Page 1 of Colt
Chapter One
Colt
No guts, no glory, at least that’s what they say.
I’ve always had plenty of guts, but glory in the way I want it has eluded me.
If my stepsister could hear me say that, she would punch me in the shoulder. She’d say I’ve had nothing but glory my entire life.
I guess that’s true. In some ways. But I’ve never made it to the ultimate championship and won. It’s the one thing that I haven’t managed to get, and that makes everything feel like it doesn’t matter. I’m on a mission this season to get myself back to the bull riding championships and to win.
I lost last year to my best friend, Dallas. And then he retired, which I think was kind of a dick move. Because if my win is going to count, I feel like it has to be against him, and I feel like he quit just so it never could be.
That’s not really fair. He quit because he fell in love. He quit because suddenly he found something that was more important than this.
I don’t have that.
Nothing is more important to me than this.
Everyone thinks I don’t care about much of anything. But they’re wrong. I just don’t want to scare it away by showing it my true feelings.
Because what I am is fucking intense. In a way that I know no one can really handle.
No one but the beast.
I’m standing outside the chute at the arena, looking through the slats in the metal chute at the blue merle bull. He’s huge. Big, blunted horns, his snot dripping out of the front of his nose. A mean bastard.
I’m glad that I drew him.
Stone Cold. And I know that he is. That’s what I need. A killer.
I need a killer, because I need a good ride. Hell, it’s not enough to be good, it’s got to be a bang. At this level, it’s not enough to just stay on for eight seconds.
“Are you going to give me a good show?” I ask, tapping my fist against the chute, getting a reaction out of the bull, who kicks at the side of it.
“Yeah, buddy.”
I climb up the side of the chute and sit on the top, waiting for the right moment to get on the bull’s back.
I get a signal from the gate attendant and get down over the top of him. He jerks underneath me, and I tighten the strap around my hand, adjusting everything, getting a feel for where I’m sitting. I can feel him breathing underneath my thighs.
“All right,” I say. “We are one, buddy.” I lean down and pat the bull on his shoulders and feel them twitch beneath my palm. Hot and revved up, ready to go. “We’re doing this together. You and me. We’re taking this all the way to the championship.”
He kicks the side of the chute aggressively, and I pat him again.
“Twenty-five years old, here in Central Point all the way from Gold Valley, Oregon, folks, over one million dollars in winnings, been to the championships three years in a row, it’s Colt Campbell.”
The music starts, and I know the gate is about to open. I grab on as tightly as I can, nod at the gate attendant, and it bursts open. The bull is all energy. Lightning and thunder as we rumble out into the arena. I maneuver and try to get my body into the best position to find my groove, but I can’t quite seem to get it.
He’s bucking, rolling, and then I realize he’s moving right toward the wall.
Fuck, if that bastard smashes me up against the cement…
But then he moves in an entirely different direction, and I find myself flying through the air. It’s been so long since I’ve been bucked off, I can’t accept what’s happening even as I’m sailing down toward the ground.
But I don’t hit.
Not the arena dirt, anyway.
