Page 9 of Before You Can Blink
September
“Sonofabitch!”I hissed through gritted teeth, shockwaves of pain radiating through my right arm as the rodeo doc set the broken bone.
Murphy burst through the flap of the medical tent, shouting, “What the hell happened?”
His wife, Layla, folded both arms over her chest as she gave me her bestmom glare, even though she was only five years older than me. “I’ll tell you what happened. You two idiots decided it was a good idea for him to compete after he dislocated his shoulder during yesterday’s ride.”
She wasn’t pulling any punches. That was for damn sure.
Layla’s transition from rancher’s daughter to rodeo wife had been seamless. She was the one keeping an eye on the standings, strategizing based on which horses we pulled, and managing all of our winnings. But if there was one thing she didn’t like, it was having her advice disregarded, and that’s precisely what we’d done.
She, along with the medical personnel, had cautioned against riding again so soon, but Murph and I figured that since the shoulder that popped out of place wasn’t on my grip arm, I could power through it.
Wrong.
The searing flash of pure agony when I lifted the injured arm in the air on the bronc’s first buck right out of the gate was enough to have me losing my grip on the riggin’ handle. In the span of a single breath, I was rushing headfirst toward the dirt, and on instinct, my good arm extended to break my fall.
Oh, and break it did.
“So, instead of pulling out of one event, he can kiss competing in the circuit finals goodbye!” Layla’s ranting rose in pitch, and I winced, not only at the volume of her voice but at the accuracy of her statement.
I was a fool to ride tonight when I’d already locked my spot in the circuit finals, set to take place in three weeks’ time. Winning that would allow me to compete in the national finals, where placing in a single round would bring in more money than I earned in weeks, sometimes months, combined. Not only would it be financially life-changing, but it also had the potential to catch the eye of big-name sponsors, which in turn could take my career to the next level.
A broken arm in mid-September meant I could kiss that dream goodbye. At least until next year.
The weight of my fuck-up crashed down on me hard, and I hung my head as I let out a heavy breath. I had no one else to blame but myself and my overinflated ego, thinking I could compete injured. But in my defense, I’d ridden hurt dozens of times, and the worst that came of it was a lower-than-average score, so why would I think this time would be any different?
Murphy’s hand came down on my shoulder. “Shake it off, kid. All you can do now is heal up, train your ass off, and come back stronger than ever next year.”
Every year that passed, the opportunity slipped further away. I’d watched it happen with the older guys; as their reflexes began to slow, their scores slid further down the leaderboards.
I was in the prime of my life. If I didn’t make it to nationals now, I worried that I never would.
November
“Well, shit. Looks like the hotshot rodeo star hasn’t forgotten his roots after all.”
I shook my head on a laugh as I moved through the crowd at the Watering Hole—the only bar in Rust Canyon—toward my best friend.
“I’d need to drink this place dry to forget your ugly mug.” I cuffed Wade’s shoulder.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you, man. One of these days, I’m gonna sayfuck itand join you on the circuit. There’s gotta be a task that needs doin’ I can help with.”
I snorted. “Sure. You can hold my dick when I take a leak.”
Wade’s head dropped back as barking laughter sounded over the music. He gripped his side, a mischievous twinkle entering his eyes, and I braced for him to clap back.
Lips twisting, he made a show of snapping his fingers. “Damn, I’d love to help you out, buddy, but I misplaced my magnifying glass.”
Holding up two fingers, I signaled to Lou behind the bar for a round of beers. In a town this small, the bartenders had everyone’s drink orders memorized.
“Heard you took up a job on the Livingston Ranch.” Now that we’d gotten the obligatory razzing out of the way, it was time to catch up with my best friend after seven months on the road.
Lou placed two bottles before us, and Wade hummed before taking a sip and nodding. “Yeah, when you get a chance, thank Layla for putting in a good word.” He chuckled. “Nearly pissed myself, though, when Old Man Livingston pulled out his shotgun and warned me what would happen if I went near his youngest daughter after Murph ran off with her sister.”
“Not sure why he’s worried,” I mused. “Caroline’s not even eighteen.”
“Nineteen,” Wade corrected quickly. Too quickly.
