Page 92 of Lost Trust

“I want you to be the one,” I say without thinking. “When I’m ready.”

His answer is simple. “I’d be happy to.”

Something warm settles in my chest.

I have to stop being afraid. I’m not afraid of Ryder getting hurt. Not really. Even though bull riding does terrify me a little. I’m afraid of letting him step into the world I know too well—the world that gave me so much joy, but also broke my heart when I had to walk away.

But it’s not fair for me to project that on Ryder and hold him back from something he wants.

Maybe he just needs someone we both trust to teach him how to ride.

And God help me, I trust Royce Trust.

In the arena at least.

Royce

The boys are rowdy. Not dangerous. Not yet anyway. Just twelve octaves of loud, restless energy. They’re convinced they already know everything about riding bulls.

Micah and I stand in front of them at the edge of the arena, watching one of them demonstrate a bullfighter’s stance with about as much grace as a newborn calf.

“Geezus,” Micah mutters beside me.

I bite back a grin.

The kid pops up, grinning like he just won the PBR Finals.

I clap my hands once. “Listen up.”

The talking dies down.

“I don’t want you guys to be athletes who ride bulls.”

A few eyebrows lift.

“That’s what this new generation of bull riders are becoming. Athletes who happen to climb on bulls.” I point toward the chutes. “I want you to be cowboys who ride bulls.”

That gets their attention.

“I want you to know how to bullfight. Because if you ain’t scared of a bull standing in front of you, you ain’t gonna be scared to ride him. That’s for damn sure.”

Micah nods beside me.

“I want you to know how to load a bull. I want you to understand how he moves, how he thinks, how to give him room. I want you to respect the bulls, and the bulls will respect you.”

I let that settle before I continue, “Because when you’re in that arena, you’re both athletes. He’s just a stronger, meaner version.”

A couple of the boys chuckle, and I cut my eyes to them.

“And he will hurt you.”

That wipes the smiles off their faces.

“You play the game, you take the pain.” I glance down the line. “I’m not gonna lie to you guys. This sport will wreck your body. This isn’t something you play for a while, rack up some money, and go live happily ever after.”

I tap two fingers against my shoulder. “You will feel it for the rest of your life. I know bull riders. Good bull riders. The best of the best. Who have permanent limps, metal plates in their hands, screws in their arms, and titanium hips. I’ve had a lacerated liver and a bruised kidney. None of it’s fun, but none of it has stopped a single one of us.”

“Damn,” Micah mutters beside me. “Ease up. They’re gonna shit their pants.”