All I See Is You

26. Dear Rodeo

Chapter twenty-six

Dear Rodeo

Hux

I couldn’t recall a time in my life where I’d sat in the stands of a rodeo and not competed. Even when I’d been out for injuries, anytime I watched, I was down in the thick of it, there to cheer on Reid or whatever other buddies I knew were competing.

This…this was new. Different. But it didn’t have any less effect on me. The sounds, the smells, the air I breathed felt so familiar that it was easy to conjure up an image in my mind. And just like that night at the bar with Quinn—and every moment with her since—it’s like I could see everything clearly.

And so much joy filled my heart, so much calm settled over my soul like a warm blanket, that I wondered why the hell I’d waited so damn long to make my way back here.

The rodeo always had been and always would be in my bones—whether I could compete or not. Trying to ignore it was like trying to ignore part of my soul.

The sweet familiar scent of Quinn’s lemongrass and vanilla perfume drifted on the soft breeze that kissed my cheeks and I took the opportunity to pull her tighter against me. None of this would have been possible without her.

I don’t know if she realized how big of a moment this was, or just how much of an impact she had on me, but I would forever be changed because of her.

Bad Mooney had insisted we sit in his box with him. “ I don’t need all this goddamn space, and you ain’t gonna get shit for seats now. So shut up and accept the offer.” Bad words. Whit had found us about halfway through the lineup of bareback bronc riders when she’d gone to get a drink. How she could get up during an event, willing to miss any of the action was a mystery to me, but this was her first rodeo after all, so I’d forgive her. Though I might not if she didn’t stop talking. I could understand if it were about the damn rodeo, but apparently she was more interested in people’s outfits and hair.

Quinn impressed the hell out of me though, which wasn’t surprising at this point. Everything she did seemed to impress me. God, I really was whipped.

“So, what exactly determines the score?” Quinn asked. “I know part of it is lasting the entire eight seconds, but some guys get higher numbers than the others? Why?”

I nodded toward where I knew Bad was now sitting. “That’s a question for a legend himself.” Sure, I could tell her, but I knew Bad enjoyed getting to relive his glory days any chance he could, and it wasn’t everyday you could ask a famous bronc rider tricks of the trade.

“You were a rodeo cowboy?” That was Whit—surprise ringing in her voice.

“Damn right, I was. I got buckles older than you, girl.”

A smirk threatened my lips. Ever humble Bad. Some things never changed, and I found solace in that.

Bad and my dad went way back. Back to their youth rodeo days. My dad used to rope, but his heart was never in rodeoing, it was in training. But the two stayed close through the years. Hell, they talked more than I talked to my family at this point.

Bad cleared his throat and aimed his next words at Quinn beside me. “Scorin’s got a lot to do with spurrin’. Your toes should be turned out with the spurs, and you can’t let up on it or else you’re gonna get a shit score. Rhythm and control play into it as well. There’s a hundred points total. Fifty for the rider, and fifty for the horse.”

“The horse?” Whit asked. “The horse gets points? For what?”

“For the way it performs. How much does it buck? How athletic is it? Did it just rock back and forth or make it damn hard for that guy to be in the saddle?”

Quinn and Whit took turns asking Bad questions about the difference between saddle and bareback riding and which was harder, but all conversation died when Cash’s name was called over the speakers. The air felt charged around Bad—it’s like I could feel his focus. It was sharp and hot on my skin, like burning coals.

And despite how loud everything was—between the crowd and the music—I heard the gate slam open, felt the power in that horse’s hoofbeats in the loose dirt. Kid Rock’s “Cowboy” came on, but it only lasted eight seconds before the buzzer sounded. Bad didn’t shout out or make an excited fuss. He simply grunted out a soft, “Getcha some money,” under his breath.

I clapped, even as Quinn squealed in excitement. “He did it! That was so amazing!”

The entire crowd cheered, but none did louder than fucking Cash himself. His familiar crow and tagline of “Big Daddy’s in the house” echoed across the arena.

“Holy shit!” Whit said, her voice full of awe.

A wave of newfound cheers and claps erupted, and I rolled my eyes even as a grin pulled on my mouth. “Bastard just did a backflip, didn’t he?” I huffed.

“How did you—” Quinn began.

“I rodeoed with Mooney on more than one occasion. It’s his trademark move after a winning ride.” He always was such a fucking showboat. It always seemed to work for him though. Still seemed to from the way women were shouting his name.

“He damn near broke his neck tryin’ to learn how to do that,” Bad grumbled from my side. “Violet hates that he still does it.”

“She still match him when he rides?” I asked.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

I laughed, and Quinn said, “She matches with him? That’s so cute! Makes me feel bad for thinking how obnoxious his clothes were.”

Bad chuckled. “His clothes are obnoxious as fuck. But his mother loves it. And Cash may be a fuckin’ pain in my ass, but one thing is for certain. That boy loves his mama.”

Honestly, I didn’t know a soul who didn’t love Mrs. Mooney. She was the kind of woman who was everyone’s mama. It didn’t matter if you were hers or not, if you needed something, she took care of you. Don’t piss her off though. She was kind, but she was fierce, and if you crossed her, you better hide before she lit your ass up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.

Most of the rodeo went like that.

Quinn and Whit—well mostly Quinn—asked questions about the events, while either Bad or I explained it to them. Quinn seemed to hold a genuine interest in everything revolving around the rodeo. Whether it was because of my involvement in it or her own curiosity, I didn’t know, but I was happy I’d brought her tonight. Everyone deserved to experience the magic of a rodeo at least once in their lifetime. Whit seemed to be enjoying herself easily enough, but I don’t think she appreciated the same aspects of the rodeo that Quinn did.

The closer time crept toward bull riding, the more my emotions went haywire. By the time barrel racing ended, leaving no other events aside from bulls left, my heart sped along faster than a runaway train.

Quinn leaned into me, her warm, gentle touch settling some of my nerves like putting a salve over a burn. “Are you okay?” she whispered in my ear, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

Had she read my thoughts or something? Or was I just that easy to read? I opened my mouth to respond but the words lodged in my throat. I didn’t even know where to begin with explaining how I felt. Every muscle in my body was taut and full of tension, and my heart pounded so wildly in my chest I’m surprised she didn’t hear it. As it was, it damn near drowned out the sounds of the rodeo.

I offered a silent nod and squeezed her hand once before adjusting my attention toward Bad. “Are the bull chutes still over to the left?” I asked, my voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t—didn’t want to quite place.

“Yeah. Want me to get Cash and have him take ya back into the thick of it? Let’cha feel it again?”

I cleared my throat and shook my head, fighting the appreciation that battled with the fear and wistfulness swirling in my chest. “I’m gonna head that way,” I managed to get out as I stood, disentangling my fingers from Quinn’s.

She resisted for the shortest moment, concern reverberating in her words as she asked, “Want me to come with you?”

I shook my head, and suddenly the lump in my throat was back, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get the word out. I didn’t want her to worry about me, but I didn’t want her with me for this either. Not because I didn’t want her to see that part of me, or because I feared she’d pity me or anything like that, but I just…I needed this moment alone. To go through the wave of emotions, to ride that tide without her there to witness it. It was just something I needed to do. My hands trembled so badly I clenched them into fists as I finally forced out a gruff, “No.”

“O-okay.” I instantly regretted my tone. I hadn’t meant to sound like that. I reached out a hand and drew her to me, slowly reaching up to cup her face. “Thank you, but no,” I whispered against her lips.

And before she could say a word, before I let her soft warmth or her sweet scent keep me there, I walked away.

Each footfall of my boots on the wooden grandstands reverberated through my bones as I made my way down the center aisle toward the left half of the arena. I slid my hand along the handrail, following as the aisle dipped downward, until nothing but empty air and the crunch of gravel and dirt beneath my feet greeted me. I reached out my hand and made a few steps to the right before coming into contact with the pipe-stall fencing of the arena.

My heart raced as I settled my arms atop the middle wrung and leaned forward, my unseeing gaze resting toward where I assumed the bull chutes were. I could hear them easily enough. The crashing of horns against pipe, the excited din of chatter from the contestants. The cowboys working behind the scenes to get the bulls loaded into the proper chutes. Adrenaline and terror pumped through my veins, so intense it was almost like I was competing again.

Why was it this hard? How was simply standing here such a damn big deal?

Because it mattered , a little voice whispered in my head. Because this was who I was for so long. This was what I did. This was my life. And even though I’d given it up, I’d never moved on. I’d never addressed this part of me. And it was hard and it was terrifying and as much as I was tempted to just walk away, stomp my ass back to Quinn’s rental and wait for the rodeo to be over, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I had to do this.

The commentator announced the first rider and bull—Ryder Wright and some bull I’d never heard of. Only reason I knew Ryder was because he and Cash were buddies. Back when I was professional rodeoing, he’d still been making a name for himself—competing in two events. From the sound of it, he was doing pretty good for himself and was looking like a potential candidate for NFR, according to the announcer. I’d done my best to erase anything about Pbr or rodeos from any aspect of my life for the past three years. I didn’t know what the latest standings were or who was in the running for heading off to NFR this year. A thought of Reid popped into my head. I wondered how he was doing.

But all thoughts of Reid—or anything really—vanished as the gate slammed open with a thunderous crash. And then the strangest thing happened. The music died—vanishing on the breeze until it was nothing more than whispers in the wind, and even though I was at least twenty yards away from the actual action, I could hear the bull’s snorts, the slap of leather against its thick hide. I could feel its hoofbeats as they pounded against the earth with each rock and buck and spin.

I wasn’t an onlooker, I wasn’t standing outside of the arena. For eight seconds, I was atop that bull. The phantom feel of the bull rope appeared against my right hand, and I felt myself clinging to it for dear life. I rode that rush of adrenaline that thrummed through me like a shockwave to my heart, wondering how the fuck I’d ever thought I could give up this part of me.

Then the buzzer went off, and sound returned—the music blared and the crowd was going absolutely nuts. Reality set in then.

“Well, hot damn ladies and gentlemen. This kid sure knows how to ride ‘em right, don’t he? That was another spectacular performance by Ryder Wright with a–holy cow! A ninety point five ride. That one’s gonna be tough to beat, folks. This kid just got himself sponsored last year and his future’s lookin’ bright.”

I blew out a shaky breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding in, my lungs searing as I sucked down hot, humid air.

I wiped at the moisture pricking in my eyes. Fuck. That was…I still didn’t know exactly. One of the hardest, yet most freeing things I ever had the opportunity of doing. I’d fought so hard to forget about the rodeo, but having this moment made me realize that there was no forgetting. No moving on. No letting go.

I’d stopped living three years ago. I was alive, but I wasn’t really living, ignoring who I was at my very core. And that was a rodeo cowboy.

And even if I never competed again, my accident, my blindness, couldn’t take away the fact that I was, and always would be, two time World Champion bull rider, Huxson Lane.

I found myself glued to the spot I stood in. Despite wanting to get back to Quinn, my feet may as well have been roots spearing into the ground, holding me in place.

One more time. What I’d give for just one more time. To gear up. To climb into the chute. To ride out eight seconds.

“Well shit, man. Did you just come, cuz I just came.” I jumped at the closeness of the voice, recognizing the cocky, suave tone immediately as I tried to hold back the shudder of surprise that coursed through me and set me on edge. How the hell had I not heard him?

“What the fuck, Mooney?” I grumbled.

He laughed, and I felt the air shift as he settled at my side. “Got another smoke?” he asked, his tone carefree and casual. He was always like that. Always so laid back. Before the accident I’d been more like him, but even then, no one was quite like Cash fuckin’ Mooney. He was as offensive as he was charming. And he knew it. Yet somehow it always worked out in his favor.

I fished in my back pocket for my pack of cigars and pulled two out, along with my lighter. I lit mine and pressed it to my lips, before handing everything to Cash.

For a moment there was nothing but relative quiet surrounding us as a wave of sweet tobacco billowed around me, but then Cash said, “You miss it, don’t cha?”

My chest squeezed painfully tight, and it had nothing to do with the smoke in my lungs. “Course I fuckin’ do.”

“You should be out there.” Cash’s voice held an honesty to it I’d never heard before. Or maybe I’d just never really talked to him on a deeper level. He’d never really been the guy to have a heart to heart with, and three years ago, I sure as hell wasn’t that kind of guy either.

I huffed. “Yeah, well, fate had other plans.”

“You really think you’ll never do it again?”

I took a puff from my cigar before blowing out. “Doctors said one hit to the head and I may not walk away next time.”

“Yeah, that’s what doctors are supposed to say. But what they say and what you decide to do don’t always align. What do you want?”

My hand trembled as I took another drag of my cigar. Fuck. Was I shaking that bad? I opened my mouth, that annoyingly familiar knot lodging in my throat once more. What did I want ? The list was surprisingly short.

Two things in particular: I wanted Quinn, and I wanted to ride.

The first I could have. If she wanted me—which I wasn’t ever the smartest kid in school, but I was pretty damn sure she’d have me. But the second…the risk was so high. As wild and reckless as I’d been before my accident, I just didn’t know if the risk outweighed the reward now.

I opened my mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again. “What I want and what I need are two different things. I wanna ride, but one wrong move and I can’t have her.” I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. “And I need her.”

I needed her warmth and light. I needed her laughter and kindness. I needed her like a desert needed rain.