Page 35 of The Hearts We've Broken
“Oh, damn, you’re that guy all over social media right now.”
I blinked a few times, trying not to let my annoyance show. I clearly didn’t do a good job at it, because the kid quickly threw out an apology.
Both of us were saved from the awkward interaction when a young boy in a pearl snap shirt, jeans tucked into his cowboy boots, and a hat too big for his head came up to me.
“You’re my favorite bull rider. I want to bejust like youwhen I grow up.” He looked up at me with awe in his eyes.
“Is that so?” I chuckled. “What’s your name?”
“Devon.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Devon. Do you want a picture?”
He nodded vigorously, a huge smile forming on hisface. I squatted down to his level, putting my arm around him as the camera flashed.
“Thanks, buddy. Keep up the good work.” I signed his cowboy hat then sent him along. The kid bounced on his feet the entire time he walked away with his parents.
Kids like that both made my heart feel full and like someone had driven a knife through it. On one hand, I was honored to be considered a role model in their eyes, but on the other hand, what right did I have tobea role model for them? If I was a parent, I wasn’t sure if I’d want my kid to look up to me. Especially not with the media and fans’ perception.
Another kid walked up, and I tossed away all my negative thoughts and feelings. For an hour, I wasn’t Mikey Tucker the playboy bull rider. For an hour, I could be Mikey Tucker the role model.
After the appearance and the phone call with my agent, I stood behind the bucking chutes taking deep breaths to ease my racing nerves. Spectators hadn’t arrived at the arena yet, so there was a type of tranquility in the air. Soon enough, the uproar of fans would fill the space, drowning everything out like a symphony.
I’d drawn Iron Tornado for my matchup earlier and stood face to face with him now, the back pen’s fence separating us. He huffed, warm air blowing in my face. These bulls were bred to buck, were made for this, but I wondered if he knew what was coming. If he was as determined to throw me as I was to hold on.
“Mikey.” A gruff voice behind me caught my attention, and I spun around.
“Maverick.” I nodded.
Maverick Oakes was one of the best bull riders in the league. He’d won the World last year and was projected tohave another good season. He was younger than me, but he had a maturity about him, a confidence that radiated off him in waves. It was difficult not to admire him at least a little bit.
“Been seeing a lot of you on social media lately.”
I snorted. “You know a lot of it’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m looking forward to seeing you ride out there tonight, Tuck.” He patted me on the back as he passed, walking toward the tunnel to exit the arena.
“Thanks. Yeah, you, too.” I started to say goodbye then stopped myself. “Hey, Maverick.”
He paused in his tracks.
“How do you deal with it all? The media, pressure from fans, staying at the top of your game?” I regretted the words as soon as they came out, not wanting to show any kind of weakness, especially not to my biggest competitor, but he turned around, his face reflecting understanding instead of judgment or pity.
“You just keep ridin’. Remember why you’re here and do your damn best, putting in one hundred and fifty percent every day. The majority of those people would never attempt to get on a bull, so they don’t know what it’s like,” he said simply. “Keep your head up.” With that, he disappeared through the tunnel, leaving me with the beast I’d take on later tonight and the thoughts I battled daily.
“Folks, our next rider comes from Silver Creek, Montana. He’s a three-time RodeoHouston athlete and last year competed in the NFR. Tonight, he’s up against the bull they call Iron Tornado.” The announcer rattled offinformation about me, but it was purely background noise to the pounding in my ears.
Everything around me faded away as my breaths started to shallow. I hopped back and forth on my feet, the tassels on my chaps swinging with the movement. Wringing my hands together, I waited for the right moment to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, then I climbed onto the chute gate from the platform behind it.
The guitar riff of a rock song played, and the cheers from the crowd magnified. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I looked up, seeing my face on the big screen until it panned out to the arena and the crowd.
I handed the rope to the man on the platform who would pull it to tighten it and sat myself on the top of the chute before putting a foot on the bull’s back and grabbing both sides of the pen. Lowering myself down, I sat on the bull, warmed up the rosin on the bull rope and my handle, then shook down my bells before adjusting the rope on his back.
To a normal person, it would seem like there were a lot of steps, but this was second nature to me. I went through the same routine every single time I rode, no matter what bull I was on.
Iron Tornado rocked back and forth in the bucking chute, hitting the sides and kicking the gate.
“Pull,” I ordered. The rope was tightened, and I wrapped it around my hand. Once I adjusted my seat on the back of the bull, leaning slightly so I wouldn’t be immediately thrown, I nodded, pushing my hips toward the rope as the gate swung open and the bull launched out of the chute, unleashing his anger.
