Page 9 of Eight Seconds to Ride

“Speaking of,” Shooter says, directing his attention to the man beside me. “You better be there. I don’t want to hear any of this shit about Jade this or Jade that.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Boone grumbles. “I’ll be there come hell or highwater. Jade knows.”

“Jade’s your wife, right?” I ask, my eyes dipping to the band around his left ring finger. He’s mentioned his wife in interviews before, but I don’t think it’s ever been by name and I’ve never seen her on TV.

He nods. “Yeah, she is.”

I wonder why she’s so out of the spotlight. I know not every spouse in the rodeo wants to be front and center, but you usually see them at leastsomeof the time.

“Is she coming too?” Shooter asks.

“Nah, probably not.” Boone relaxes into the booth, linking his fingers behind his head. I can smell his deodorant, and it smells really good. “But Grady is coming with me, I think. He’s home visiting from college.”

“Who’s Grady?” I ask, really wishing I knew everybody already. I hate feeling out of the loop.

“Jade’s little brother,” Shooter replies, sliding his gaze over to me at the question, a sly grin tugging on his lips before returning his attention to Boone. “Really? Since when does Grady party? College must be getting to him.” He laughs.

Boone shrugs. “Maybe. When I told him about it, he said he wanted to come. I didn’t ask questions.”

“Little Wilde must be learning to loosen up, finally,” Shooter mutters, popping a French fry into his mouth. When he catches me staring, he winks and my stomach flutters.

Jesus.

I have got to get this—whatever the heck is happening with me when it comes to Shooter—under control. We’re all going to be leaving soon for the start of the circuit, and I’ve worked too dang hard to get here, to mess it all up with some playboy cowboy taking up too much space in my head.

I’m a grown man. Surely, I can learn to be around him without becoming flustered and mindless… Right?

5

Shooter Graham

“Dinner was amazing, Mom.” I shovel another bite into my mouth, knowing I’m going to be way too full here in a minute.

She smiles from across the table. “Well, thank you, honey.”

“Shooter’s right,” my sister, Daisy, agrees. “I’m gonna miss this while we’re gone.”

Eyeing her, I mutter, “I’m always right, Dais. When you gonna get that?”

She rolls her eyes, huffing out a laugh as she stands from the table. “You’re delusional is what you are. Mom, I’ll start the dishes.”

Dad stands too, eyeing me. “Come on, son. Let’s go into the den to watch the tapes.”

Dread fills my gut as I follow him. Thetapes, as he calls them, like we’re using an old-school VHS player, are just the YouTube videos of past rodeos. A lot of us watch recordings of ourselves competing to see what we did right, what we did wrong, whatwe can change for future rides. Watching them with my dad, though, is never a good time.

We each take a seat in the leather recliners in front of the sixty-four-inch flat screen TV that’s mounted on the wall. He pulls up the footage from my NFR win back in December. I kicked ass during that rodeoandtook the title. Maybe for once, he’s going to praise me for how well I did instead of picking apart what I did wrong.

Dad grunts, pointing toward the TV with the remote. “I’ve watched this a few times in the last week, trying to see where you could’ve improved.”

Guess not.

We watch the ride, then he rewinds, and we watch it again. I already know what he’s going to say before he says it, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying when he does.

Putting the ride in slo-mo, he pauses it a second after we barge out of the bucking chute. “Right there…” He points to the screen again with the remote. “You need to work on tightening your core. The horse almost got ahead of you. You know this stuff, son. Your core needs to be tight, shoulders back. Lift and stay tight. Remember, these broncs are like your dance partner, they—”

“Dance and we follow,” I finish for him, trying to keep my voice even and not let on that he’s getting to me. “Yeah, Dad. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know. And in case you’ve forgotten, I won.”

“I know you did, Shooter, but there’s always room for improvement.” Glancing over at me, he offers me a tired smile. “You only won by a few points. Imagine how it would’ve felt had you beat your competition by more.”

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