Page 45 of Eight Seconds to Fly

Stan stood, and I tensed. “She can’t press charges. If she presses charges, it’ll be a damn media circus.” Self-serving dick.

The lawyer dude, who was looking at me with a little more respect, nodded his head sagely. “I agree with Stan on this one. No matter how quiet we try to keep it, if there is a legal battle, it will come out. We will stand no chance of keeping this situation out of the spotlight.”

Stan pulled a sheath of paper out of his briefcase. “This is a contract that states you will not press charges against my son.”

He slid the stack of paper across at me, and I only had to read the word alleged assault for a red haze to come down over my vision. I picked them up and tore them to pieces in front of the whole board. “Fuck you.”

I stood and the guys crowded around me. “You’ll regret any action you take against me, you little bitch,” Stan snarled, and I flipped him the finger.

I looked around at the rest of the Board of Directors. “I hope you can meet God with a clear heart and tell him that this man’s money was worth your immortal damn soul.” I lifted my chin and looked every single one of them in the eye. “Now if you’ll excuse me gentleman, I have a ride to prepare for.”

With that, I strode out of the room like a damn Queen.

17

The bull riding community is small. Sure, it's spread wide, but it's still pretty close knit. As a result, news traveled like wildfire. If management thought that keeping my mouth shut would quell the news that one of the boys sexually assaulted me, they were crazy. When I walked into the locker room, all sound stopped. Not just the chatter, though I had no doubt that ninety percent of it was about me anyway, but all sound. The whole room just went still and I wanted to run away. Instead, I held my head high, looked out of the corner of my eye to make sure Branch and Dylan were still beside me, then walked over to the lockers. Not the ones near the bathroom doors though. I tried not to look at those doors at all.

I had an apology to make first. I walked over to the Brazilian riders, and they watched me warily. Davi couldn’t meet my eyes. I looked at the group. It seemed wrong without Miguel there. “I’m sorry, about Miguel.”

One of the other older rides gave me a sad smile. “Miguel told us what happened. It's not your fault. They will have to pay their penance with God.”

“Or the Devil,” another said, crossing himself.

Yet another one laughed. “Or Miguel’s wife.”

The older rider grinned. “It’s true. His wife has been hounding him to retire for years. You did her a favor. Him too. His heart wasn’t in the riding but you know? It’s not a job you voluntarily retire from a lot. You go out a cripple or dead, that's it. This way, he can go out with his honor and his pride.”

“And a little money,” someone else joked and then they were off. Back to laughing and speaking in Portuguese and I lost myself in the cadence of it all. I looked over at Davi and stepped closer to him. I pasted a smile on my face. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” he said, his eyes tortured. His knuckles were a mess, but I mean, we all had fucked up hands. It was the nature of bull riding.

I smiled genuinely this time. “Yeah, but I asked first.”

His jaw flexed. “I feel guilty. Not for, you know, but for Miguel.” Yeah, I knew, but all those platitudes I just heard went twice for Davi.

“Without you, I’d be dead.”

The cold reality of that whispered statement pulled us both up. He swallowed hard and gave me a small nod. I reached out and squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”

With one last smile, I let Branch and Dylan walk me to the other side of the room, well away from the doors so that I couldn’t even see them unless I craned my neck. “Are you really okay?”

“No, but I’m too stubborn to go home now.”

Dylan laughed, and I noticed that this side of the room was still deathly quiet. It was awkward as hell.

Branch stood up and cleared his throat. “Does anyone have a problem with T.M. still being here? Because if any of you think that what happened yesterday is in any way her fault, I will happily walk you into the middle of that arena and put you in a coma myself.”

Joe Reddert, one of the biggest names in the sport right now, stood up and my heart stopped. “I think what happened yesterday was fucking disgusting. I have daughters, a wife, a sister. The idea of any piece of shit touching them…” he ground his teeth and I swallowed hard. “That isn’t what this sport is about. She can get on a bull and ride it for eight seconds. That qualifies her to be here. You got a problem with it, it isn't just Watson here that you will have issues with, understand?”

I would not cry. I would not.

Someone scoffed. “I hated that piece of shit anyway. When we was in riding school, he stole my brand new rope and said it was his. Fucking asshole.”

That kicked off a general grumbling about Junior, and I made note of the people who didn’t join in. I ruled out the ones that were just quiet types, like Branch. But the ones who looked like they were suppressing anger? Those ones I’d work hard not to be alone with. I never wanted to be alone and vulnerable again.

I got lost in the monotony of preparation. I couldn’t be distracted on the bull, because that's how you died.

Dylan sat with me, and I appreciated the hell out of him for being here. He must have been itching to put on his gear and go out and ride. Instead, he was sitting in his civilian clothes, close enough to my body that I could feel his warmth. He was like a giant security blanket, and didn’t resent it at all. “Thank you for being here,” I said softly, and he helped buckle my chaps. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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