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"Co-owner, huh? I see someone's been holding back on me."
His tone is joking, which calms my beating heart when I think for a second that he's angry with me.
"I guess my biggest secret is out now…”
Chapter 9
Tyler
Unraveling Secrets
Standing there, leaning against the old, weathered wooden fence that marks the edge of the dusty practice area, I watch the other riders with a complex mix of admiration and a deep, gnawing envy.
The sound of hooves thudding against the hard-packed earth, the enthusiastic cheer from the small group of folks gathered around, and the sight of man and beast in a dangerous, yet beautifully choreographed dance—it's a scene rich with familiarity, one I've been part of more times than I can count.
Yet, now, I find myself just a spectator, sidelined by an injury that cuts deeper than the visible scars, an injury that has temporarily stolen from me the thrill of the ride, the wind against my face, and the partnership with a creature as wild-hearted as myself.
Watching each rider take their turn, demonstrating skill, bravery, and an unspoken bond with their horse, I'm reminded of the countless hours of training, the early mornings, and the late nights spent in pursuit of perfection.
The arena, filled with the scent of dust and bulls, has always been my second home, a place where I felt alive.
But now, as I stand here, relegated to the sidelines, I'm forced to confront the possibility that my journey might take a different path, one that requires as much courage off the horse as on it.
My knee, concealed beneath the fabric of my worn jeans, serves as a constant, pulsing reminder of my vulnerability. The doctors, with their optimistic tones and encouraging words, assure me I'll ride again, but the stark truth is, they aren't the ones who'll be sitting atop a raging bull, staring straight into the eyes of fate.
They can't possibly understand the sheer intensity of the moment when even a millisecond's hesitation could spell the difference between a triumphant dismount and the crushing pain of being trampled under hooves.
Throughout my career, I've always been one to face fear squarely, to confront it with a blend of courage and recklessness. However, this... this pervasive uncertainty that now shadows my every thought, is a new kind of fear entirely.
It's not just the physical pain that gnaws at me—it's the whispering doubts about my future in the rodeo, the potential end of a passion that's defined my very existence.
Every quiet moment seems filled with the echoes of what if, challenging my resolve, and forcing me to question whether I'll ever truly find my place in the rodeo again, or if I'm destined to be a spectator of the sport I love.
Watching the young guns take their turns, each ride a mixture of raw talent and fearless ambition, I can't help but wonder if my time in this arena is up. The idea of finding a new career is as daunting as staring down a particularly mean bull. Rodeo isn't just what I do. It's who I am. Or, at least, who I was.
I've never been one to back down from a challenge, but the thought of getting back on only to be thrown, not by a bull, but by my own body's betrayal, fills me with a cold dread. There's anger there too—anger at my knee for not holding up, at my mind for entertaining the idea of quitting, and at my heart for even considering letting go of the one thing that's always made me feel alive.
The clang of a gate snaps me back to the present. Another rider takes off, the crowd's excitement rising in loud cheers. I try to muster some semblance of that enthusiasm, but it's overshadowed by a wave of introspection.
What if my best days are behind me? This ranch, with its mix of tranquility and exhilarating chaos, has become my home. But standing here, at this crossroads, I can't help but feel like an outsider in my own life.
"Maybe it's time," I murmur to no one in particular, the words more bitter than I expected. The idea of throwing in the towel isn't just about giving up the rodeo. It's about recalibrating my identity and figuring out who Tyler is without a bull beneath him. It's a thought that's as terrifying as it is liberating.
Usually, when I get like this, I find a bar to drink my worries and woes away. But I've come to realize how toxic that can become if I do it long enough that it turns me into an alcoholic. And I couldn't become that kind of man to my son.
Remembering that Sarah is working at her office here gives me an idea to head inside, so that I can maybe open up to her and hopefully feel better afterwards.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself before knocking on Sarah's office door, my heart pounding not just from the physical exertion of walking here, but from the anticipation of what's about to unfold. A soft "come in" beckons from the other side, and I push the door open. The sight of her, surrounded by stacks of paperwork yet lighting up at my appearance, eases the knot in my stomach, if only slightly.
"Tyler? This is a surprise. Are you ok?" She stands, her concern etched in the lines of her forehead, yet her eyes dance with a happiness that warms me.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important, Sarah. I just... needed to talk, if you've got a moment," I stammer, feeling suddenly out of my depth. This room, her space, feels worlds away from the dusty arenas and ranches that I call home.
"Of course I have time for you," she reassures me, gesturing to the chair across her desk. "Sit, please."
The chair creaks under my weight as I take a seat, trying to gather my thoughts. Sarah sits too, her attention all on me, making the room feel smaller, more intimate. I've never been good with words, not like this, but looking into her understanding eyes, I find the courage I didn't know I had.
"It's... it's about my career," I start, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "Ever since the injury, I've been wrestling with this fear that... that maybe I can't go back to it. That maybe one fall was all it would take to end everything I've worked for. And now, with my knee acting up, it feels like even if I manage to get back on, another injury's just waiting for me."
