The Longest Ride

by Nicholas Sparks

  "He's hurt! They gotta get folks in here now!"

  And still the bull wouldn't stop. Instead, as if realizing he was free of his rider but angry that Luke had even attempted to sit astride him in the first place, the bull turned around, oblivious to the others who were trying to distract him. Lowering his head, he charged Luke, gouging his horns at Luke's prone figure with murderous intent. Two bullfighters jumped in, slapping and hitting, but the bull would not be denied. Instead, he kept swinging his massive horns at Luke's inert figure, then suddenly lunged forward atop Luke's body, where he began to buck again.

  No, not buck. Trample. And spin. In speechless terror, Sophia heard the announcer shout:

  "Get that bull off him!"

  Up and down, the enraged bull brought his hooves down with furious impact, crushing Luke beneath him. Smashing down on his back, his legs, his head.

  His head...

  Five people circled the bull by then, doing everything they could to stop the rampage, but Big Ugly Critter continued his single-minded attack.

  Up and down, crushing Luke over and over...

  The announcer saying:

  "They gotta stop this!"

  The bull seemingly possessed...

  Until finally - finally! - he moved off of Luke and skittered sideways onto the dirt floor of the arena, still bucking wildly.

  The camera followed the bull as he continued to buck away and then zeroed in on Luke's prone figure, his face bloody and unrecognizable, as others began to attend to him.

  But by then, Sophia had covered her face, sobbing in horror and shock.

  25

  Luke

  B

  y Wednesday, Luke's headache had abated slightly, but he feared he wouldn't be well enough to compete in Macon, Georgia, over the coming weekend. After that, the next event was in Florence, South Carolina, and he wondered whether he'd be in better condition by then. From there, the tour moved to Texas, and the last thing he wanted was to head into that stretch of the season with a serious physical handicap.

  Beyond that, he was beginning to worry about the expenses. Starting in February, the events required that he fly. It meant extra nights at the motels. Extra meals. Rental cars. In the past, when pursuing his dream, he'd viewed it as the cost of doing business. It still was, but now, with the loan repayment set to triple in six months, he'd found himself scouring the Web for the cheapest flights he could find, most of which had to be booked weeks in advance. As best as he could estimate, his winnings from the first event would cover the cost of travel to the next eight events. Which meant, of course, that not a dime would go toward meeting the upcoming loan payments. It wasn't about winning to chase a dream anymore. It was about winning regularly because he had to.

  Even as the thought entered his mind, however, he could hear Sophia's words, contradicting him. That it wasn't about the ranch, or even about his mom. That it was all about the guilt he wanted to avoid.

  Was he being selfish? Until she'd said it, he'd never even considered the idea. It wasn't about him. He'd be fine. It was about his mom, her heritage, her survival at an age at which her options were few. He didn't want to ride. He was doing it because his mom had risked everything to save him, and he owed her. He couldn't watch her lose everything because of him.

  Otherwise he'd feel guilty. Which made it all about him. Or did it?

  He'd called Sophia three times on Sunday night, another three times on Monday. Twice on Tuesday. He'd texted, too, once each day, without receiving a response. He remembered how upset she'd been by Brian's stalking, which kept him from texting or calling on Wednesday. But by Thursday, he could take the silence no longer. He climbed into his truck and drove to Wake Forest, pulling to a stop in front of the sorority house.

  Two identically dressed girls were sitting in the porch rockers, one of them talking on the phone, the other texting. Both glanced up briefly, then did a double take when they saw who was walking toward them. As he knocked, he could hear laughter drifting from inside. A moment later, the door was opened by a pretty brunette with two piercings in each ear.

  "I'll tell Sophia you're here," was all she said, moving aside to let him in.

  Off to the side, three girls sat on the couch, craning their necks to get a glimpse of him. He guessed they were the same girls he'd heard from outside the door, but now they simply gawked at him, the television blaring in the background as he stood in the foyer, feeling out of place.

  It was a couple of minutes before Sophia appeared at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed. She stared down at him, clearly debating what to do. Then, sighing, she approached reluctantly. Noticing everyone's attention, she said nothing to him; instead, she nodded toward the door. Luke followed her out.

  She didn't stop at the porch but walked down the sidewalk out of sight of those in the house before turning to face him.

  "What do you want?" she asked, her expression blank.

  "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," Luke said, hands in his pockets. "For not telling you sooner."

  "Okay," she said.

  She added nothing, leaving him unsure what to say next. In the silence that followed, she turned away, studying the house across the street.

  "I watched the video of your ride," she said. "On Big Ugly Critter."

  He kicked at a few pebbles lodged in a crack in the sidewalk, afraid to face her. "Like I said, it was pretty bad."

  She shook her head. "It was more than just pretty bad..." She turned to look at him, searching his face for answers. "I knew it was dangerous, but I never thought that it was a matter of life and death. I guess I didn't really understand how much you risk every time you step into the ring. And that bull and watching what he did to you. It was trying to kill you..."

  She swallowed, unable to finish. Luke, too, had watched the video once, six months after his ride. Back when he'd sworn he'd never ride again. Back when he'd felt lucky simply to have survived.

  "You should have died, but you didn't," Sophia stated. "You were given a second chance. Somehow, it was ordained that you should have the chance to live a normal life. And no matter what you say, I'll never understand why you'd want to risk that. It doesn't make sense to me. I told you once that I'd thought about killing myself but that I never really meant it. I knew I'd never go through with it. But you... it's like you want to do it. And you'll keep going until you succeed."

  "I don't want to die," he insisted.

  "Then don't ride," she said. "Because if you do, then I can't be part of your life. I'm not going to be able to pretend you're not trying to kill yourself. Because I'd feel like I was condoning it somehow. I just can't do that."

  Luke could feel his throat close up, making it difficult to speak. "Are you saying you don't want to see me anymore?"

  With his question, Sophia thought again about how much the tension had drained her, and she realized there were no tears left. "I love you, Luke. But I can't be part of this. I can't spend every minute that I'm with you wondering whether you'll live through the weekend. And I can't bear to imagine what it's going to be like if you don't."

  "So it's over?"

  "Yes," she said. "If you continue to ride, it's over."

  The following day, Luke sat at his kitchen table, truck keys on the table. It was Friday afternoon, and if he left in the next few minutes, he'd reach the motel before midnight. His truck was already loaded with the gear he needed.

  His head still ached a little, but the real ache he felt was when he thought about Sophia. He wasn't looking forward to the drive or to the event; more than anything, he wanted to spend the weekend with Sophia. He wanted an excuse not to go. He wanted to take her horseback riding on the ranch, envelop her in his arms as they sat in front of the fire.

  Earlier, he'd seen his mom, but their interaction remained strained. Like Sophia, she didn't want to talk to him. When work made it necessary to speak to him, her anger was palpable. He could feel the weight of her worries - about him, about the ranch. About the f
uture.

  Reaching for the keys, he heaved himself out of the chair and started toward his truck, wondering if he'd be able to drive it back home.

  26

  Sophia

  "I

  thought you might be coming." Linda stood in the doorway of the farmhouse, her expression as weary and anxious as Sophia's own.

  "I didn't know where else to go," Sophia said. It was Saturday night, and they both knew that the man they adored would be in the ring tonight, risking his life, perhaps at this very moment.

  Linda waved her in and motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table. "Would you like a cup of hot cocoa?" she asked. "I was just about to make myself one." Sophia nodded, unable to say anything and noticing Linda's cell phone lying on the table. Linda must have noticed Sophia staring at it.

  "He texts me when he's finished," Linda said, busying herself at the stove. "He's always done that. Well, actually, he used to call. He'd tell me how well he did, good or bad, and we'd talk for a while. But now he..." She shook her head. "He just texts to tell me that he's okay. And I can't do anything but sit here while I wait for it. Meanwhile, of course, time just slows down. Right now, I feel like I've been awake for a week. But even when I hear from him, I won't be able to sleep. Because I worry that even though he says he's okay, he's done something to further damage his brain."

  Sophia picked at the table with her fingernail. "He said he was in the ICU after the accident."

  "He was clinically dead when he arrived at the hospital," Linda said, stirring the heating milk slowly. "Even after they revived him, no one thought he'd survive. The back of his skull was just... shattered. Of course, I didn't know any of this at the time. I didn't get there until the following day, and when they brought me in to see him, I didn't even recognize him. The impact broke his nose and crushed his eye socket and his cheekbone - his face was swollen and just... wrecked. They couldn't do anything about it because of the other damage. His head was wrapped up and he was bolted down so he couldn't move at all." Linda took her time pouring the hot milk into the mugs, then spooned in the cocoa. "He didn't open his eyes for almost a week, and a few days after that, they had to rush him back into surgery. He ended up spending almost a month in the ICU."

  Sophia accepted a mug from Linda and took a tentative sip. "He said he has a plate."

  "He does," she said. "A small one. But the doctor said the bones in his skull might never heal completely because some of the pieces just couldn't be salvaged. He said that it's like a stained glass window back there, everything barely holding together. I'm sure it's better now than it was even last summer, and he's always been a strong rider, but..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Instead, she shook her head.

  "After he was released from the ICU and they thought he could handle the trip, he was transported to Duke University Hospital. By then, I felt like we'd put the worst behind us, because I knew he'd survive, maybe even recover fully." She sighed. "And then the bills started coming in, and I was looking at another three months at Duke, just to allow his body to heal, and all the reconstructive surgery on his face. Then, of course, he needed lots of rehab..."

  "He told me about the ranch," Sophia said softly.

  "I know," she said. "It's how he justifies what he's doing."

  "It still doesn't justify it."

  "No," Linda said. "It doesn't."

  "Do you think he's okay?"

  "I don't know," she said, tapping the phone. "I never know until he texts."

  The next two hours passed in slow motion, elongated minutes stretching into eternity. Linda served up some slices of pie, but neither of them was hungry. Instead, they picked at the slices, waiting.

  And waiting.

  Somehow, Sophia thought that being here with Linda would reduce her anxiety, but if anything, she'd begun to feel worse. Seeing the video had been bad enough, but hearing about his injuries in detail made her almost nauseated.

  Luke was going to die.

  In her mind, there was no question about it. He would fall, the bull would swing his head the wrong way again. Or Luke would ride but the bull would go after him as he was exiting the arena...

  He had no chance of survival, not if he kept riding. It was only a matter of time.

  She stayed lost in these thoughts until finally Linda's phone vibrated on the table.

  Linda lunged for it and read the message. Her shoulders suddenly relaxed and she let out a long breath. After sliding the phone to Sophia, she covered her face with her hands.

  Sophia glanced at the words: I'm OK and on my way home.

  27

  Luke

  T

  he fact that he didn't win in Macon wasn't a reflection of how well he rode, but rather a function of the quality of the bulls. The bulls' performances made up half of every score, after all, meaning that every event was left somewhat in the hands of the gods.

  His first bull was pretty much a flat spinner. Luke held on and the ride was no doubt exciting to the crowd, but when the scores came up, he found himself in ninth place. The second bull wasn't much better, but at least he managed to hold on while others ranked above him had been thrown, and he moved up to sixth. In the short go, he drew a decent bull, and he'd hopped off with a score good enough to move him into fourth place. It wasn't a stellar competition, but it was enough for him to retain, even extend, his lead in the overall points standings.

  He should have been pleased. With one more good weekend, he'd practically be guaranteed a place on the big tour, even if he rode poorly in the events that followed. Despite the lack of practice, despite the concussion, he was in just the position he'd wanted to be.

  Surprisingly, he didn't think that the rides had worsened his concussion. On the drive home, he kept waiting for his headache to intensify, but it didn't. Instead, it remained in low gear, a faint hum, nowhere close to the agony he'd felt earlier in the week. If anything, it seemed better than it had been this morning, and he had the sense that by morning, it might even be gone.

  A good weekend, in other words. Everything was working out according to plan.

  Except, of course, for Sophia.

  He rolled home an hour before dawn and slept until almost noon. Only after his shower did he realize he hadn't reached for the painkillers. The headache, as he'd hoped, was gone.

  Nor was his body as sore as it had been after the first event. There were the usual aches in his lower back, but nothing he couldn't handle. After getting dressed, he saddled Horse and went to check on the cattle. On Friday morning, before he'd left for Macon, he'd tended to a calf who'd had a run-in with some barbed wire and he wanted to make sure it was healing properly.

  Sunday afternoon and Monday were spent working on the irrigation system, repairing leaks that had sprung up because of the cold weather, and beginning Tuesday morning, he tore off, and then, over the next two days, gradually replaced the shingles on his mom's roof.

  It was a good week, the work physical and straightforward, and by Friday, he expected to feel a sense of accomplishment at everything he'd done. But he didn't. Instead, he ached for Sophia. He hadn't called or texted, nor had she, and her absence sometimes felt like a gaping hole where an essential limb used to be. He wanted things to go back to the way they were; he wanted to know that when he got home after the Florence event, he'd be able to spend the rest of the day with her.

  But even as he began laying out the belongings he would need on his trip to South Carolina, he knew that she would never reconcile herself to the choice that he had made - and unlike his mother, she could walk away.

  On Saturday afternoon, Luke stood watching the bulls behind the arena in Florence, South Carolina, and realized for the first time that his hands weren't shaking.

  Under ordinary circumstances, that should have been a good sign, since it meant that his nerves had calmed. Yet he couldn't escape the feeling that it had been a mistake to come here. He'd felt a heavy sense of dread as he'd pulled up an hour earlier, and since t
hen, the nameless black thoughts in his head had only grown louder, whispers that urged him to get back into the truck and go home.

  Before it was too late.

  He hadn't felt like this in either Pensacola or Macon. Granted, he hadn't wanted to ride in those events any more than he wanted to ride in this one, but that was mainly because he wasn't sure he was ready to rejoin the circuit at all. But the dread he felt now was different.

  He wondered if Big Ugly Critter could sense it.

  The bull was here, in Florence, South Carolina, which made no more sense than it had in McLeansville last October. The bull didn't belong on this qualifying tour. He belonged with the big boys, where he'd no doubt be in the running to win another World Champion Bucking Bull award. Luke couldn't figure out why the owner had consented to let him participate on the lower circuit. Most likely the promoter had made the owner a deal he couldn't refuse in conjunction with one of the auto dealers in town. That had become more common on the circuit - promotions like If you can ride him, you'll drive off in a new truck! While the crowd generally loved the added challenge, Luke would gladly excuse himself from that contest if he could. He wasn't close to being ready to ride him again, nor, most likely, was anyone else at the event. It wasn't the riding that was the concern. Nor was it the prospect of being thrown. It was the way Big Ugly Critter might react afterward.