Page 12 of Ride or Die

“Did you get a job, Mommy?” Billie asks, so pure and innocent, her eyes bright and full of untainted optimism as she takes my hand.

“No, baby,” is all I say. “Come on, let’s go before those popsicles melt,” I add quickly before they can ask questions I don’t have answers to.

Tom and Billie slurp on their popsicles, thankfully none the wiser to the current state of my mind as we drive the road back toward the main heart of town.

I need a job.We need money. Something, anything.

Gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles crack, I try desperately to steady my breaths, racking my brain with what the hell I’m going to do, which is right when I spot a flashing neon sign from the corner of my eye.

Girls wanted.

I slam my foot down on the brake, harder than intended, pulling up to a stop so sudden, dust whooshes around the car like a whirlwind.

“Mom?” Tom asks, and I can tell he’s on edge, suddenly panicked, hand clutching his seat belt.

“Yeah,” I huff out, looking into my side mirror. “Sorry, I… I thought I saw something.”

The non-descript windowless building sits surrounded by a gravel parking lot and nothing but a few cacti dotted about, the big neon sign flashing even through the bright light of day.Meow’s. I can’t help but grimace, my stomach roiling because I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what it is. But it seems I’ve run out of options. So, I flick on the blinker and, checking for traffic, I do an illegal U-turn.

CHAPTER 5

COLE

The chute is tight, hard metal pressing in on both sides, rattling with every violent shift of the beast beneath me. I can feel the bull’s power through my legs—coiled muscle, heat, anger. He slams forward, then back, trying to shake me before the gate even opens. Dust rises in the harsh arena lights, and the noise of the crowd leaks in like a distant storm—cheers, whistles, someone shouting my name. But I barely hear any of it. All I hear is my own breathing. Slow in. Steady out.

My glove tightens around the rope, fingers locked in. I flex once, twice, feeling the tension bite into my hand. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s shaking a few ribs loose.

Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy.

The doctor’s warning reverberates through every fiber of my being, ringing like an echo through my bruised and battered brain.

He said I should consider retiring, that one more bad fall could be the one to take it all away. I push it out of my head. Eight seconds. That’s all this is. Eight seconds between me and a twenty-five hundred dollar pay day.

The bull surges again, smashing into the front of the chute. The gate clangs. Someone above me nods and I lean forward,chest brushing the bull’s back, feeling the raw, violent energy under me.

“Ready?” someone yells over the constant roar.

I nod once, and the gate swings open causing the world around me to explode.

He launches out like a cannon—straight up, then down so hard my teeth snap together despite my mouthguard. My free arm whips back as I fight to stay centered. His first spin comes fast—left, hard, violent. I shift my weight, hips moving before I can even think, boots digging in for life.

One second.

He bucks high, hind legs kicking up into the air, trying to throw me over his head. My grip holds. My shoulder screams as my arm stretches to keep me balanced.

Two seconds.

He twists the other way now, faster, tighter. The world blurs—lights, dirt, flashes of a hazy crowd. I feel the rhythm beginning to form, the chaos starting to make sense.

Three.

Four.

He slams down and launches again, higher this time. My body snaps forward, then back. I can feel the strain in my neck, the jolt rattling through my skull causing a sharp, tight pinch.

Ignore it.

Five.