Page 1 of Dallas

Chapter One

Dallas

I don’t have a death wish. I just like to flirt with death for around eight seconds on a Friday night.

Every so often that old song drifts through my head as I climb into the chute.Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

Good thing my mom doesn’t give a shit about me.

My stepmom is a good woman, though, and she doesn’t deserve to worry about me. Hell, my dad is a decent guy, for all that he didn’t know about me until I was fifteen. He took me in after years in foster care, tried to finish raising me right.

He did his best.

I’m just fucked up.

Fucked up enough that this is how I get my kicks, I guess.

I’m sitting on the edge of the chute, and Ilower myself down onto the bull, grabbing hold of the harness and slipping my hand beneath the leather strap.

“The next rider up is a champion. Number two in the world right now, folks, just twenty-four years old, from Gold Valley, Oregon, riding a little bull called Tundra. Give it up for Dallas Dodge!” The crowd cheers and I adjust the leather strap, my heart pounding in my head, my whole body shaking from the adrenaline pouring through my veins. A better high than any shit out there.

Though, it’s not unlike shit you buy on the street. You could think you’re buying straight shit, and it could be laced with Fentanyl and send you straight to an early grave.

Tundra might be my bad batch. He’s pissed at me, that’s for sure. Which is his whole job. I’m supposed to ride him; he’s supposed to buck me off.

I’m never sure who the crowd is chanting for.

If they want me to get my full eight seconds, or if they want the bull to throw me, and tear me a whole new one for good measure.

This is Rome and we’re the gladiators. Though we aren’t prisoners of anything other than our own bullshit.

I think about my stepmom then – who surely didn’t want me to grow up to be a cowboy. My dad. My half-siblings. All the people who love me back in Gold Valley.

Then Sarah.

I always think about Sarah.

It doesn’t matter how many years it’s been since she got sent back to her mom, since we were separated in that last foster home, I think about her. Especially in these moments.

I touch the brim of my hat.

Those who are about to die salute you.

The bull bucks underneath me, and I nod to the men holding the gate. They release, and it’s on.

It’s either the fastest or slowest eight seconds imaginable. There’s not much in between. And I’m feeling it tonight. But I know what I need to do. I let out a breath, my body sinking into the rhythm. The movements. I’m hoping that I get a high enough score. That the bull doesn’t ruin this by being too kind to me. But then, he reverses his movements, planting both front feet down and shifting from a fluid twist to short, shocking movements. Good. That’s what I want. I want to compete. I want to win.

There’s nothing but me and the animal then. A fight for dominance. A fight for that win.

If my friend Colt Campbell scores better than me, I won’t mind so much. But if that bastard Maverick Quinn gets a high score, I swear?—

And then the time is up. I did it.

I follow the movement of the beast and jump off, landing on my feet, stumbling forward as the bull goes the other way.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. But I don’t take a bow.

I adjust my hat, look up, and begin to walk back toward the gate.

---