Page 27 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Shut your mouth, Thompson, before I shut it for you,” I shoot back, but I’m grinning. This is how it is—crude jokes and bravado masking the very real possibility that any of us could leave here in an ambulance. Or worse.
The arena director leans over the chute. “You ready, Ridge?”
With my free hand, I pull my hat down, a black Stetson that’s seen a hundred rides and never let me down. My other hand grips the rope so tightly my knuckles ache inside the glove. Diesel’s muscles bunch beneath me, coiled energy waiting to explode.
“Ready,” I call out, thoughreadyis relative when you’re about to try to stay on a tornado for eight seconds.
I nod sharply.
“Let’s see if Ridge Colter can tame this storm!”
The gate swings open and the world explodes.
Diesel launches out of the chute like he’s been shot from a cannon, immediately spinning hard to the left like I knew he would. My arm jerks up high, maintaining the perfect form the judges want to see, free hand never touching the bull, never touching myself, never touching anything but air.
The first jump jars every bone in my body, spine compressing and releasing like a violent accordion. The arena blurs past—faces, lights, signs, all of it smearing into a kaleidoscope of color and sound. The crowd roars in approval as Diesel really gets into it, bucking and spinning with a fury that makes him one of the best bulls on the circuit.
Time stretches and compresses simultaneously. Eight seconds feels like eight hours and eight milliseconds all at once. My thighs burn from gripping, shoulder screaming at the repeated jerking, but I’m centered, balanced, in that perfect sweet spot where bull and rider become one violent dance.
I catch glimpses as we spin. Cash on his feet now, fist pumping. Walker’s hands cupped around his mouth, probably whooping, though I can’t hear individual sounds over the crowd’s thunder.
Five seconds. Maybe six. I’m counting in my head,feeling the rhythm of Diesel’s bucks, anticipating each twist. I’m going to make it. I’m going to?—
On the next spin, I see Abby. But she’s not watching me anymore. She’s turned to the man beside her… When did he sit down? She’s laughing at something he’s said. Her hand touches his arm, casual, friendly.
My concentration shatters.
For one crucial instant, my balance shifts. My free arm drops just a fraction, and my grip loosens just enough. Diesel feels it immediately because bulls always know the second you’re vulnerable.
He changes direction mid-spin, a move I’m not ready for. My weight goes wrong, sliding sideways. I try to recover, muscles screaming as I fight to regain position, but physics has already chosen sides.
Fuck!
The world tilts.
My heart is thundering in my ears.
I have a perfect moment of clarity as I leave Diesel’s back, seeing everything in crystalline detail. The bull’s head whipping around, the arena dirt rushing up, the horror dawning on Cash’s face. I’m airborne, hat flying one direction, body another, completely at gravity’s mercy.
Then I hit.
Not the dirt like I’m supposed to. The side of my head scratches against the top rail of the arena fence, a glancing blow that sends lightning through my skull. The crack is audible even over the crowd’s sudden gasps. I slide downand hit the dirt hard, right shoulder taking the impact before I roll.
There’s a moment of absolute silence in my head despite the chaos erupting around me. Then sound rushes back, distorted, wrong, like I’m underwater. Ringing fills my right ear, high and sharp and endless.
“Ridge! RIDGE!” Walker’s voice, closer than it should be. When did he jump the fence?
I try to push up, but the world spins violently. Something warm runs down the side of my face. Blood. I can taste copper, smell iron mixing with arena dirt.
“Don’t move!” Cash now, hands on my shoulders. “Medical’s coming. Just don’t move.”
Through the haze, I hear the announcer: “…looks like Colter got hung up there, folks. Let’s hope he’s all right…”
Six point nine seconds. That’s all I lasted. Not even close to eight. But that’s not what terrifies me as I lie in the dirt with my Alpha pack and medical personnel rushing over.
It’s the ringing that won’t stop. The way sound warbles in and out of my right ear like a badly tuned radio. The certainty, bone-deep and immediate, that something fundamental just broke. Not just my body, but my whole life.
“Can you hear me?” The paramedic shines a light in my eyes.
