Page 14 of The Hearts We've Broken
They quieted down after that, giving me a break from being the butt of all their jokes. I loved the guys, I really did, but sometimes it weighed on me. I knew I wasn’t stupid or a complete dumbass, but sometimes it was easier to be the funny guy. That didn’t mean I wanted to be a punchline, though. At least not all the time.
A few hours later, we’d finished helping Colter with the work that needed to be done on the ranch and had gathered on the back porch with a case of cold beer.
“Only a couple weeks until Houston, boys.” Jake plopped down into an Adirondack chair as he popped the tab on his beer can. “You all ready for another year of this?”
“Yessir.” Colter held up his can in acknowledgment.It’d been three years now since he’d met Ellison at the Houston Rodeo. Since then, he and Reid had brought home plenty of gold buckles.
This was my year to bring one back from Houston. I could feel it in my bones. I was also ready to prove everyone wrong at the NFR, too. Although I’d made it last year—an accomplishment in itself—it didn’t seem to be enough for the media or the “fans.” It was always the same thing.
If Tucker had been more focused on riding those bulls than riding women, he’d be the number one bull rider in the world.
That guy is off his game.
Maybe it’s time for him to hang up his chaps and give it a rest.
The comments I’d seen on social media flashed before my eyes, and I squeezed them shut to make it all go away.
“Everything all right?” Reid broke me out of my trance.
“Yep. All good.” I nodded, fighting to think of something to change the subject. “Bet you’re excited to see your girlfriend again. Houston seems to be the lucky gold mine for finding women. Maybe it’s time we got Hayden a girl.” I wiggled my eyebrows to add to the joke.
While Reid technically hadn’t met Isabelle in Houston, that seemed to be the place where the fire between them ignited. At least until they friend-zoned each other…probably because of me. Oops.
Hayden’s cheeks flushed as he shook his head.
“Ah, why not, man? I’ve never seen you with a girl before, there’s gotta be one out there for ya.”
He grumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out, but I swore I heard, “Doesn’t matter, because none of them will ever be her.”
“Hey, maybe instead of focusing on our love lives, you can focus on bull riding, eh?” Colter raised his brows.
I tried not to dwell on what he said, but the words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. I knew Colter didn’t mean to hurt me, and his intentions weren’t malicious, because he—and everyone else—had no idea the pressure I was under. I wanted to be better. Hell, I should have been winning by now. It was already difficult not to accept what the people on the Internet were saying as truth—that I was past my prime and there was no way I’d ever be able to claw my way to the top.
Instead, I plastered on a fake smile and fired back, “I like what I like, Carson.” Kicking my feet out and leaning back into my chair, I added, “I’m only after three things. Danger, buckles, and buckle bunnies.”
“Well, you’ve got at least two of the three down.” Ellison snorted.
I sighed, letting my shoulders droop.They don’t mean it.“Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it. This is my year.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jake raised his beer.
I started riding bulls when I was nineteen. It started as another stupid bet, but then I realized I was actually good at it. I spent a few years riding in smaller rodeos in the WRCA before getting my permit card for the PRCA when I was twenty-four. It’d been six years since I joined the PRCA and almost twelve since I’d sat on my first bull.
It was damn time for me to start winning bigger prize pots.
There were several elements to bull riding. While it was absolutely about skill and your level of training, luck of the draw played a role in it, too—literally. There was a chance you’d draw a good bull that matched your style of riding,but there was also a chance you’d draw a bull that bucked differently and you’d have to adapt.
Then came the element of mental toughness. I was sure every bull rider experienced some level of fear sitting atop the bucking chutes, but it was all about how you grabbed hold of the reins and controlled that fear. To focus on the end goal of eight seconds. To have that courage to do the hard thing. Like the old saying went, being scared to death yet choosing to saddle up anyway.
At the end of the day, the adrenaline rush of bull riding overtook the fear for me. After my fair share of vicious bulls, I was convinced anything was possible if you had the mental fortitude to hang on for eight seconds, to push through the pain and fear of the uncertain and come out on top.
Sometimes those eight seconds felt like a lifetime, but the minute you heard that buzzer go off, it was like a weight being lifted off your shoulders. Getting out of the arena safely was another story, but that was what the bullfighters were there for. They were trained professionals who put their lives at risk every ride. Combine it all and bull riding was an art.
One I wasn’t quite ready to give up on yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
juniper
