by Shey Stahl
I think back to the night in his truck. “No, well maybe, but he was wearing black boxers that night I was with him.”
She hands me my phone back. “Wouldn’t it be so cool to live like they do? New city every night, crazy experiences. I mean, they’re fucking living their lives. You know?”
“Think they get lonely?” I ask, setting my phone on my nightstand.
“Doubtful. I can’t imagine with the pussy they get.”
I laugh, but the thought of Grayer returning to the tour and back to the lifestyle I’m sure he’s accustom to, I don’t particularly like those thoughts.
“Grayer leaves soon, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. Not sure when. I guess the contractor came and picked up Mac today.” I have to admit, saying goodbye to Mac was harder than I thought. Now I know how Morgan feels when they kill her pet pigs. Given, Mac isn’t being killed, but still.
“You know . . .” Haylee pauses, pouring rum in a glass. She’s given up on the tea and drinking it straight now. Pretty soon she’ll give up on the glass. I’m surprised she hasn’t already. “We could leave tonight. Who would say anything?”
“Probably no one.”
“I hear Austin has a really good veterinary technology program,” Haylee says, hinting to me. “And it’s near Decatur. . . .”
Look at her hinting at following a bull rider. I smile, trying to play it off but believe me, I’ve totally thought about it already. “I wonder if they have a business administration program?”
“It’s a community college.” She waves me off. “I’m sure they do.”
Haylee thinks I should become a veterinary tech, which I agree with because I ultimately want to work for a veterinary hospital and Haylee wants to start her own business. Although she hasn’t decided what yet.
Reaching inside my nightstand, I take out my lilac nail polish. “Have you heard from Tucker lately?”
Haylee stiffens at the mention of his name, rolling her eyes. “Only when he wants something.” She places her toes on the bed for me to paint. Haylee hands me the rum and I take a small sip and then pass it back to her. We’re not drunk, but the burn in my cheeks tells me I might be getting close. I open the nail polish and swipe over her big toe with the lilac paint.
“I can’t wait to leave here,” she says, staring at the rum bottle. She takes one more drink, then sets it aside and frowns. “I need to get out of here. If I don’t . . . I’ll be following that asshole around forever. I can’t stay here. I have to get away from him. He’s never going to leave her and if I stay, I’m never leaving him.”
I know the feeling.
She’s right though. If we stay, this is our life and we know it.
A bull that displays a bucking pattern in which he spins in a tight circle throughout the ride is often referred to by bull riders as a "spinner."
Haylee and I passed out in my room last night with Morgan. She leaves in the morning to check on her mom and make sure she made it home from work last night.
When I’m finished feeding the cows and chickens, Joel shows up instead of Danny.
I glare at him. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
“You want to learn to ride a bull or not?” He leans into the doorframe, like I should be thanking him for showing up. “D had to work this morning. C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”
Wow, so he’s in a great mood. I hesitate. I should tell him to leave. If Grayer sees him here . . . I can only imagine what he’ll say. He told me, very specifically to stay away from him . . . but if I can ride Hammer and get his attention, things might be different.
My logic is totally back-ass-wards. Completely.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this for you,” he mutters, gazing over the arena.
He grunts out a frustrated sigh. “Well, you should be doing this for me.”
Joel is an evil person who has constantly taken advantage of everyone he knows. And some might wonder how I get myself into these situations with Joel. Honestly . . . girls don’t get themselves in those situations. Guys like Joel make the situations bad. And then of course, you have situations like these where I’ve gotten myself into the bull’s territory. Quite literally.
Joel looks back at me, making a sweep over my body with his eyes. “So you won’t fuck me anymore, but you need my help?” he asks. His dark eyes glare, his resentment shining through. He expected that I would always be there for him. When the only person I want to be there for, is me.
“You have a girlfriend, Joel. You’ve been. . . .” I pause, because we’ve never been exclusive. There’s no use in trying to explain something he’s never going to understand. “What you’re doing is wrong and you owe me. You know that.”
“How so? My brother’s dead because of you.”
A sharp pain hits my chest. I motion to the driveway. “If you’re gonna act like a dick, leave.”
He doesn’t answer me. In fact, he rolls his eyes. He just doesn’t get it.
Drawing in a deep breath, I try to prepare myself for what I’m about to do. And what seemed like a good idea before, looks ridiculous when I see Hammer snorting snot out of his nose and giving me that “I’m going to kill you” look. He’s the meanest bull we have.
Joel gives me a nod to the chute. “Ready?”
“Can’t be much different than riding a horse, right?”
Joel shakes his head. “Right. . . .”
My plan to impress Grayer, or at least grab his attention was to ride Hammer. No one aside from Grayer has ever ridden him. If Grayer stayed on him, surely I can, right?
Forget the fact that he’s a professional bull rider. I was completely convinced this morning that I could do this. Now I’m not so sure.
Sitting in the chute, on Hammer, Joel yells at me as he opens the gate before I’m ready. “Drop your riding hand and drive your shoulder! You want your weight on your inside leg.” He’s hanging over the fence shouting orders I can’t hear because my heart’s pounding so rapidly in my ears. All I hear is rushing blood and the noises Hammer is making. It’s like he’s breathing fire, and my body is burning with exertion as it’s yanked and tossed around like a rag doll. How Grayer does this is crazy. Freaking crazy. I try my hardest to get a good grip on Hammer, but he’s spinning and bucking and I can’t. Bull riding is clearly a sport that is way harder than it appears.
At some point, I begin to think I’m going to die. There’s really no other way around it and I regret this so much. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Screw the adrenaline.
“Drive your shoulder!”
“What the fuck does that mean, Joel?” I yell. Letting go and falling to my death seems better than getting a face full of horns.
“Put your weight on your inside leg when he spins!”
“Joel!” I know I’m in trouble when Hammer spins and twists the other direction of the way my weight is shifted and I slip from his heaving bristling body. I don’t know how I haven’t fallen off yet. Has it been eight seconds?
“Throw your arm over your head!” Joel hollers again, as if I understand him. “Don’t cross it over your body!”
“Oh, yeah, so fucking helpful!” None of the crap he tells me to do works. None of it. Or maybe it’s that I don’t know what I’m doing enough to apply anything he’s telling me.
Before I know it, I’m airborne. I see the ground coming fast at my side and then I see Hammer spin again, his eyes locked on me and head down. I’m going to die. Turned eighteen and made it one day before I was rammed, and not in a good way.
My heart races, my stomach knotting, wondering if this is the last few moments of my life. Hammer’s instinct is to hook me with his horns and judging by the pure hatred in his eyes, it’s what he’s intending on doing. That website was right. This is the most dangerous eight seconds of your life.
I hear my heart beating in my ears, roaring like a freight train and it’s so loud it almost blocks out Hammer’s breathing. At first, I’m not sure if I’m okay, but I
’m on the ground at least. All the air in my lungs is expelled and I’m pretty sure I’ve dislocated or broken something. If I could breathe, I’d be able to assess the situation a bit more, but I’m staring at this tank on four legs about to plow right over me. Breathing seems silly. Getting up and running would be the logical answer, but then he’d get me from behind. Might as well face my fear head on, right?
Wrong. Riding a bull? Pfft. Definitely not the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had.
Just as Hammer’s about to charge toward me, I hear to my left, “Hey, hey, hey, hey!” As Grayer runs toward me, his arms flailing as he tries to direct Hammer to him. Hammer goes and charges him, but loses interest when Grayer steps up on the fence to avoid him. Hammer takes off the other direction, back out of the arena as Joel opens the gate.
Grayer runs to me where I’m lying in the dirt and scoops me up in one fluid motion. He’s got me in his arms and on the other side of the fence where he sets me gingerly on a bale of hay. Once I’m sitting up straight, my soreness begins to emerge.
Before I can process anything that my injuries might be, I hear Dad yell, “Maesyn, what was that noise? Is Hammer out?”
“No!” I yell back, clutching my side in pain as my lungs expand. “Everything’s fine.”
Grayer’s eyes widen as he looks at me and then Joel, who followed us. There is tension in his stare, his voice, and the white knuckles. He turns, facing me, leaving Joel glaring at him in disbelief. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
His question is directed at Joel, not me. I expected his reaction would be different, but I also thought I would have stayed on the bull, so clearly I’m no judge here.
“Just because you’re a pro, don’t mean shit to me.” Joel spits, holding onto pent-up frustration from their argument the other night.
I try to speak, again, tell them to relax before they get in another fight, but the motion causes me to wince and clutch my side. Christ, this hurts. I wonder if I broke a rib?
Clenching his fists, Grayer most definitely wants to beat the shit out of Joel for allowing this, but I’m in pain and he knows that tending to me is important at this point. There’s also a chance my dad’s gonna walk out here and find me hurt, covered in dirt and Hammer in a different field than he had him in before, and then what? Grayer’s the bull rider. He’s gonna think he did this and that’s the last thing Grayer needs my dad to think.
I’ll admit, I didn’t exactly plan any of this out. And then I’m a little mad at Joel for not talking me out of it. It has me wanting to place blame on anyone but myself.
Despite not wanting to cause a scene, Grayer stands from kneeling beside me and gets in Joel’s face.
Grayer gives Joel a shove. “Get lost, man.”
“You’re not her dad, man.” Joel refuses to back down. “She can fuck whoever she wants.”
Of course he throws that up. He’s such a child.
Grayer raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What was that?”
“I said—” Joel tries to step forward, ready for a fight, but his words fall short.
Grayer grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him against his chest. His knuckles white, eyes dark and threatening under the shadows of his hat. “You could have killed her letting her get on that bull. You had no fuckin’ business allowing her to do that. Now you listen to me, you little fucker.” Grayer lets go of Joel’s shirt and shoves him back against the side of the barn. “I said get lost, and I meant it. Go home.”
Grayer doesn’t wait for Joel to say anymore and kneels beside me, his hands on my knees. “Come with me.”
I can tell by the way he’s watching me, his scowl a little meaner, he hates what I’ve done. His disappointed eyes tell me so. I thought mean Grayer was awful. Turns out disappointed Grayer is even worse.
I stare at my dirt-caked feet wondering what just happened. It seems that anytime I’m around him things don’t go as planned.
When I don’t make an attempt to get up, Grayer grabs my hand. “Let’s go.”
“No.” I wiggle my hand from his, crossing my arms stubbornly over my chest, as painful as that motion is.
“Get up, Maesyn,” he growls at me. I have a feeling he doesn’t get told no very often. By anyone. And when he does, he’s not pleased.
“Why should I? You hate me.” I’m trying to act like I don’t care. Only I do. So much.
“I have some things to say to you and I’m not doing it while you’re sitting on a hay bale in the fucking dirt near a bull you just attempted to kill yourself on. Now get up.”
I look at his extended hand, and then his face, finally seeing what I’ve been looking for. It’s in the fragile bloodshot eyes and the set frown. He’s tortured by this. He wants to hate me, but can’t. He’s drawn to me too.
My cheeks flush with anger, our gazes locked. Bringing myself to my feet, I start to limp toward the house, not caring what my dad’s gonna say.
Grayer grabs me, a warning, and a bitter cold creeps over my bones when he touches me. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“You’re so frustrating!” I look at him and I can’t tell if he’s telling or begging. The bad part is I think I’m okay with either.
I let him lead me inside the barn and when we get inside, he locks the barn doors.
Stomping around, he grabs a bucket with water, a blanket and rag from the stable next to the spigot. “Sit down.” He motions to the hay bale he placed a blanket over. I do, and then he really lays into me. “What the fuck were you thinking? You had no business being on Hammer,” he yells, slamming the bucket down and sitting in front of me. “And Joel had no business letting you. I thought I told you to stay away from him.”
I knew Grayer had an aggressive side—I’d seen that before—but this was more than I imagined he would have shown over me getting hurt. “I’m sorry.” I try to ease his anger a little. I understand why he’s mad, but I was trying to impress him, and it seems I can’t do that at all when it comes to Grayer. Everything I do around him hangs me up even more. “I just wanted to impress you.”
Grayer softens at my words and sees through me when I start to cry. It’s not that I want to cry. It’s the adrenaline wearing off as I shake and wonder what the hell I was thinking. In the distance, I hear Joel’s truck speeding down the driveway—it catches Grayer’s attention for a moment, his anger flashing again.
“I thought you were leaving today?”
The tension in his face doesn’t fade. “I’m leaving in the morning.” He blinks away the hostility he’s holding onto and looks at me. “Take off your shirt.”
I do, gingerly, and lie back on the hay bale. I’m scared I’ve broken some ribs. “Do they look broken? I’m having a hard time breathing without shooting pain.”
Squinting his brow in concentration, Grayer gently touches my ribs with his fingertips and I jump a little at the touch, my skin pebbling as he does it. It’s not the first time he’s touched me, but judging by my reaction, you would think this was the case. “I don’t think so. Probably just bruised.”
“Have you broken your ribs before?”
It seems like such a dumb question to ask and I realize that once I say it.
With the wet rag in hand, he wrings out the water and touches it to my side that’s caked in dirt. He doesn’t look at me, focused thoroughly on what he’s doing. “So many times I lost count after twenty.”
I’m trying to calm him and myself down by making conversation, and it’s working, I’m relaxing and he’s caring less about going after Joel for allowing this.
“I once drew this bull, Asteroid. He was a mean fucker. Kinda like my pops.” His eyes get distant, but then he catches himself. “Every time I got on this bull he drew blood. Tore my ACL on him, broke my wrist, ribs, torn tendons, lacerated liver, even took a horn to the shoulder. . . .” He shakes his head, his eyes on my ribs. “You name it and I broke it on him. It sort of became an obsession with me. I had to draw him. Wanted to just so I could have another cha
nce at him.”
“And did you?” I smile that he finally told me something about himself that I didn’t have to pry out of him.
“Yeah, eventually I stayed on him at the World Finals. I was all bent because I didn’t draw Bushwacker like I wanted. He was ranked number one that year, but it was finally my chance at Asteroid. Anyway, he broke four of my ribs in the first round, but I taped them up and acted like he didn’t get me. Got back on him the final night.”
“Are you saying I should get back on?” I’m joking, but Grayer gives me this look that I’m totally lost as to what he’s talking about.
“Fuck no!” He laughs. “That wasn’t the point of the story.”
“Okay, what was then?”
“Staying on for eight seconds isn’t always the thrill.”
His words give my heart a tug, a hope that maybe he’s finally giving me a chance. “I’m sorry I did that.”
His eyes soften. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”
I snort. “What have you done to not be proud of?”
With distant eyes and a tight expression, he shrugs and replaces the rag in the bucket. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees, watching me. “I don’t know. I avoid any situation I’m not in control of.”
“Why?”
His tongue darts out, sweeping across his bottom lip. I sit up on my elbows, our eyes locked on one another when he whispers, “Being untamed, unprepared . . . it scares me.”
My heart pounds almost uncontrollably and to the point I have to draw in a carefully controlled breath. He’s beautiful and says beautiful words. Mind. Blown.
I can’t look at him when I say my next words, because I’m really not sure if he’s going to be angry, or what his reaction might be. “I’m eighteen now.”
Grayer doesn’t look at me. He traps me in the silence, his breathing barely controlled as adrenaline slowly trickles through my veins. Crap.
He looks at me and winks. “I know. Morgan told me.”