Page 36 of Eight Seconds

I start hollering and waving my hat as Charlotte applauds, calling out for him. She bounces a little on her feet, and the buzzer sounds. A cacophony of applause, stomping feet, and the announcer live reacting to the ride make it hard to hear. Charlotte and I are both giddy with our excitement as we watch Travis try to release his grip and get off Buttercup safely.

With an ease that shows his prowess in the sport, he utilizes the momentum of a spin to jump off but stumbles in the dirt on his landing. Before he can right himself and get clear, it feels like the world slows. Travis takes one step and the bull behind him keeps turning, his flank nudging Travis in the back. My best friend goes down in the soft dirt hard.

The barrel men are hollering for Buttercup’s attention, and I see Brett and another rider begin to encroach. As Travis begins to push up, the bull changes direction, away from the clowns calling for him. He leaps and drives both back hooves down sharply.

One thousand pounds of violent rage crushes into the dead center of Travis’ back.

* * *

The air is sucked out of the arena. Seventeen-thousand people collectively hold their breath. The only sound is of the barrel men shouting to gain the attention of the bull. Brett and the other riders circle Travis’ crumpled form in the dirt, trying to give some protection. The exact thing they failed to provide mere seconds ago.

Travis isn’t moving.

But I am. I’m off the side of the fence, ducking under the rails and running into the arena before anyone can stop me. I can hear voices now, the hollow vacuum of silence evaporating; they’re calling at me and for help. The bull has been corralled through the stock gate as I skid into the dirt next to my friend. The only friend I’ve ever had.

Travis is on his stomach, limbs immobile and head turned to the side. His hat lies a step away from him, and he appears to be looking at it when I throw myself onto the dirt beside him. I know better than to touch him. I can’t risk causing more harm than good, but I need him to know he’s not by himself. He gives a half-blink when I call his name, his back rising and falling in breaths so slow and shallow they’re nearly undetectable.

“Travis? Hey,” I call, lying flat on my stomach to look him in the eyes. “That was a hell of a ride, man.” I can’t help but let my eyes scan his body. There are no visible injuries, but that’s almost worse. I school my face and take a deep breath to try and keep my voice steady. “Real good. Doubt they’ll be a better score than what they give you.”

A pained smile tries to spread across his lips, his teeth and gums are tinted with red. It stalls and collapses from his face.

“Maybe,” Travis finally manages to wheeze out. Over his shoulder, I can see the medics running into the arena. It feels like it has taken them hours to get this far, but it’s likely only been a few minutes since he went down. “You’ll”—his breath rattles ominously—“have to”—it pains me to listen to him talk—“tell me later.”

“No, you’re going to see it for yourself. Soon as these guys get you patched up.” The EMTs are gently encouraging me to give them space to work. I can’t bear the idea of leaving him, though, so I swing around, keeping our heads level in the dirt and sticking my legs away from his body. A cough that sounds like tires on gravel comes from Travis’ body, a spray of blood evicted from his mouth by the force. He’s quickly going pale, and his eyes start to lose focus. “Trav, you’ve got to stay awake, man. You have to keep talking to me.”

My words come out far harsher than I intend, but I can see him slipping away. The EMTs flutter around, working diligently and methodically as they assess the damage caused by the blow of the bull’s hooves. Travis works to keep his eyes on me, the hazel irises skewing tawny in the bright arena lights. I give him an encouraging nod, but he just looks at me solemnly. My nerves are alight with the dread that slips into my veins like ice water.

“You get my hat.”

I barely catch the whisper, broken and pushed out with tremendous effort as I’m distracted by the smirk that twists darkly on his face.

Every fiber of my being knows that look. I spent too many years working too many farms not to recognize the moment a creature can see its own ending. Sometimes, it was through design, others the sheer will of Mother Nature. But now, I’m cursing the cruel twist of fate that orchestrated this. I’m proud when my fingers don’t shake as they reach for Travis’s still hand. I have no idea if he can feel my touch, but I’m praying to something I’ve never believed in, that just for this moment he can. That he’ll know he isn’t alone.

Travis doesn't say anything after that. The EMTs finish their work, prying my fingers away when they finally flip him over and secure him to a backboard. The ambulance drives into the arena, the doors thrown open to receive the body. I think every person in the crowd knows what’s happened, but for whatever reason, they don’t cover Travis’ lifeless body with a sheet like I’ve seen in movies. It’s agonizing to pull myself from the dirt, but I do it so I can take one final look at my friend as the doors close and the responders drive away.

I walk to Travis’ discarded hat, tipped to rest on its crown. Waiting. Collecting luck that will never come.

“Wilder!”

Charlotte crashes into me as I stand there, running my finger along the dusty brim. I know her arms have come around me, but I don’t feel anything. A sickening numbness spreads from where my heart is breaking in my chest outward. Even the sight of Charlotte’s tear-filled eyes isn’t enough to break me from the disconnect happening. I want to comfort her; seeing Charlotte cry guts me. Her pain is my pain, but it’s also so much less than what I know I should be feeling.

Instead of joining her in despair, or even finding a sliver of stoicism to soothe her, the flash of Brett dismounting is enough to jolt my system to finally latch onto an emotion.Anger. It burns through me, physically making me recoil from Charlotte’s tender touch and propelling my feet across the arena.

Nothing else exists. There are announcements coming over the speakers. The murmur of the crowd. Flashes from nearby cameras. But there’s a rage roiling inside that won’t be contained.

The second my fist connects with Brett’s jaw, the tempest pounding inside my chest settles for a moment. The valley before another wave peaks dangerously when I hit him again as soon as he twists from the first. Then, I’m swept in the tide of pain. Brett’s. Travis’.Mine.

“Holy fuck, Wild! Stop it! Stop. He’s out cold!”

Charlotte is screaming in my ear, but I can barely hear her. She has both of her arms wrapped around the one I have cocked back to strike again.

“Please, baby,” Charlotte sobs but wedges the heels of her boots deep in the soft dirt, pulling hard to get me to stop my relentless assault. I look at the pitiful excuse for a man, bloodied and unconscious, at my feet. I straighten up, only now realizing I was following him to the ground to dole out more punishment. “Killing him won’t bring Travis back.” Her voice breaks around the words. The adrenaline leaves my system as quickly as it came.

My hand drops under Charlotte’s pressured insistence, and I turn away. I’m directionless but not alone. I know she’s next to me as I make it half a dozen steps. Travis’ hat is still clasped tightly in my hand. I’ve practically crushed it. The sight of damage to it is enough to undo me. I pull it to my chest, finally really looking at Charlotte, a solemn nod of affirmation.

Another three steps and my knees buckle underneath me, dropping me to the very ground that gave me my greatest dream and worst nightmare. I don’t recognize the sound that bursts out of me. It’s an ugly wail, and there suddenly isn’t enough air to replace what has been spent from my lungs to make it. But somehow, another rattles loose. Over and over again, the cries wrack my entire body except for where Charlotte has wrapped herself around me. She holds me and whispers as I struggle to understand.

But I don’t.

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