Page 111 of Spur It On

Seventeenth place overall. Depending on how they did this, I might not even need to see him! That was enough to make me stretch my legs.

Once we reached our gear, we started packing up. I found my phone in the bottom of my bag and swiped at it, intending to let my father know I was ok, but there was already a message waiting from him.

Dean:

Wow! That is the kind of ride to brag about! You got screwed on the score. Bull did too. Still, I got it recorded, sweetie. I think I may have screamed loud enough for the whole town to hear.

So I quickly whipped off a reply.

Cody:

Thanks, Dad. I'm in seventh, which isn't where I wanted to be. Gotta do the awards, and then I think I'm going to the bar to make it hurt a little less. Don't worry, I'll talk Tanner into driving!

Dean:

You deserve it. Just know that I'm proud of you. More than proud. You have no idea, Cody Lane. You just made an old man feel like he did something right.

Cody:

Love you, Daddy. Make sure to tell Cole. Night!

Locking my screen again, I shoved my phone into my back pocket, then focused on getting my rope, helmet, and such all stored away properly. I'd almost got the bag closed when J.D. lightly tapped my arm. I looked over and he pointed, sending my eyes across the room.

Max was making his way towards us with the biggest smile on his face. "My two favorite clients," he called out.

"Hey, Max," J.D. said.

But Max tipped his head at me. "I'm actually here for Cody. Do you have a moment before the awards?"

"I hope," I said.

He moved to lean his back against the panel, which only made his belly even easier to see. "Well, I just want you to know I've pestered the PBR to finally get your official pics done. Everyone else already has theirs up, and they're used in a lot of promotions, so are you sticking around a bit?"

"We'll make sure of it," J.D. answered for me.

"Pictures?" I asked.

Max smiled. "The same ones they plaster on the signs for the shows. If you have one, then there's a good chance you might end up on billboards, which is good for Tillman."

"Yeah, but my scores sucked this weekend," I pointed out.

Which made Max's smile vanish. "No, I know. Still, official PBR photos are a good thing, Cody. They also make you look a lot more permanent, which should help me get you a few more patches on your vest. I told you if you focus on the rides, I'll handle the sponsors. I'm just keeping up my side of this bargain."

"The PBR sure isn't," J.D. grumbled.

"I know," Max said, making it clear which side he was on.

"And?" I pressed. "If the judges are determined to make sure I don't win, then what can I really do? No sponsor is going to want to sign with a rider that's clearly being pushed out, right? I mean, what exactly is in it for them?"

"You," Max said.

"Huh?"

He reached over to rub my arm gently. "You, Cody. That's what they're getting. The woman who is tough enough to push the boys to try harder. The young lady who isn't afraid of being told no, getting thrown off, or anything else. The bull rider who is terrifying enough that the entire sport is afraid of her potential. You are an impressive woman, and if they don't like it, you don't quit. You don't give up. You aren't crying or whining about the unfairness of it. You're just riding harder, sticking to bulls that jump higher, and giving people a reason totalk. For sponsors, talk equals money."

"And it doesn't matter if they're talking because they hate you," J.D. added, sounding like he'd heard this before, "because they're still talking. Bad press is good press when it has your face everywhere."

"So I don't need to be winning to impress the sponsors?" I asked.

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