Page 6 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

Pushing off the wall, I count to twelve backwards—not to ten. I don’t like zeros—then return to the chutes.

“Hey! There you are!” My coach grabs me by the elbow and pulls me aside. “You had to draw a new bull. Master Slaughter didn’t pass the vet check. You can’t ride him.”

“Who do I have now?”

This is fine. It’s all fine.

“No Mercy.”

“Oh, well, that sounds no better than Master Slaughter, but it is what it is, right?”

Coach slaps my back, oblivious to my internal Zen unravelling. “You got it, Jamieson. You’ll be fine.”

I sure fucking hope so. Griff is in the ring, and I know nothing about this bull. I hate going in blind, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Calm blue ocean, Jamieson. You can do this. It’s fine. You did it before Griff, and you can do it again.” I mutter as I take my place in the line with the others.

One by one, the riders mount their bulls, and I watch in a detached way as they all ride well enough. I cheer when I should, groan when it’s required, and assist in the chutes.

Then it’s my turn, and while I internally berate myself for depending on my friend’s intuitive bull reports so much, he was right…again.

“You good, Jamieson?”

“Y-yeah.”

No.

But the chute swings open, and my bull charges out, bucking and spinning. I maintain my form as best as I can, but I’m sliding to one side, and my grip on my bull rope has loosened.

With one final buck, I go flying and somehow still land on my feet. Blindly stumbling forward, about to face plant into the sand, familiar arms wrap around me and haul me into a hard chest. We both fall to the ground, and I land on Griff with my full weight.

“Look out!”

Griff rolls us to the side and covers as much of my body with his as the ground shakes around us, and Griff grunts in pain.

Then it’s all over as fast as it began, and everyone in the ring rushes our way.

“Get a stretcher!” Someone yells, and it’s then I register Griff’s low groan.

“Griff? Are you hurt?”

“Something hurts, but I think it’s minor. Don’t worry about it, Jamie. I got you.”

Griff is lifted off me as more people and more commotion surround us. Blood flows down his leg, soaking his sneaker and discolouring the tape around his ankle as he’s placed on a stretcher.

“Where are you taking him?!”

Is that me sounding so hysterical?

“The hospital. He needs stitches for sure.” The paramedic turns to me. “Did you get hurt?”

“N-no, but I don’t want him to go alone.”

“Follow us then.”

Griff reaches for my hand as I walk beside him on the stretcher. “Stay, Jamie. I’m fine.”

“Never. I’m not letting you go to the hospital alone.”

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