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The rider jerks forward with the first kick, one hand locked tight around the strange handle attached to the little saddle thing, while the other stays free, body snapping with every violent twist underneath him. Every time the horse slams back into the dirt, my stomach jumps with it.

The crowd surges, voices rising, feeding off the movement.

The horse kicks, spins, jerks hard to the side, and the rider stays on.

Barely.

My shoulders pull tight, my weight shifting forward without meaning to, like I can somehow help him stay up just by watching.

He doesn’t. He hits the ground hard enough that I feel it in my chest, a sharp drop that makes my stomach twist.

The crowd reacts instantly. Some shouting, some laughing or clapping.

The rider’s already up, dusting himself off like nothing happened.

“What the hell?” I mutter, my grip on the rail tightening.

“Saddle bronc riding,” Tripp says, his voice steady, almost calm.

I drag my eyes toward him. “You didn’t have a saddle when you practiced at home.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I bareback bronc ride.”

My lips press together, my gaze flicking back to the arena. My pulse hasn’t slowed yet, still pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat.

“This is insane.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’ve said that before.”

“Still applies.”

He tosses me a wink before turning and heading off toward the announcer stand.

“Where’s Tripp going?” I ask.

“He’s up soon,” Briggs says.

Something weird settles in my stomach.

“Soon?”

Clint nods toward the far side of the arena. “He’s gotta get geared up.”

My eyes track automatically until I spot him near the chutes.

He looks different. Gone is the easy grin from earlier. He’s pulling on a protective vest now, while another rider says something beside him. One hand flexes as he messes with tape near his wrist before rubbing something pale between his palms.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Rosin,” Clint says. “Helps grip.”

I swallow.

For some reason, watching him get ready makes this feel more real than anything else has.

Because this isn’t some random stranger. This is Tripp, who I currently live with, and he’s about to willingly get on one of those things.

The announcer’s voice cuts back in, louder now, building the next rider up, feeding the crowd.