Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
He nods and turns back to midnight as I walk out of the barn toward the bleachers.
“Okay,” I murmur, as the growing crowd comes into view. “I think I’m in trouble.”
Chapter Ten
Tripp
Levi kills it, as I’d known he would. Top scores in both of his events, and I feel a swell of pride as I watch him, knowing that across the arena, Marci is seeing the same thing I am. That shouldn’t affect me as much as it does, but it’s like a sucker-punch right to the heart.
She’s gotten under my skin in the short time since we met her, and I’m all but picturing a life with her. I messed it up this morning, stuck in anxiety and regret and my old stupid ways. I can’t help the way I am, with the rituals and rules and the neat order in which I organize my life. You would think as a bull rider, someone who risks their life for the thrill of it, I wouldn’t be as rigid as I am, but I think it makes me more so. I can’t always control what happens once I climb atop that bull, but I can control everything up until that point. So that’s what I do. It’s always served me well.
But I can see that today, it isn’t. It’s made me too cautious, too superstitious, too afraid. I’ve been telling myself all morning that these things don’t matter, that they don’t actually affect the outcome of my ride, but I know that in a way they do. Because doing them makes me feel better. It eases all the anxiety. It gives me the illusion of control in a situation where I have none.
And that’s always been a good thing.
Today it doesn’t feel that way. Because I didn’t follow my rituals and I threw caution to the wind. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I didn’t have that control to lean on. If I lose, I won’t feel like I had done everything I could. The anxiety is like a claw at my chest, ripping me up from the inside out. I can’t get my brain to settle or my heart to stop racing. I’d never felt like this before, and it doesn’t bode well for my upcoming ride.
With all the deals I’d made with myself about the outcome of this event, it isn’t looking good for my future either.
Levi
I’m riding a high, coming off two very successful events when I find Marci in the stands, and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
It feels like she stiffens, but it’s gone so fast that maybe I’d imagined it. Her smile is warm and flirty when she turns to me. “Congratulations, cowboy.”
“Well, thank ya,” I drawl, turning up that country-boy twang in my voice that has mostly all but faded over the years. I squeeze her tighter for a moment, then allow my arm to drop so it’s hanging loosely behind her, still draped across her waist, but not gripping. “I haven’t seen Tripp.”
“Black Thunder.” Marci’s voice is tight.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That was his draw. They announced it a little while ago.”
“Okay.” As the bull belongs to the rodeo, the name means nothing to me. Evidently though, it means something to Marci.
“He’s the toughest in the game,” she explains. “Not just here, but for several states. Maybe all of the west, honestly. “No cowboy has stayed on for the full eight seconds in years.”
I nod, hearing the tension in her voice, and try to hide my own nerves. “It’s okay. Tripp can do it.”
“Yeah,” she responds flatly.
I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. Tripp was off his game today. But still, Black Thunder may be the toughest bull in the west, but Tripp is the toughest bull rider in the states. If anyone can pull this off, it’s him. Right?
He has too, I think as I look over at Marci and my heart stutters. Thanks to the little games Tripp plays with himself, there’s far too much riding on this event. I hate that, and for a moment, I hate Tripp for even saying it.
But I can’t think like that right now. I have to be positive. The announcer is calling Tripp up, and the show’s about to start.
Marci
The arena seems to hold its breath.
I sit forward on the metal bench, my fingers curled around the edge as I watch Tripp settle onto Black Thunder. Even from here, I can see the bull's muscles rolling beneath his black hide, his head tossing impatiently. Dust clings to his horns and shoulders, and every stomp sends a little cloud drifting through the bright arena lights.
Beside me, Levi shifts closer. I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. But he’s still worried about me.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod, though my stomach is already twisting. “Yeah.”