Serenity Falls(97)

Wes shakes his head and scoops me up off the ground, hugging me to him. My arms bind around his neck as I look down into his striking blue eyes. “I love you, you know that?”

I nod. “I do. I love you, too. But you better be careful, or I’ll kick your ass myself,” I whisper as I lean in for a kiss.

“All right.” He chuckles, and placing me back on the ground, hands me a piece of paper with the number thirteen printed in big black bold numbers. “Will you put it on the back of my vest?” He turns away from me.

“Why 13?” I’m not really a superstitious person, but even the number 13 has me a little weary.

“I don’t know. It’s what they gave, and it just so happens to be my favorite number.”

I attach the paper to the back of his vest, ignoring the comment about thirteen being his favorite number. It’s odd, I admit that, but to each his own, I guess. My fingers linger on the numbers as I smooth out the paper. “All good,” I say, patting his back.

“Thanks.” Wes points to a set of bleachers, and tells us that’s where we all need to sit. Just as I spin around to follow everyone, I’m pulled back into strong arms, and spun back around. “I want y’all, but especially you, sitting front and center. I want to be able to see your face when I’m on that bull. I want you to see me do what I do best. I want you to be proud of me,” Wes says, staring into my eyes with an intensity that I’ve never known or felt. My only response comes in the form of a nod. “I love you, and I’ll see you when I’m done.” With that, he leans in, kisses me one last time, and spins me back around to leave.



I’m out of breath as I take a seat between Brantley and Sarah. “You all right?” Brantley asks patting my knee.

“Yeah. It was crowded back there. I had to shove my way through just to get over here.”

The breeze that I felt when we entered the arena no longer exists. Instead, I feel like I’m suffocating. I know it’s been a while since I’ve been to a rodeo, but damn, this place is packed. Not one bleacher is empty. Some of the people are sitting while others stand. They gather in, trying to get as close as possible to the iron gates that separate us from the contenders. I fan myself with my hand to cool off, but the hot, stagnant, humid air makes my attempts useless. As my eyes continue to search the arena, a loud noise draws my attention to the chute where Wes is currently located. People surround him. I have no idea what they’re saying, but I can see them all nodding their heads. “Ladies and Gentleman! Boys and Girls! Up next is the famous PBR riding champion of 2012! Tonight, he’s riding one of the rowdiest bulls we’ve seen in a long time, Damion. With an average buck off rate of ninety-five percent, he’s one hell of a beast to hang on to!”

Before the announcer has a chance to introduce Wes’ name, the crowd is already chanting. “WESLEY ADAMS! WESLEY ADAMS! WESLEY ADAMS!”

I shoot to my feet, cup my hands around my mouth, scream, and chant along with the rest of his fans. I am proud of him, proud of my bull rider. As boots stomp against the metal bleachers, more angst builds within the arena. The metal gate to the chute springs open and out flies a very pissed off bull, and a very serious bull rider. Wes’ left arm is suspended in the air above his head, while his body twists and turns with the movements of the bull.

Damion bucks back and forth. His front hooves stomp on the dirt floor below, and then his back hooves follow. Violently, he thrashes his massive, brown body from side to side, back and forth. His hips twist with the motion as he tries his damndest to buck Wes off his back. My hands fly to mouth as I gasp when I watch the bull’s large, white horns swing with the motion, barely missing Wes’ head as the momentum of the bull swings him forward. I’m stuck, frozen in the moment. Everything around me plays in slow motion. Even the numbers on the board changing, trying to reach eight seconds, barely move. My eyes stay glued to Wes, but even the brutal force tossing his body about is sluggish. “If you are going to be with him, then this is a part of his life that you will need to accept and support.” I know it is Brantley’s voice, but it seems so distant.

My movements are languid as I turn to him, my eyes slowly blinking. He’s right. This, bull riding, is a part of Wes. It doesn’t make him who he is, but it is a part of him. Now that I’ve seen what he does for a living with my own eyes, what his passion is, can I handle it? Am I strong enough to support him? Do I have the strength to watch him get hurt, only to turn around and watch him get back on for the ride of his life again and again? Is my love for him strong enough to overcome my own fears with his occupation of choice? The only answer that comes to mind is yes! I love him enough to be with him through anything and everything. My thoughts freeze as the sound of a buzzer goes off. My eyes snap to the electronic board where the timer has stopped. The eight seconds every bull rider dreams of reaching is plastered against the clock. Immediately, my eyes fly to the arena, but there’s no sign of Wes, only the people corralling the bull into another gated area. My head whips from side to side as I search for Wes, and it’s all because I checked out for a minute, and now, I don’t know where the hell he is. “Where is he? Oh my God, did he get hurt?” My words are frantic as I continue looking for him.