Page 35 of Forgiveness
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Flux
Five days later
Silhouettes of saguarocacti dotted the landscape as the sun dipped behind distant mountains, painting the sky in orange and purplish hues. Flux hung a left into the parking lot filled with F150 pickups and pulled into a space reserved for rodeo employees. He jumped off his bike and scanned the area, looking for any badges before he took out a blunt and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he tilted his head back and blew out tight rings of smoke, wanting to get a good buzz on before he went inside and faced the bulls … and Maggie.
The sassy cowgirl, who was supposed to be a brief interlude in his life, had quickly come to be so much more to him. The sound of her voice, the feel of her against him, the way she laughed, and the fucking feel-good sensations he got when he was around her floored the hell out of him.How the fuck did this happened?He rubbed the roach into the ground with the heel of his boots. A stab of guilt assaulted him because for the past few days Maggie had been on his mind, crowding out Alicia. As hard as he tried, Maggie’s blue-gray eyes replaced Alicia’s bright ones, and her blonde mass of waves edged out his dead wife’s frizzy red hair. The nightmares had subsided as well since Duchess had been tucked against him during the night. A part of Flux welcomed the thread of joy that wove through him, but another part wanted the pain. Losing the bitterness and anger seemed liked a betrayal to Alicia and Emily.
“You going in?” Pete asked as he lit up a cigarette.
“Yeah. How’s the crowd?” Flux replied.
“Good. It’s pretty damn well sold out.” A puff of smoke encircled the two men.
“How’s your knee doing?” Flux asked. Pete had taken a bad spill the night before, and his kneecap looked two times its regular size.
“Hurts like a motherfucker, but I got my pads and knee guards so I should be good.”
Flux nodded then glanced at the time on his phone. The bull riding event would start in about fifteen minutes and he needed to put on the plastic vest that protected the bullfighters’ front, back, and sides. “I’ll see you in the arena.”
“Sure, dude.” Pete exhaled another cloud of smoke as Flux walked to the back area.
Glancing through the wooden slats, Flux saw a sea of cowboy hats in the stands. The bright rodeo lights made the arena look like daytime, and the colorful Western shirts the “buckle bunnies”—rodeo groupies—wore reminded him of the kaleidoscopic quilt his mother had made for him when he was a child.
Flux saw Stan staying right in position, bareback on the bucking bronco. Above the music of the arena band and the excited play-by-play of the announcer shouting “Ride ’em, Stan, ride ’em! Show ’em what you got!” Flux heard the back hooves of the horse as they slammed to the ground. Dust circulated everywhere, which made him cough as he turned left toward the locker area.
Ten minutes later Flux took a quick drink of water, the sign above the fountain warned—No Spitting—and he headed for the chutes. He saw Chet astride the bull, his eyes cast downward on its back. Flux walked out into the arena and lifted his chin to Pete and Hank. Pete grinned but Hank ignored him, which didn’t surprise Flux since the bullfighter and Chet were good friends.
The spectators in the stands leaned forward and the wave of tension and excited anticipation washed over the rodeo. The bull riding was always the last event of the night, and it was the one most of the crowd came out to see.
The rush of adrenaline shot through Flux as it always did before an event; the harsh reality was that he risked his life every time he stepped into the arena. It was something he’d been accustomed to with his biker lifestyle, and as a rodeo bullfighter, he’d been launched air born for sure—it came with the job sometimes. There was no fear in Flux. It went away the day he’d buried his wife and daughter. Life had dealt him a cruel blow and he now embraced the rush of facing a 1,700-pound bull in the ring. His focus was laser sharp and the bullshit demons from the past had no place in his head during a show. He respected the danger each and every time; otherwise it would kick him in the ass—maybe for the last time.
Everything was still, like the calm before the storm, and then the gate opened. The bull bellowed and shot into the air, then paused for an instant and crashed down again, nearly a ton of muscle and bone hitting the ground hard enough to cause major injury to the rider. Chet thrust his chest forward when the bull leaped ahead and the crowd jumped to their feet in a cacophony of whistling, yelling, and clapping.
“Chet is holding on strong at the five-second mark, but is he going to make it to the prized eight seconds?” The loudspeaker system crackled as Flux watched Chet ride out his time clock, hoping the jerk would be thrown on his pathetic ass.
Flux watched as the bull snorted and glared, a sure sign that shit was going to go down hard. He looked to Pete and Hank, and noticed Pete was struggling to get his ass closer in the ring. Chet still clung on, but Flux knew he wouldn’t last much longer.
Then Chet was flying in the air as the crowd roared, and the excitement was so fucking palpable that Flux swore if he reached out, he could touch it. The possibility of carnage always made the spectators go wild.Gore getters.He’d come up with the name after the third bull riding show he’d worked.
Chet landed inches in front of the bull’s stampeding, pissed-off ass, and without a second thought, Flux rushed toward the bull. Chet was lying on the ground, barely breathing, and Flux figured he’d probably had the wind knocked out of him. But the snorting bull didn’t give a flying fuck and kept moving toward the rider.
Flux and Chet locked eyes for a split second.
In a flash of an instant, Flux measured all the ways this could go wrong for him if he let the bull get Chet. Adrenaline mixed with anger pounded through his veins as Chet scrambled in the dirt. Such a damn easy target for a bull, and all nice and wrapped up with a pretty bow.
Fear laced Chet’s eyes as the bull came straight for him. Flux growled and hurled himself between the animal and the rider, kicking Chet to the side and rolling him over. The heated beast’s eyes locked on Flux like a homing beacon. Flux wiggled his fingers in a “come-hither” gesture, already on the move as the bull’s focus found a new target.
“Come to Daddy. Let’s tango, baby,” he muttered under his breathed as he saw a dazed Chet stand up on wobbly legs. Three backers hurried over and escorted the rider out of the ring.
The bull kept coming as Flux dodged the agitated beast. Every second ticked down slower than dripping molasses. He counted in his head, zigging and zagging, keeping the charging bull off his game as Flux surged toward the fence himself.What the fuck’s up with this asshole? He’s not even slowing down.Normally, the bulls would give up the chase by now, but this one seemed bound and determined to skewer Flux on his horns like a goddamn kabob.
Shit! Where the fuck’s Hank?He darted his eyes toward the fence where he saw the bullfighter watching Flux doing a damn death dance with the enraged bull. Flux glared at him, but the bastard showed no signs of jumping in to help.
“Dude!” Flux cried out as Hank hooked his fingers through his belt loops and looked away.
The bullfighter’s code was to help whoever was in the ring—period. Full stop. Flux threw himself in diagonal toward the fence gate again. He was running out of steam; his legs burned and his jaw ached from clenching it so tight.
