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Rodeo

May

C olt looks absolutely atrocious. In his big cowboy hat and sunglasses, I don’t think anyone is going to be fooled by the attempt at a disguise.

My mom pulls out a pair of Pit Viper wraparound shades and holds them out in front of Colt. ‘Give these a shot. They’ll work even better. They’re ridiculous.’

‘What? Those aren’t ridiculous! They’re mine,’ Papa whines defensively. Mumma just sighs and taps his shoulder in a gesture of ‘shoo’. It’s clear where I get it from.

‘She’s right.’ Savannah plucks the other (more normal) pair right from Colt’s face and slides on the Pit Vipers. Colt just gives her a pissed little frown. ‘There ya go. Now hurry up. We need to find Ma and Pop.’

‘Whoa.’ Colt holds up a hand. ‘The whole thing is that I don’t get recognized here, right? So why don’t we split up, and I’ll—’

‘CJ brADLEY!’ a woman’s voice yelps. ‘Oh, my god!’

He drops his hand immediately, straight-faced. ‘Well. We tried.’

The woman, a middle-aged brunette with an OKC orange T-shirt, waves to her friends, pointing Colt’s way. It’s definitely so over for him.

‘And with that,’ I laugh, ‘I’m gonna head out and get ready. Barrel race is in a half-hour. Find a good spot.’

‘I’m sure the Bradleys have beaten us to it.’ Mumma smiles, and she and Papa give me a shared hug.

‘Go get ’em, mija .’ Papa straightens my collar, ruffling my hair, unfortunately ruining the braids I’d just done about an hour ago.

‘Paaaa,’ I groan.

‘What? It’s for luck .’ My dad presses a kiss to the top of my head. ‘Be safe.’

‘I will, Papa.’

My parents let me go, and my ever-so-clever father gives me a little nudge Colt’s way, who clears his throat and removes his dumb Pit Vipers, cutting his gaze towards the crowd of quickly approaching women. ‘You’re gonna be great.’ He grins, if not slightly bashfully. ‘I’m not lying when I say I’m just glad I’ll get to see you race again. I’ve missed that.’

I choke back a haha, and whose fault was that , with a keen eye on the aunties drawing near. ‘Good. It’s a sign you have a heart.’

Colt snorts. ‘Okay, Velasco. Knock ’em dead.’ He leans down and kisses my cheek, his cowboy hat brushing my forehead. I raise an eyebrow.

He just smirks. ‘My version of “good luck”.’

‘Rodeo, lacrosse, weather. You balance a heavy plate, May.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ I shoot a wry smile at the girl opposite me. Noemi Montes and I have been barrel racing together since we started riding. Noemi took things to the next level, circuit and all, and she’s raced in rodeos as far and wide as the Calgary Stampede by now. I’m pretty sure the only reason my horse still remembers the cloverleaf is because I take him for a slow trot around the barrels every day during chores, and he happily meanders through it, not the fastest, but quite obedient. Rocky has never been anything but reliable.

‘Graduatin’ this year?’ Noemi asks.

I nod. ‘Yep. Got some things to work through.’

‘I take it you’re not going the rodeo route, huh?’

With a glance from her sponsor-laden Western top to my plain blue plaid one, I raise an eyebrow. ‘That obvious?’

We share a mutual laugh at that. Barrel racing is basically going to be life and career for Noemi until she decides it’s time to step down, after which she’ll probably take over her parents’ ranch, not too different from what I could see myself doing. ‘So what will you do?’ says Noemi, spawning my worst fear.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. It’s better I save the energy it takes to lie – especially one this big. And she knows how it is, leaving the ranch. ‘The weather’s been terrible here lately. I’m not sure if I’ll declare for the draft. Every women’s MLL team is on the East Coast. I’d have to leave, and who’ll look after the ranch after that?’ I shrug. ‘I wonder if it’s better I stay, you know? I can actually make a difference here. Doing research for the early detection programme.’

Noemi looks a little crestfallen at that. Disappointed? She doesn’t know me like that, does she? ‘Really? I mean, your research is fantastic. Don’t get me wrong, it’s just … we’ve been at this for years.’ She shoots me a wry smile. ‘You certainly have competitive fire. You’re made for sport, May. The ranch, the research, it won’t go anywhere. Your career years will. Trust me.’

The announcer’s voice warbles incoherently over the speakers, and I mount Rocky, giving him a pat of encouragement. A sleek brown quarter horse, Rocky’s been mine since my first state youth lacrosse match – twelve years ago now. He’s sturdy, reliable, and best of all, loving and loved. Rocky only hits the barrels really hard once a year, for the Oklahoma County Rodeo, and he eats up every second of it.

As the crowd roars excitedly outside, I soak in the sound. To be surrounded by cheers, maybe on a lacrosse field, maybe at the very top of the professional league. The high is like nothing else. Isn’t it?

Well. Colt’s not the only one working on adulting .

Noemi gives me a parting wave as she and her horse are called, and they burst right out the gate, speeding around the barrels, making tight turns in the pattern like it’s light work, to ear-bursting applause from the crowds when she comes back into the alley – record time.

Rocky and I trot closer to the entrance, and I can hear the announcer’s next words. ‘And with a special guest in Oklahoma for the season, give a big Okie County welcome to hometown talent and national pro lacrosse player, CJ Bradley!’

Oh. Great.

‘Looks like your boy’s up front!’ Noemi teases as she catches her breath, bringing her horse, Bingo, down the aisle.

‘Of course he is,’ I hum under my breath. I remember his admitting – at dinner with his family – that he’d watched every rodeo I’d raced in before he left, and how excited he was to be back. I thought it’d be as easy as the girls from the team showing up the way they did every year, my parents, and maybe he’d tag along. Casually. Quietly.

But, as I’d learned the second he stepped foot in Oklahoma, there is nothing casual or quiet about the presence of national pro lacrosse player CJ Bradley.

‘C’mon, buddy,’ I whisper to Rocky. ‘Let’s run real fast today.’

The kid helping out with the horses guides us through the alleyway before letting us go, and Rocky and I set off with a start. Dust flies as we hit the first barrel at high speed, a tight turn, and then the next, a beautiful cloverleaf. It’s not our fastest, but Rocky is a stunner, and when we head back down the aisle, he whinnies happily, satisfied with the cheering that follows him inside.

‘ So good.’ I ruffle his mane, hopping down as the kid holds onto his reins, and taking them once I’m on solid ground. ‘You still got it, friend.’

‘Y’all were pretty phenomenal.’ An unfamiliar voice interrupts my moment with my horse. I look up, and this guy’s 100 per cent not someone I recognize. He has the showy yet protective padded vest of one of the bull riders, windswept blond hair, fringed chaps over well-worn jeans, spurred boots. Lots of sponsors on every leather article. Definitely a bull rider. He throws a pearly-white, blue-eyed smile my way. ‘Impressive seeing a lacrosse player on a barrel horse.’

I turn back to Rocky, smoothing his coat distractedly. ‘I like a little of everything in my life. Do I know you?’

‘Not yet.’ He sticks out a hand, and I take it. We share a firm shake. ‘Jackson O’Hara. I’m just in town for the rodeo. You local?’

I nod. ‘Yep. May Velasco. Nice to meet ya. How’d you know I play lax?’

‘I’m a friend of Noemi’s. She mentioned you were on OKC?’

‘Sure.’ I eye a patch on his vest. ‘And you? National circuit?’

‘You got me.’ Jackson grins. ‘It’s how I know her. We run in similar circles.’

‘I’d imagine.’ I walk Rocky towards his stable, and Jackson falls into step with us.

‘So, May. Meant to ask, if you had the chance.’ He leans against the stable doors across from Rocky’s as I lead my horse inside. ‘Would you be down to grab a drink this weekend? Before I head out?’

Great heavens. I freeze in my spot. Rocky nuzzles my cheek, like, Girl? What is this goon doing?

There was certainly a time where getting asked out by an admittedly fantastic-looking bull rider – at the very pinnacle of rodeo – would have been in my top five. I mean, come on. When The Longest Ride came out, I literally prayed for a Scott Eastwood of my own. My twelve-year-old ass had posters all over my walls.

Suddenly, though, I’m taken aback, and honestly, not interested. Colt and I are technically fake. I could carry on a real relationship, right? But it’s like the brakes are engaging on auto. Something in me latches right onto the thought of Colt as if we’ve been together for years. I would absolutely be a traitor and a dick if I said yes right now.

Because the way this Jackson guy’s looking at me isn’t the look you give someone you just want to have a nice friendly chat at the bar with. Which leads me to my next thought: if he knows I play, he has to know I’m very publicly ‘dating’ CJ Bradley. I don’t know where that hasn’t been breaking news of late.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got some plans.’ I clear my throat awkwardly. Where in the world do I even begin? ‘I … uh, I have some plans with my boyfriend.’

Ew . I wish I could have redone that a tad bit more smoothly. I’m expecting equally awkward disappointment from Jackson, but that isn’t what I get. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is a bull-riding man we’re talking about. The red flag to end all red flags.

‘Well, May …’ He takes a couple of steps forward, steps I’m not too comfortable with when they put us both in Rocky’s stable, with Jackson at the door. ‘Listen. You’re honestly too beautiful a woman to be with some lacrosse guy who’s got air for brains. I’m offering you something a little more substantial. Something that’s not just a shallow Boston frat boy. Come on, now.’ He laughs this fabricated little laugh that screams to me it’s time to break a wall and get the heck out of Dodge. ‘It’d be a good time, I promise you.’

‘Get the fuck away from my girlfriend.’

The breath leaves my lungs in a heavy whoosh as Colt’s voice cuts the uncomfortable tension. He shoves right past Jackson and straight to me. He doesn’t touch me, just shoots Jackson the deadliest glare I’ve ever seen him muster. My heart’s beating a million miles an hour, and it’s not the good kind of million miles an hour when I watch the two of them exchange stares. I’m the one who reaches out to Colt first, pulling him close to me with a fistful of his white T-shirt, and he responds immediately, wrapping an arm around me.

‘Think on it, May,’ Jackson finally quips, raising an eyebrow.

I feel Colt’s body tense beside me, his muscles going taut, but I tighten my grip, looking up at him with an air of don’t bother. Jackson’s spur-clad boots click off down the alleyway, and Colt, like me, exhales heavily.

‘Man. What a prick.’ His thumb rubs a circle into my shoulder, his brow knitted as he dips his head to give me a quick once-over. ‘You okay? Did he …’

‘Primary crime was being a creepy jerk.’ I shudder a little at the thought of it. God. It’d be one thing if he didn’t know I was dating anyone and stepped away peacefully. This was a terrifying other. ‘Thank you.’ I shake my head, scary images flashing in my brain that I do my level best to push away. ‘If you hadn’t showed up …’

‘Don’t even make me think about it.’ Colt’s mouth twitches into a frown. The hand on my shoulder slowly backs off, hovering over me. ‘Sorry. It’s not my place to, you know.’

‘Please don’t be sorry.’ My tone is nothing like it had been when I gave Colt the same response back at the beginning of the season, a snappy, salty sarcasm that is far from present now. It’s pleading, beseeching. ‘Really. And, Colt, honestly …’ The stress I’ve been holding all through my back and shoulders melts when I finish my sentence. ‘I don’t mind a little help sometimes. Certainly not with dickheads who try and corner me in stables.’

‘Disgusting.’ Colt shivers, but his hand falls back onto my shoulder. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I will be. Once I get a shit ton of tacos to distract myself from the ick.’

‘Done. Tacos on me.’

‘Alright, then, hometown talent. Maybe they’ll give ’em to you for free,’ I prod him in the ribs as we walk on out.

‘Oh, no.’ He blushes a ditzy pink. Blushing over Tex-Mex and rodeos, this man. ‘I couldn’t let them do that.’

I roll my eyes, putting on my most exasperated face, and begin preparing some witty jab about how he’s always trying to be all dumb and righteous because of his colossal screw-up in leaving the place with the best rodeo on earth.

But the warmth of his presence, the feeling of safety from just being near him, stops me in my tracks.