Page 71 of Wild For You

She’s sleeping on the couch now, the soft light throwing dancing shadows across her skin, her hair spread out on the pillow. Being careful not to wake her, I cover her with a blanket and then head into the kitchen to prepare the coffee. As the coffee maker’s whirring, I check my phone.

There’s a total of three messages, all from Sam, one of my oldest friends. And just as expected, the phone rings. Ever since my accident, he’s been calling every week, same day, same time, to check on my progress.

Bull riding is his passion and life. Sam and his brother Joe introduced me to the professional side of it. They even taught me a few tricks along the way, which ended up catapulting me to the top of the game.

I answer almost instantly and grimace as the blaring music in the background blasts through the earpiece. There’s the faint sound of a voice trying to fight its way through, but I can’t make out a single word.

“Sam, get out of that shithole for a minute. I can’t hear a damn thing.”

The line breaks a few times, as though someone’s pressing a hand over the phone. I can picture Sam elbowing his way through some dingy, smoke-filled bar to reach the door. Eventually, the music recedes, and I can make out Sam’s voice.

“There’s going to be another competition in five weeks.” Sam isn’t a man of greetings or friendly small talk. He always cuts to the chase, his tone betraying his excitement. “Joe just told me Dillinger will be in Paeroa on the 16th. How’s the leg?”

Five weeks?

I grit my teeth. “It’s seen better days, but I’m working my ass off to get it back in shape.”

“Are you sure it’s not too early, because your dad said…”

“Forget Dad. Just because I can’t run, doesn’t mean I can’t ride.” I lean against the refrigerator to take the pressure off my hip. “I could ride any bull with my eyes closed. I know it.”

“But last time…”

“Sam,” I hiss. “Last time, I made a mistake. I lost focus.” Silence ensues for a few seconds. “I know what I’m doing. Give your brother the heads up. He can count me in. The 16th, you said?”

The stifling silence persists. I strain to listen, unsure whether I’ve just lost him, when the music’s back on.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. There’s news going around that Dillinger killed a contestant last week and that this might be his last competition. They want him off the list and retired.”

“That’s ridiculous. Dillinger is the best bull they’ve ever had.”

“Maybe,” Sam says. “But people have started to withdraw. He’s become too uncontrollable, and no one’s willing to risk their lives.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to push the pictures of my accident to the back of my mind. Kellan should never have shown me the damn video. Then again, I would have found it myself and watched it anyway.

“What’s Joe thinking?” I ask after a pause.

“Forget Joe. I’m not doing it, and neither should you. It’s getting too dangerous.”

I open my eyes, surprised. This doesn’t sound like Sam at all. “Are you chickening out?”

He sighs. “I’m worth more alive than dead, dude. Now that my daughter’s born, my wife isn’t too happy about me getting back into that saddle. I have a family to care for. I can’t afford an accident like…”

He breaks off.

“Say it, Sam. Don’t tiptoe around me like everyone else. Say it. I can take it.” I growl. “An accident like mine.” I press my palm against the counter, fighting the urge to slam my fist down. “Tell Joe I’m in.”

A short pause, then, “Okay. I’ll be back from Hawaii sometime next week. I’ll send you the details as soon as I have them. Promise you’ll give this some thought, Cash. No one expects you to prove anything.”

“I don’t need to think about it.” I end the call, then toss the phone on the counter. It lands with a loud thud.

A surge of anger shoots through me.

Dillinger is the best bull, and they’re thinking of retiring him?

There’s no way I’ll miss this once in a lifetime opportunity. It would be insane. In the nine years I’ve been bull riding, there hasn’t been a single beast as vigorous and robust as Dillinger. He’s the best line I’ve ever come across.

Busy with my thoughts, I start to whisk eggs in a bowl, adding water and pepper. By the time I heat the skillet and pour in the scrambled eggs, I know exactly what I’m going to do.

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