event started. Not surprisingly, there was an extra-long prayer, along with a short memorial for Casey Davis. The announcer did his best to convince the crowd we would continue on in his memory, but that was bullshit. I wasn't the only one rolling my eyes when he said it.
Then it was time to head out. Grabbing my rope, glove, helmet, and tape, I headed up to the chutes, even though the memorial was still playing.
Between the warm-up area and there? The pens for the cattle were busier than usual.
I recognized most of the cowboys back here, from Anthony to my fellow riders, and more staff than I'd ever seen before.
White shirts with professions on the back marked a few, like the veterinarian.
It was the rest that made me pause. Over there, in the alley by the exit gate, a pretty blonde was looking around like she was lost. On the other side, a pair of guys were talking intently, microphones held loosely by their sides.
Those were all reporters, and while most of them were men, the women had at least dressed for the venue.
Jeans, boots, and button-down shirts seemed to be the attire for tonight, even if most of them were more business than western.
"Hey," Jake said, moving over to see what I was looking at.
"That's a lot of press," I told him.
"Yep," he agreed. "Also sounds like you have a plan."
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I don't want to spoil the surprise, though."
He chuckled at that. "Good point." Then he moved over a bit, kicking a foot up on the cattle panel before him, then resting his forearms across the rail by his chest. "Cody, this could backfire."
I shifted over to match him. "Figured."
"I mean, if the Pbr thinks we're a liability, they could fine us enough to run off the new guys."
"Yeah, but what would that do?" I countered. "Jake, the problem is the veterans."
"And you."
I shrugged that off. "I promise I'm getting paid well enough for this."
"But are you?" he asked. "If you're not riding, does that count? Or are you throwing away thousands?" He looked over, scanning my face. "Tens of thousands?" Then his eyes narrowed. "Hundreds of thousands? Fuck, girl. How much are you getting paid to be here?"
"A lot," I admitted, gesturing to my chest and chaps. "Those little voodoo dolls? That's Deviant Games, and the owner of the company bought it all. Every open space I had left, he wanted - and my rep made him pay dearly for it."
"So, how pissed will he be if you do this?" Jake asked, lifting a brow like he was making a point.
But I ducked my head, trying to hide my smile.
"I might get a bonus. See, that's the thing.
They noticed me because I wasn't staying in my lane.
They only got into the Pbr because the demographic matches what they want, and I'm not playing by the rules.
I'm being a deviant, Jake, and they like that, so I'm ok. The rest of you might not be."
"Yeah," he said softly, taking that in. "So what's the plan, Cody?"
I glanced over at the scoreboard, making sure we hadn't actually started yet. From the looks of it, the drill team was now doing their thing, getting the crowd all fired up. The whole time, Jake just watched me, clearly aware I was thinking this through.
Because I was pissed. I was also the one person in the right position this time.
These guys weren't used to this sort of harassment, but I was.
These cowboys didn't know how to play this game, but I'd mastered it.
Max had given me an arsenal of sorts in the form of the right sponsors, and J.D. had taught me how to be a little crazy.
Now, I had to cowgirl up and protect my guys. All of them.
"They started this because I showed up," I told Jake. "They did all of this to try to run me out, right? Austin attacked Tanner because of it - "
"Or because Austin thinks Tanner's just as bad as a woman," Jake pointed out. "Could be two separate issues, Cody."
"And Tanner's still my man," I said, turning to look at him again.
"I'm still a bull rider, and no one comes at me without expecting me to push back.
I might be a girl, but I'm not that type of girl, and I'm sure as shit not scared of a little pain.
So yeah, the plan?" I felt my lips curling into some sort of crazy grin. "I think it's called 'hold my beer.'"
"Yep," Jake said, catching my elbow to encourage me forward.
"I think the Pbr 'done fucked up' this time.
" He chuckled at his forced country slang.
"But I can't push this, Cody. I can nudge, and I can give ideas, but I cannot be the face of it.
That's got to be Ty and Renato..." He slowed so we were truly side by side.
"And you, I think. America needs someone to lead us. "
"Jake, I'm still a rookie."
"But you're J.D.'s rookie," he reminded me. "You're the heir apparent, so show these fuckers why the Pbr's bad boy latched onto you. And no, it's not just because he's crushing hard. And yes, I know all about that mess you have going on."
"Oh," I said, because what else was there?
Jake knew J.D. had a thing for me? Or was he just guessing? And if he knew that, how much more did he know about us? Then again, if he did know, he sure wasn't pulling away or making things hard for me. In fact, he was stepping up.
"Jake?"
He paused right before the stairs that led up to the chutes. "Hm?"
I watched his face, wondering if I'd be able to see a reaction on this man. "Are you really on my side?"
"Yeah, Cody. I am. They made me pick, so I did. You didn't push me, so that means I have to push myself, and you know what?"
"What?"
He rubbed my arm gently, right across where it said "Girls Do It.
" "For years now, I've done everything I could to stay out of the drama.
The whole time, my scores improved, but my sponsors didn't. Then this woman blows in here, shaking everything up, and her vest and chaps fill up in weeks.
Not even months, just weeks! Every time I think I should hate her for having it easy, she keeps showing she's honestly working for it, then doubling down and being the kind of person most of us should be. "
"Me?" I asked.
"Mhm," he agreed. "You, the bull rider who's showing me I've been a chickenshit this whole time. So yeah, I might not help, but I'll fucking hold your beer and cheer you on."
"Or help?" I suggested, hoping to encourage him just a bit.
But he shook his head. "No, if I tried, it'd fuck everything up. See, you're not playing by the same rules as the rest of these guys, but I'm not either. Different rules. Different reasons. Different fights, and I might be gasoline to your fire."
"Then maybe it's time for things to burn." And I turned, climbing up the stairs to where the bulls were starting to flow into their chutes.