by Shey Stahl
In most cases a bull rider cannot just show up to an event and expect to compete. Rather he must enter the event by calling PBR Headquarters and submitting his name and intention to compete.
I can’t ignore her any longer. She’s eighteen and officially legal. What’s stopping me?
Nothing . . . well, maybe the fact that I’m leaving in the morning. I wanted to leave without saying anything, but something kept bringing me back. This girl. I can’t leave without saying goodbye to her, but I never expected to show up here and see her on a goddamn bull.
My anger’s still boiling over it, but the way she’s watching me, waiting for me to make a move, it’s keeping me from going after that fucker Joel.
Her innocence stares back at me. My bag’s on the floor with the dream catcher in it, and I’m tempted to give it to her now, but I’m not ready to.
Maesyn stares at me for a moment, like I’m a dream. She smiles, and it’s like a weight being lifted. I’m fascinated by the looks she gives me, and completely undeserving of them. My heart hammers in my chest and I think of the note my mom wrote me when I was born. She wrote one for all us boys and kept them in a book. Dad gave them to us on our eighteenth birthdays. I don’t remember everything it said, but one part I’ll remember until the day I die.
Be the man her heart dreams of. You don’t own her, son. No man does. Treat her with respect and she’ll give you loyalty.
I want to own her though. I want my hands in her hair, owning, possessing, controlling, all of it. I’m not looking for love. But I also want her to believe she’s worthy of loving. She’s not damaged or worthless, nothing like the way these douchebags around here treat her. She needs to see that having sex isn’t always about the guy. It’s about her too, and fuck if I don’t want to show her just how good it can be for her.
Eight seconds is the amount of time a bull rider must stay aboard his bull to receive a score. During the eight-second ride, the bull rider cannot touch his free hand to the bull or himself or he will be disqualified.
A scattered pink sunset fades in over the Cascade mountain range. Grayer and I sit together, talking quietly and drinking straight from the bottle. The sky turns a vibrant orange, dancing over the field, hanging on, giving every last piece of light it has to give until it’s swallowed up by the land. There is so much beauty in the sky above me it’s hard to look away from.
“When did he die?” Grayer asks, handing me the bottle and then dipping the white rag in his hand in a bucket of warm water.
What? Who?
“What are you talking about?” Lying on a hay bale, I shoot him a look of complete confusion. My shirt’s off leaving me in my jean shorts and bra, and the sight isn’t fazing Grayer one bit. Nope. He’s asking me who died.
“Jamie,” he says, voice soft and eyes low. “Your boyfriend. When did he die?”
The moment he says “your boyfriend” the pain hits me so hard it’s like Hammer speared my soul with his horns.
Oh God, there’s that pain. That overwhelming, consuming, horrendous pain I’ve kept hidden for so long. It’s like a blinding hot dagger to my heart hearing his name. No one ever mentions it anymore and hasn’t for years. They’ve forgotten or pretend to have forgotten, but I haven’t. I never can. Never will. A life taken way too young and a reminder that nothing lasts forever. When I was in a constant state of mourning, Mom used to say to me, “Nothing lasts forever, baby. But your memories will. They’ll get you through anything.”
After Jamie died, I began to hate every memory that involved him and wished I could erase them. When I couldn’t, I never mentioned his name or ever acted as if I remembered that time in my life. But I did. Memories like that, they never leave.
“Four years ago. Labor Day weekend,” I choke out, barely able to speak the words. My eyes sting when I picture the stretch of road he died on and the flowers his mom still plants around the cross.
Grayer nods, squinting into the sun filtering in through the stalls. Gently, he presses the cool rag to my bare ribs and wipes the mud away to reveal the making of bruises on my torso.
“He died in a car accident, right?” His voice is soft. He’s not pushing, he’s just asking.
My eyes burn as I look out to the cornfield, beyond that, a dry, dusty land with nothing to offer me but pastures and hay fields. The land’s one color, just like my mind. I wasn’t always this way. I used to be a spirited girl so full of life that I never stopped smiling. I guess I’m still spirited, but a part of me is missing. I had my entire life planned at ten. Everything. Where I was going to go to college, where I would live and the boy I would marry. Jamie Peterson. All that changed when I saw him buried. Nothing made sense anymore. Life stopped when I was fourteen. Suddenly I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted besides out of this town.
It’s taken me four years to even think about that day. I buried my heart right next to him that day, and I told myself to forget it. There will always be a missing piece of me in that grave. A piece that should stay there forever, where it belongs. My innocence. My childhood.
“You don’t owe anything to Joel, Maesyn. You think you do, but you didn’t get in that car with Jamie. You didn’t take that corner at a hundred. Jamie did.”
Grayer’s way more perceptive than I’ve been giving him credit for. He was still around when Jamie died. At least I think he was, he had to be to remember those details.
“Did you know Jamie?”
Grayer nods, wringing out the rag again and running it over my legs as he wipes away dirt to reveal more bruises forming. “I did. He was a good kid.”
God, does it hurt to hear him say that. Jamie was a good kid. So much better than Joel and me. I think that’s why Joel is the way he is. He’s not even trying to be the twin brother living in the shadows of the great person Jamie would have been.
“How did you know him?”
Grayer gives me a soft smile, leaning his elbows on his knees when he sets the rag back in the bucket. “His dad knew Stanton, and I rode a couple rodeos with them.”
“Stanton’s your dad, right?” I know this, but I don’t want to let on to how much I know about him.
“Yeah.”
His face is closer than before, but not as close as I want him to be. I want him to hold me. Wrap his strong arms around me and offer comfort I’ve never been able to find since Jamie. “How long did it take you to figure out Joel was his brother?”
“Not long.” He smiles, but I can’t see his eyes anymore. They’ve dropped to the floor and I know he’s about to say something that holds meaning. I’ve noticed he does that when he’s speaking from his heart. “Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from any direction.” He speaks slowly, his voice soft, but raspy and then our eyes meet, and he waits for my reaction.
The words settle over me like I’m trying to understand what he means by them. I kinda know, but I’m not entirely sure.
“Who said that?”
“I’m not sure who originally said it.” Grayer runs the back of his hand over his forehead as he stands and puts distance between us. “My pops used to tell us that when we were kids.” He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s pretty good advice if you ask me.”
I nod. “It is.” And then I have a bit of word vomit and ask, “Do you miss your dad?” It’s a stupid question, but I don’t know how close they were and that’s my way of trying to find out.
“Yeah, I do. He was sick for a long time, so it didn’t come as a shock when he died. We knew it was coming. Still wasn’t any easier.”
“So you came back for the funeral then?”
“No. We had him cremated and had a funeral back in Texas. I came back to sign over the paperwork on the house and pay back your dad for his troubles. Where I come from, and how I was raised, you don’t walk away from something you owe.”
I laugh lightly, the motion sends pain through my body. “That’s not a rebel thing for you to say.”
He lets out a chuckled breath and reaches for
the whiskey bottle. “Rebel?” He shakes his head slowly, scratching his jaw and then takes a drink. When he’s finished, he hands it back to me. “I’m trouble, sure, but don’t define me with a term. I love and work harder than most will ever believe.”
Taking a drink myself, I fight the urge to sigh. Not only is my mouth touching where his had been, but I also can’t believe this guy and how deep he is. And I’m staring at his jaw and want that scruff tickling my inner thighs. Makes me feel kind of pervy that he’s saying sophisticated stuff and I’m thinking about him tickling my girly parts. “I believe it.”
His eyes leave mine. I don’t think he wanted to hear that at all.
Crap. He’s going to get upset and leave now. I’m quiet, fidgeting with a straw of hay when Grayer shifts his feet. The shuffle catches my eyes. He’s leaning against the side of the barn now, three feet away, but it might as well be three hundred at the loss deep within me when he moves away.
“Why do you bother with Joel?”
I shrug, not wanting to admit that I’d let Joel control me for so long. “I’m not sure. At first he reminded me of Jamie.”
“He’s nothing like Jamie. He’s an asshole and you need to stay away from him. Why’d you even bring him here?”
“I thought I could impress you and you’d . . . I don’t know. And it wasn’t supposed to be Joel helping me. Danny was going to, but then he had to work.”
“To impress me?” He raises an eyebrow, wearing a smug expression. “Why, because you thought I’d fuck you?”
“Ass.” I roll my eyes and sit up. I reach for the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Why’d you leave if Selena confessed to lying?” I know I just randomly changed the conversation on him, but I don’t like the way the conversations we have are always about me and what I should or shouldn’t be doing. There’s a reason why he left town and I’m curious as to what his thoughts are about it.
Grayer’s visibly shocked by the change in the conversation and the fact that I know why he left. “I was always going to leave. It really had nothing to do with her, but she ruined our lives here. There’s never been anything to come home to. Most of my dad’s family lives in Decatur anyway, but, the truth doesn’t always make things right.”
“Do you think anyone actually believed it?” I knew it wasn’t the truth, but was curious what he thought.
His response is immediate and hissed through clenched teeth. “A lot of people believed it.” He narrows his eyes and watches me take in the information. “I never touched Selena that way. Never laid a goddamn hand on her. Neither had Reid. Ty was dating her. They were both underage at the time and it was totally consensual. That night . . . she was at a fuckin’ college frat party.”
“Have you seen her since?”
“No. Neither has Ty. He’s living with me now in Decatur. They broke up right after that and he ain’t heard from her since.”
I’m hesitant to ask my next question, because I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it. “So that’s why you wouldn’t touch me?”
“Yes. I can’t do that. She cost Reid a chance at a world title and me a suspension.” He gives me another fleeting glance and then directs it at the field. “I wasn’t making that mistake again. As a bull rider, we don’t make money unless we’re on a bull. I can’t get suspended again.”
“Well . . . I’m eighteen now so. . . .” I let my voice drift off, like it matters to him.
He nods, but it’s not convincing. He knows I want him—and I think he wants me too—but it’s not easy to move from what we’ve been talking about to “hey, we can finally have sex.”
Grayer tilts his head slightly to the right. “It hasn’t been easy to resist you.” His eyes find mine. He takes in my face slowly, lingering on my lips. Huffing, he lets out a sigh of frustration, but keeps his stare on mine. My cheeks burn at the intensity. “Not easy at all. I got hung up that night and you wouldn’t let go.” He swallows and sets the bottle on the floor of the barn. “The hardest part about bull riding is knowing when to give and when to take. Being patient and waiting for your time to make a move. It wasn’t my time to make a move, not sure when or if that time would come, but I knew the timing wasn’t right.”
My lashes flutter, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. “What about now?” After the words are out, I finally sneak a peek at him. I clear my throat over the awkwardness. “Does my age change anything?”
Tension crackles in the air, his piercing eyes intent on mine. He shrugs, not answering.
I give him a look and he knows what I’m thinking. This isn’t me just wanting to have sex with him. He brings out a desire inside me I didn’t know was there. Something buried deep inside me that makes my heart race with anticipation anytime he’s around.
“What is it about me that you want?” Grayer asks, his eyes beg, like he’s dying to know. “You know I’m leaving in the morning. I gotta be in Biloxi next week.” And then his expression softens. “Are you trying to bury the pain or believe I’m someone else? I’m certainly not Jamie. I don’t do relationships. My lifestyle won’t allow it. So why are you pursuing this?”
“You’re right, you’re not Jamie. And I’ve never thought you were or wanted you to be,” I admit, speaking from my heart for once. I lift my eyes to meet his. “But one night I saw a man at a party and his eyes looked like diamond stars and gave me hope there was something else out there for me.”
His head tips to the side, his eyes barely visible with the shadows his hat creates. “Why?”
“Why what?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans into the wall, his gaze studying me intensely. “Why now? I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“That’s exactly why I want you.”
Taking a step toward me, he places his finger over my lips before I can beg again. “I can’t give you anything more than tonight. I’ve . . . I’m not in a place where I can get involved with anyone,” he whispers. His tone gives my heart a thump, gives me that hope I’ve been holding onto. He’s not saying no. He wants me to be sure.
I’m sure. And not for the reasons I usually am. To forget. This time I’ll remember Grayer and the rush his touch evokes deep within my soul. I have this quote on a bracelet my mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I thought it had something to do with God, or the bible, but now when I think about it, I don’t think it does.
As he took her hand, he gave her all she had been waiting for; a shiver down her spine. ~ Atticus.
The PBR World Champion annually is presented with his sport's coveted gold buckle, the ultimate symbol of achievement in bull riding. The custom-made belt buckle is valued at more than $10,000.
“I’m not asking for that. Just give me tonight,” I breathe against his lips. The shift in his demeanor reminds me he is a bull rider, all heart, all go with a confidence only they have.
“You won’t hate me for leaving in the morning?” he asks, voice marred with a slight tremble, never more vulnerable than he is in this moment. I love that he’s upfront about it, making sure I know what this is going into it.
I do. I never went into this thinking it would be any different. Besides, I’m leaving too, and I don’t want him to leave and wonder, what if? Shaking my head, I stand, wanting to touch him. I reach out, my hands gliding over the ridges of his muscles, so tight and taut. “I could never hate someone like you, Grayer.”
He swallows, his breathing coming a little faster. Stepping back, he creates unwanted distance between us again. “I’m not having sex with you just because you want me to.”
Desperate for a connection I can’t explain, my heart sinks. “But—”
Worry takes the smile from his eyes and he shakes his head. “What I will do is show you there’s more than just being with someone physically and getting off.”
“I . . .” I swallow, unable to comprehend what he’s saying to me. Sex, being with a guy, it’s always been purely physical for me. Nothing more. I never let it be more because of the complicatio
ns that come with it. You know, the whole broken heart thing. I didn’t want that again. Not ever. “Uh. . . .”
Our eyes lock, and my heart swells before he says the words, “You need to believe you are worth it. Because you are.”
There’s so much more to him than what meets the eye. No one has ever said that to me. Not even Jamie. But we were young when I was with him. We met when I was four and he was six. He took me on my first date at fourteen and became my first everything. Then before I had a chance to experience first love, he was taken from me.
Grayer drops his head forward, staring at the ground. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushes himself from the wall.
He walks toward me, his hands on the hem of his dark shirt. He yanks it over his shoulders. My stomach flutters in anticipation, knowing he’s finally giving in to me. Dropping his shirt behind me on the hay bales, his steady and sure palms cup my cheeks. He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. Moments later, his kiss is so heavy I’m drowning in him and I never want to surface.
Taking my body in his hands, it’s a slow descent to the floor of the barn. He sets me down on the hay bale where his shirt is and then kneels before me. My heart jumps into my throat, my mind racing with thoughts of what’s next. I watch the muscles in his stomach and arms flexing with each movement. Spreading his knees, his hands are on my hips—rough and wild—yet steady and patient like he’s memorizing a beautiful canvas before him. Maybe this is how he’s going to show me there’s more than giving my body to someone. It’s an emotion, something I used to know long ago, but forgot what it meant. His fingers move to the band of my jean shorts, sliding across my exposed skin to meet in the middle of the button. His touch burns, ignites my every nerve and makes my heart race as my eyes drift closed. But not for long. I can’t be denied his eyes for long. I crave it just as much as his touch.
My eyes are on his, but he’s not looking at me; he’s watching my body curve around his as if that’s exactly what he’s been wanting. His jeans are still on—as are my shorts. He grinds his hips into mine, his arousal distinct, hard and straining against his jeans.