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Chapter One

Dallas

I don’t have a death wish. I just like to flirt with death for around eight seconds on a Friday night.

Every so often that old song drifts through my head as I climb into the chute. Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

Good thing my mom doesn’t give a shit about me.

My stepmom is a good woman, though, and she doesn’t deserve to worry about me. Hell, my dad is a decent guy, for all that he didn’t know about me until I was fifteen. He took me in after years in foster care, tried to finish raising me right.

He did his best.

I’m just fucked up.

Fucked up enough that this is how I get my kicks, I guess.

I’m sitting on the edge of the chute, and I lower myself down onto the bull, grabbing hold of the harness and slipping my hand beneath the leather strap.

“The next rider up is a champion. Number two in the world right now, folks, just twenty-four years old, from Gold Valley, Oregon, riding a little bull called Tundra. Give it up for Dallas Dodge!” The crowd cheers and I adjust the leather strap, my heart pounding in my head, my whole body shaking from the adrenaline pouring through my veins. A better high than any shit out there.

Though, it’s not unlike shit you buy on the street. You could think you’re buying straight shit, and it could be laced with Fentanyl and send you straight to an early grave.

Tundra might be my bad batch. He’s pissed at me, that’s for sure. Which is his whole job. I’m supposed to ride him; he’s supposed to buck me off.

I’m never sure who the crowd is chanting for.

If they want me to get my full eight seconds, or if they want the bull to throw me, and tear me a whole new one for good measure.

This is Rome and we’re the gladiators. Though we aren’t prisoners of anything other than our own bullshit.

I think about my stepmom then – who surely didn’t want me to grow up to be a cowboy. My dad. My half-siblings. All the people who love me back in Gold Valley.

Then Sarah.

I always think about Sarah.

It doesn’t matter how many years it’s been since she got sent back to her mom, since we were separated in that last foster home, I think about her. Especially in these moments.

I touch the brim of my hat.

Those who are about to die salute you.

The bull bucks underneath me, and I nod to the men holding the gate. They release, and it’s on .

It’s either the fastest or slowest eight seconds imaginable.

There’s not much in between. And I’m feeling it tonight.

But I know what I need to do. I let out a breath, my body sinking into the rhythm.

The movements. I’m hoping that I get a high enough score.

That the bull doesn’t ruin this by being too kind to me.

But then, he reverses his movements, planting both front feet down and shifting from a fluid twist to short, shocking movements.

Good. That’s what I want. I want to compete. I want to win.

There’s nothing but me and the animal then. A fight for dominance. A fight for that win.

If my friend Colt Campbell scores better than me, I won’t mind so much. But if that bastard Maverick Quinn gets a high score, I swear?—

And then the time is up. I did it.

I follow the movement of the beast and jump off, landing on my feet, stumbling forward as the bull goes the other way.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. But I don’t take a bow.

I adjust my hat, look up, and begin to walk back toward the gate.

And that’s when I see her. Right there. I would think I was hallucinating except…

In all my memories, and my imagination of her, she’s not this .

When I think of Sarah, she’s that little girl who has nightmares. Who has to hold onto me at night in order to fall asleep. She’s the one person I want to protect more than anything in all the world. The person that I begged my parents to find, but they never could.

The last time I saw her, she was being carried away by a social worker, while she screamed and fought, and my foster parents held onto my arms, trying to keep me from stopping them. I pulled so hard I ended up with fingerprints on my arms, bruises where they’d kept me captive while I tried so hard…

I never saw her again.

Until now.

I know it’s her, and yet it’s not her.

Because this isn’t a vulnerable little girl standing there staring me down from the bleachers.

No. This is a woman. She must be nineteen, twenty years old.

Twenty, I think. I try to remember when her birthday was in connection to mine, but everything is jumbled up.

I remember the little parties that I threw for her, but not the time of year.

I guess you only remember the things that matter.

It’s like everything goes silent. Like it all stops. The edges of everything go fuzzy, but not Sarah.

I can’t hear her. But I see her move her mouth. “Dallas.”

And then, I suddenly catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

The bull is running straight toward me. And I have to jump up to the side of the gate to escape, the bull fighters doing their part to lure the animal away while I climb up and over, back into the chute.

And when I look back up, I don’t see her anymore. Did I hallucinate her? Was it a dream?

No. That can’t be. I’ve spent all these years looking for her.

Ever since I was fourteen. It’s been ten years.

I can’t lose her again. I can’t. My team is trying to talk to me, but I don’t want to hear it.

I know my score is posting, judging by the sound the crowd makes, it’s good.

But I think it’s the best. Suddenly, it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

My heart is pounding, my legs unsteady, it’s always like that after a ride. But this is different. This isn’t about the ride.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Colt is standing there, arms crossed, watching me.

“Don’t you have a fucking ride to get to?” I ask.

“Yeah. In a second.” He’s watching me, like he knows me. I guess he does. I guess he does know me and knows something is up. Fair enough since he’s been my friend ever since I moved to Gold Valley.

“I have to… I saw somebody that I know.”

“Oh. And?”

“I have to find her.”

“Some Buckle Bunny?”

I want to growl. I want to grab them by the throat and tell him never to call her that. For all I know, she is a Buckle Bunny. And it isn’t like there’s anything wrong with that. But not her. All my protective instincts rise up inside of me, and I want to fight.

“Okay,” Colt says, holding his hands up like I’m keeping him there at gunpoint. “No jokes.”

“Come up with good jokes next time.”

Colt shrugs. “You seem rattled.”

“I’m not rattled. But… I just saw someone I’ve been looking for, and then I lose sight of her. I can’t let her get away.”

“Sounds ominous,” Colt says, eyeing me closely.

“It’s not, I’ll explain later. I’ll catch up with you after your ride.”

I don’t need to be talking to Colt that way.

He’s my best friend. Has been ever since we started riding together four years ago.

A couple of bored kids in Gold Valley, Oregon, looking for something to do.

We found it. And we made a name for ourselves with it.

Made a whole lot of cash too. Made our moms cry .

But right then, though, I wonder if the whole point was this. If it all brought me right here. To her.

Or, you hit your fucking head and you have no idea what’s happening.

Maybe. Maybe I did.

I haul myself up over the guardrail into the bleachers. And I start walking down toward the section that I saw her in. I’m creating a stir. I don’t particularly care.

I’m avoiding all the people gawking at me, trying to take selfies in front of me. In any other circumstances I might stop and flip them the bird so they have that as a keepsake from tonight.

Then for some reason, I turn around.

There she is. Not up on the bleachers anymore, down by the chutes. I grit my teeth, haul myself right back over, and there we are. Three feet apart from each other. She’s staring at me, wide brown eyes that are so familiar to me they might as well be my own.

“I don’t know if you remember me…” I almost can’t make sense of what just came out of her mouth. I might not remember her ? I’ve spent so many sleepless nights worrying about her. Wondering where she is. Driving myself crazy.

Now she’s here. She’s right here.

Without thinking, without giving any allowance for the fact that I’m sweaty and full of dust, I reach out and I pull her into my arms. “Sarah,” I whisper, my hand on the back of her head. I must look like a crazy person. But I feel like a crazy person.

“Dallas.”