Page 62 of What Remains True
He got up and tossed his rope over one of the panels in the alley and began heating it up. Racing his glove up and down the length, the rosin softened, getting stickier against his glove.
His thoughts zoned in on the end goal: finals.
He heard the buzzer sound for the last rider and the consolatory applause for another loser. He didn’t even have to look to know. There was a resounding difference between the cheer for a cowboy who covered the ride and one when the bull was victorious.
He stood up, took the hat off his head, and twirled it around, then set it hard down on his head. A silly little something he did before every ride. His signature. His rope and glove were so sticky that he didn’t even need to close his hand around the hat to keep it from falling.
He climbed the pole gates and went over to the platform. His buddies clapped him on the shoulders as he stepped one leg over the gate. He was one dusty boot away from his ride.
Earlier, he’d got the best draw of them all: Tail Biter. This bull had more twists than a mountain road. He’d jump high and swivel around close enough to bite his own tail.
Adam knew that if he allowed himself to predict Tail Biter’s moves, he’d be bucked off in a quick hurry. He needed to stay in control and maintain balance no matter where that old bull went, and if that meant swinging left and then right, he needed to wave like a flag.
He let out three quick breaths, ignoring the talking around him. Tuning out the noise and the music, he dropped into the box until his rear end hit the bull’s back. He felt the power beneath him. After heating up his rope again, he pulled it tight. One more extra turn around the thumb for good measure. He pounded his fist into the rigging. The bull rocked and snorted.
Adam huffed back, clamping his legs to the sides of the beast.
He lifted his free hand up near his ear and tucked his chin so low that he couldn’t see anything but the brim of his own hat and the shiny black shoulders of Tail Biter.
He gave the nod.
The click of the chute releasing and the slam from the gate flinging open sent Tail Biter catapulting out.
Adam had laser-like focus on the bull’s shoulders, willing his body to move as one with it. Red dirt from the arena flew through the air as the formidable animal dug his feet into the ground to hurl himself back in the air again. The bull let out a long, deep groan.
This time Tail Biter twisted to the left, his body like a U in that telltale move he was known for. Adam stared that bull right in his left eye, the white wide and the pupils huge andfilled with anger. Adam didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. He let that animal groan a howl as he flung his heavily muscled neck in the other direction.
Adam’s body whipped around, his own knee bouncing to his shoulder on the recoil. He stretched out his leg and spurred that bull. The animal flung him with fury. Adrenaline masked the pain of his recent injuries.
When the buzzer sounded, Adam pulled the rope of his rigging and let go, flying a good ways in the air before landing in the dirt against the fence. He stood, brushing the dirt from the seat of his pants, caught his breath, and scrambled to safety, then looked back to check on his opponent.
The bull pawed the ground. Dirt rose beneath its heavy hooves, and its eyes were lasered in on Adam. The bull huffed.
Adam jumped for the gate, reaching the top just as Tail Biter hit it.
The pickup guys raced their horses up the arena to assist. The bullfighters distracted Tail Biter, allowing the cowboys to funnel the bull out of the ring.
Adam’s heart pounded. He could see the crowd cheering, but he heard nothing. He took the hat from his head and tossed it into the air.
All the spectators in the stands were on their feet.
He pumped his fist in the air.
Thank You for giving me a safe ride.
That ride felt like the ride of a champion—the champion he wanted so badly to be.
He grabbed his rope and bell from the ground and headed to the back, stopping to wave one more time at all the fans, who were still standing.
The announcer drawled out his score. “Adam Locklear isowning this night. Tonight he has done it again. A whopping 94.5!”
The other cowboys slapped him on the back as he walked to the locker room. Doc was there too. He’d seen Adam through some of his best and worst rides.
“Wow, you did it! I think that may be the highest score ever ridden in this arena.”
Adam shook his hand. “Got my head right. Don’t know how I did it. I was so distracted. I had to muster everything I had.”
“Well, distraction worked for you tonight.”
