As he’d done in McLeansville, Luke stayed near his truck, preferring to be alone. He could still hear the crowd from the parking lot, and when he heard the roar go up, followed a few seconds later by the announcer barking, “That’s the way it goes sometimes,” he knew the rider had been thrown. He was scheduled to ride fourteenth, and even though the rides were measured in seconds, there was usually a break of a few minutes between competitors. He figured he’d go over in fifteen minutes, if only to keep his nerves in check.
He didn’t want to be here.
The thought came to him with unexpected clarity, even though deep down he’d known it all along. The undeniable conviction made him feel like the ground had just shifted under his feet. He wasn’t ready for this. And maybe, just maybe, he’d never be ready.
Fifteen minutes later, however, he began a slow trek to the arena.
More than anything, it was the smell that enabled him to continue. It was familiar, triggering responses that had grown automatic over the years. The world compressed. He tuned out the sound of the crowd and the announcer, focusing his attention on the young handlers who were helping him get ready. Ropes were tightened. He worked the wrap until it felt exactly right in his hand. He centered himself on the bull. He waited for a split second, making sure everything was right, then nodded to the gateman.
“Let’s go.”
Stir Crazy came out with a weak buck and then a second, before twisting hard to the right, all four legs off the ground. But Luke had been ready and stayed low in his seat, keeping his balance as Stir Crazy bucked two more times and then began to spin.
Luke adjusted instinctively throughout all of it, and as soon as the buzzer sounded, he reached down with his free hand and undid the wrap. He jumped off, landing on both feet, and ran to the arena fence. He was out of harm’s way before the bull had stopped bucking.
The crowd continued to cheer and the announcer reminded them that he’d once placed third in the world standings. He removed his hat and waved it at the crowd before turning around and hiking back to his truck.
On the walk, his headache returned with punishing force.
Ride number two was a bull named Candyland. Luke was in fourth place in the standings.
Again, he went through the motions on autopilot, the world compressed to the narrowest of frames. Meaner bull this time. More showy. During the ride, he heard the crowd roar its approval. He rode successfully and again escaped the arena while the bull threw a temper tantrum.
His score on that ride moved him into second place.
He spent the next hour sitting behind the wheel of his truck, his head throbbing with every heartbeat. He supplemented a handful of ibuprofen with Tylenol, but it did little to blunt the pain. He wondered if his brain was swelling and tried not to think about what would happen if he got thrown.
With his last ride, he found himself in a position to win. Earlier, though, one of the other finalists had finished with the highest score of the day.
In the chute, he was no longer nervous. Not because he’d experienced a burst of hidden confidence, but because the agony and exhaustion had left him too tired to care one way or the other.
He just wanted to get it over with. Whatever happened, happened.
When he was ready, the chute gate swung open. It was a good bull, though not as tricky as the second one had been. More challenging than the first, though, and his score reflected that.
The winner would be decided by the leader’s performance on his final ride. But the leader of the first two rounds lost his balance early on with the bull he’d drawn and couldn’t regain it, landing in the dirt.
Although he had been second in the short go, he ended up winning the event. One event into the season, he was in first place, precisely where he needed to be.
He collected his check and texted both his mom and Sophia that he was on his way back. But as he started the long drive home, his head still throbbing, he wondered why he honestly didn’t care about the points at all.
“You look terrible,” Sophia said. “Are you okay?”
Luke tried to force a reassuring grin. After collapsing into bed around three a.m., he’d awakened after eleven, his head and body a chorus of pain. Automatically, he’d reached for the painkillers and swallowed several before staggering to the shower, where he’d let the hot spray seep into his bruised and knotted muscles.
“I’m fine,” he said. “It was a long drive, and ever since I got up, I’ve been working on repairing some broken fencing.”
“Are you sure?” Sophia’s concern reflected her skepticism at his reassurances. Ever since she had arrived at the ranch that afternoon, she’d been scrutinizing him like an anxious mother hen. “You’re acting like you’re coming down with something.”