Page 72 of A Fighting Chance

“This is crazy,” she says as I hoist her up onto the bull by her waist.

When she has her leg over and is sitting in place, I help tuck her dress edges beneath her and then I hoist myself onto the bull behind her. “Yeah, I know,” I say, smiling and sliding closer to her, pressing my front against her back.

She shifts and leans into me.

I can smell her hair, feel her warmth. I shake my head. I have to focus so we don’t get tossed from this contraption in two seconds flat. I lean forward into her and wrap one arm around her. I wrap the other hand underneath the rope in front of her, but she’s already gripping it tight with both hands. “No, put one of your hands in the air,” I remind her.

“Oh, right,” she says. She unclenches one of her hands from the rope and lifts it into the air, signaling that we’re ready to ride.

A buzzer sounds from behind us and we feel the bull start to sway. It makes a figure eight then pops up and begins shaking back and forth. We tilt and sway with it as best we can, riding forward and tipping back. The bull whirls to the right and we counter. We think it’s going left but it doesn’t and dumps us onto the mat below.

I keep my grip on Lyla and tuck her against me, so she rolls onto me instead of away.

She’s laughing so hard she can barely breathe. Her chest heaves against mine as she tries to wipe the small happy tears from her eyes.

Watching her laugh causes me to laugh. It’s infectious. Soon, we’re trying to stand, dizzy in a fit of laughter and tears.

I push her toward the exit, trying to help her keep her balance as I make every attempt to gather mine at the same time. We wobble out onto the regular floor and pull our boots back on.

“Water?” I ask.

When she nods, we head over to the bar again, still laughing. She’s trailing behind me as she reaches out for my hand. I grip it tight and its urgency in my palm calms my breathing.

“Well, that was an experience,” she says, taking another sip of her water.

We’re back to being seated at our previous table and I nod in agreement. “I couldn’t very well claim to have shown you the real deal down here if I didn’t get you on the bull,” I say.

She tilts her head at me. “You know, you’re right. I’ll be sure to write a raving Yelp review,” she teases.

Then her eyes lock with mine, sobering me.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask, daring to dream.

She nods her head slowly at me and we both get off our chairs at nearly the same time. We’re making our way across the bar and out the door before either of us have a second thought. We’re halfway to the truck when a slow song starts to play. Music fills the entire parking lot. I’m watching Lyla walk just ahead of me and wonder if this is both the first and last time we’ll ever dance.

“One more dance?” I ask her.

She turns to me, a small smile on her lips. “Okay.”

We’re close to the truck now, so I take her in my arms like before, cheek to cheek, my arm wrapped tight around her middle.

I hear Brett Young singing Mercy into the night sky and I grip her tighter.

Lyla’s hands are clinging to my back and I’d give anything to freeze this moment. To play it back over and over again. To never let go.

But I know I have to let go of her at the end of the song. I know I have to get into that truck and drive her home. I know I have to make love to her like it’s the last time I might.

And later on, in a couple of days, I’ll have to really let her go.

I pull my face back from hers to look at her. I run my thumb over her jaw and stare into her eyes, perhaps longer than I should. Then, I lean in and kiss her like it’s the last time I have the chance to. Just in case it is.

Because nothing is guaranteed.

Twenty-Four

Lyla

The rideback home is quiet. Gentry is behind the wheel, my hand in his and my eyes on the passing trees. My mind, though, is back in that parking lot. Replaying those moments.

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