Serenity Falls (29 page)

“Hey.”
They greet back, in unison.

“What
happened to your shirt?” Brantley asks.

“You
know, a little spilt beer, and who knows what else.” I sigh before I look at
Jackie. “Can we talk, please?”

She
nods to an empty spot. Just as I go to follow behind her, a hand wraps around
my arm. I look over my shoulder to see who it is. “She really is sorry,”
Brantley says quietly.

“I
know.” The smile I give him is full of reassurance, and I know he can tell
because he nods at me as he releases my elbow.

Only
a few feet away, I reach Jackie who now stands off to the side of the crowd. “I
wanted to say that I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk yesterday.”

“It’s
fine. I know it was a busy day for you.” She meets my eyes, dismissing my
apology.

I
wave my hand between us. “Look, I don’t like this not talking with you. I miss
the friend I met last summer. We got along really well. At least, I thought we
did.”

“We
did. And I miss our friendship, too. I let my jealousy get in the way. At
first, I thought this thing between you and Wes was just a fling, but I was
wrong. I see it now. He’s in love with you, and you love him. Everyone can see
it.” She shakes her head as she rakes her fingers through her hair. “I was
wrong to have treated you the way I did. I should have never asked you to give
up your relationship with him for me.”

“You
love him, don’t you?” I softly ask. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.
Maybe it was because he wasn’t here last summer, but the way she used to go on
and on about him should have been my first clue.

“I
thought I did. I thought, ever since that summer we shared together, that I was
something special to him, but he never once looked at me the way he looks at
you. For so long, I wanted what you have. And I wanted that to be with him.”

I
am speechless at her confession. Never would I have guessed that she was really
in that deep with Wes. I want to apologize, but I’m not sorry for loving him,
or that he and I love each other; it’s something I will not apologize for.

“I’m
sorry for how he treated you. I want you to know that, but I won’t apologize
for me and him being in love.”

“I
know. I know. He apologized to me the other day, and in a way, I think it
helped. In all seriousness, Kenleigh, I really do wish the best for the both of
you.” Sincerity is laced in every word of her apology.

Immediately,
my arms wrap around her shoulders as I pull her into a hug. “Are we good now?”

She
chuckles against my shoulder, patting my back. “Of course.” I release her with
a nod and a smile. “Well, I’m gonna get back over there.” She nods and points
in Sarah, Liam, and Brantley’s direction.

I
watch her slip further and further away as I stand here thinking. That
conversation went a lot better than it could have. Elation rushes through me as
I think about how I may finally have my friend back. When I said that I missed
our friendship, that was true, I do. “I told you.” Brantley’s voice startles
me, causing me to jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offers in
apology as he laughs at me.

“I
know, and I believe her. I guess I understand her reasoning. I’m not making any
excuses for her, but if someone treated me like she was treated, I can kind of
understand.”

“No,
you can’t. You’re nothing like her. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be treated
like that.”

He’s
right. I’m not the kind of person to let someone use me, not even Wes, no
matter how much I love him.

“I
hope that she finds somebody that will love her as much as she loves them.” And
that’s when I notice it. Brantley’s gaze is fixated on Jackie.

“She
would, if she’d just open her eyes,” he says under his breath. Slowly, his gaze
turns to me and his eyes go wide as he realizes he just said that aloud. “Don’t
say anything.”

“Your
secret’s safe with me. But if you want some friendly advice, you should tell
her sooner rather than later. You are a great catch. She’d be lucky to have
you.”

“I’ll
think about it.” He sighs, smoothing his hand over his bald head.

The
roar of the crowd echoes throughout the arena as we all walk past the large,
sliding, metal doors. Bleachers surround the circular iron gates that separate
the spectators from the bull riders. Multicolored writing highlights the
endorsers’ names painted on the gates where the bulls and their riders will
burst through. Large, aluminum lights hang like pendulums swaying in the gentle
breeze that flows through Stampede Stadium. The dirt under my brown cowboy
boots blows like dust in the wind with every step I take. Sweat beads on the
back of my neck and slowly starts to trickle down my spine, causing my red,
brown, and grey plaid shirt to stick to my skin. Cowboy hats of all different
colors, shapes, and sizes surround us, but the only cowboy I care about is the
one standing next to me, holding me close. One of his hands holds mine while
the other holds onto his vest.

Brown
leather chaps worn over his jeans mold to his form, and my mouth salivates at
the sight of him. Wes’ red, long sleeved shirt fits snugly across his
shoulders, and I can’t help but remember holding onto those shoulders as we
made love in the loft of the barn last night and into this morning. I’m sure
that if I pulled the collar of his shirt back and took a peek, there would be
red streaks where I scratched at him. My favorite part of what he’s wearing
sits on top of that gorgeous, blond hair, a black, fitted, suede cowboy hat,
and a thin, black band wrapping around it.

“This
way, y’all.” Wes directs us around the crowd to where the other bull riders are
lining up.

Sarah,
Jackie, Liam, and Brantley follow dutifully behind us as Wes leads the way. I
jump at the loud, male voice that booms through the speakers. “Do we have a
show in store for y’all tonight!” The crowd cheers loudly, and the ground
rumbles beneath my boots as the patrons stomp their feet on the metal
bleachers.

On
my birthday, Wes received a call from his manager to let him know that there
was a bull riding, charity event this weekend in San Antonio. Once he knew what
the event was for, Wes was on board. As we drove to the rodeo, he told me the
event was at Stampede Stadium, and that all of the proceeds were going to
No
Kid Hungry
, a cause established to fight childhood hunger in America. I
already knew that Wes was a good guy, but I can’t lie and say that I didn’t
fall a little more in love with him at that moment.

“Now!
As you all know, this is a charity event for
No Kid Hungry
. One out of
five kids in America is suffering from hunger every day. These children are our
future! Our hopes and dreams for this country rest on them! So let’s be
supportive, open your billfolds, wallets, purses, whatever you wanna call it,
and donate. Let’s fix this problem! Let’s feed the youth of America!” The
announcer’s shout through the microphone creates an energy so palpable within
the arena that you can feel it.

The
deafening sound of the crowd’s cheers holds me captive. I’m so enraptured by
the scene around me that I stumble into the back of Wes. My face meets his
back, and I can feel the vibrations of his chuckles beneath my cheek. Looking
back at me over his shoulder, he yells, “You all right, Babe?”

A
crimson blush spread across my face as I peer up at him. “Yeah! Sorry! I wasn’t
paying attention!”

“Here,
would you hold this?” He turns around and hands me his vest. I don’t know what
I was thinking, but as soon as he placed it in my grasp, I expected my arm to
fall off from the heaviness, but no, it’s light in weight. Automatically,
concern strikes me as I think back to his story about his friend Blaine.

Crooking
my finger so he’ll lean in, I ask in his ear, “Are you sure this is going to
protect you?”

A
wide smile spreads from ear to ear. “Is someone worried about me?”

“It’s
not a joke. And of course, I’m worried about you. How could I not be? This
thing,” I sweep my hand up and down the vest, “doesn’t seem like much. I mean,
hell, it seems to weigh practically nothing.”

“Babe,
I assure you, my vest is one of the best. It’s ten times stronger than steel
and made completely from ballistic material.”

With
my wide-eyed expression, I urge him to continue. He should know that I have no
idea what the hell he’s talking about. He chuckles. “It’s a woven nylon
material that has Kevlar in it. I assure you, I’m safe.”

At
that moment, I realize he doesn’t have a helmet. “Where’s your helmet?” I ask
as the panic starts to take over. What happens if he bucked off, and the bull
lands on his head with his feet? What happens if he falls off and lands on his
head? The impact alone could cause a serious injury. So many different
scenarios play out in my head, and none of them ends without him getting hurt.

A
hand touches my shoulder and squeezes. I look back and see an amused Brantley
smiling back at me. “Kenleigh, he’s been doing this for years. He’s good.”

“I
don’t give a flying flip how
good
he is. He can still get hurt,” I snap
as I look between Brantley and Wes.

Wes
wraps his arms around my waist, holding me close to him. I lay my head against
his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat starts to calm my frantic nerves. I
don’t want to think of something horrible happening to him, but I know he’s
going to be on the back of a two thousand plus pound beast, and that scares the
shit out of me. My eyes flutter closed when Wes murmurs against my ear.
“Everything is going to be fine. I know you’re worried, but trust me. Okay?”
With his thumb and forefinger, he grasps my chin and tilts my head up to meet
his eyes. He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. “Now, give your man
another kiss.” And I do. I kiss him like there’s no tomorrow. When he pulls
back, I feel a lot calmer than I did five minutes ago. “Help me, please?” My
grip on the vest tightens as he pulls open the Velcro straps that stretch
around the ribs, connecting the front to the back. I hold it up as high as
possible while Wes removes his hat. After he slips the vest on, I watch as Wes
begins to re-secure the straps.

I
bat his hands out of the way. “Let me?” He nods, grabs his hat, and puts it
back on. I pull as tight as possible, probably tighter than I should have,
re-securing the straps. As soon as I’m finished, I look up to see an amused
look and arched eyebrow on his face. I shrug my shoulders. If he’s looking for
an apology about the straps being too tight, well, he can keep waiting.

Wes
shakes his head and scoops me up off the ground, hugging me to him. My arms
bind around his neck as I look down into his striking blue eyes. “I love you,
you know that?”

I
nod. “I do. I love you, too. But you better be careful, or I’ll kick your ass
myself,” I whisper as I lean in for a kiss.

“All
right.” He chuckles, and placing me back on the ground, hands me a piece of
paper with the number thirteen printed in big black bold numbers. “Will you put
it on the back of my vest?” He turns away from me.

“Why
13?” I’m not really a superstitious person, but even the number 13 has me a
little weary.

“I
don’t know. It’s what they gave, and it just so happens to be my favorite
number.”

I
attach the paper to the back of his vest, ignoring the comment about thirteen
being his favorite number. It’s odd, I admit that, but to each his own, I
guess. My fingers linger on the numbers as I smooth out the paper. “All good,”
I say, patting his back.

“Thanks.”
Wes points to a set of bleachers, and tells us that’s where we all need to sit.
Just as I spin around to follow everyone, I’m pulled back into strong arms, and
spun back around. “I want y’all, but especially
you,
sitting front and
center. I want to be able to see
your
face when I’m on that bull. I want
you to see
me
do what I do best. I want you to be
proud
of me,”
Wes says, staring into my eyes with an intensity that I’ve never known or felt.
My only response comes in the form of a nod. “I love you, and I’ll see you when
I’m done.” With that, he leans in, kisses me one last time, and spins me back
around to leave.

I’m
out of breath as I take a seat between Brantley and Sarah. “You all right?”
Brantley asks patting my knee.

“Yeah.
It was crowded back there. I had to shove my way through just to get over
here.”

The
breeze that I felt when we entered the arena no longer exists. Instead, I feel
like I’m suffocating. I know it’s been a while since I’ve been to a rodeo, but
damn, this place is packed. Not one bleacher is empty. Some of the people are
sitting while others stand. They gather in, trying to get as close as possible
to the iron gates that separate us from the contenders. I fan myself with my
hand to cool off, but the hot, stagnant, humid air makes my attempts useless.
As my eyes continue to search the arena, a loud noise draws my attention to the
chute where Wes is currently located. People surround him. I have no idea what
they’re saying, but I can see them all nodding their heads. “Ladies and
Gentleman! Boys and Girls! Up next is the famous PBR riding champion of 2012!
Tonight, he’s riding one of the rowdiest bulls we’ve seen in a long time,
Damion. With an average buck off rate of ninety-five percent, he’s one hell of
a beast to hang on to!”

Before
the announcer has a chance to introduce Wes’ name, the crowd is already
chanting. “WESLEY ADAMS! WESLEY ADAMS! WESLEY ADAMS!”

I
shoot to my feet, cup my hands around my mouth, scream, and chant along with the
rest of his fans. I am proud of him, proud of
my
bull rider. As boots
stomp against the metal bleachers, more angst builds within the arena. The
metal gate to the chute springs open and out flies a very pissed off bull, and
a very serious bull rider. Wes’ left arm is suspended in the air above his
head, while his body twists and turns with the movements of the bull.

Damion
bucks back and forth. His front hooves stomp on the dirt floor below, and then
his back hooves follow. Violently, he thrashes his massive, brown body from
side to side, back and forth. His hips twist with the motion as he tries his
damndest to buck Wes off his back. My hands fly to mouth as I gasp when I watch
the bull’s large, white horns swing with the motion, barely missing Wes’ head
as the momentum of the bull swings him forward. I’m stuck, frozen in the
moment. Everything around me plays in slow motion. Even the numbers on the
board changing, trying to reach eight seconds, barely move. My eyes stay glued
to Wes, but even the brutal force tossing his body about is sluggish. “If you
are going to be with him, then this is a part of his life that you will need to
accept and support.” I know it is Brantley’s voice, but it seems so distant.

My
movements are languid as I turn to him, my eyes slowly blinking. He’s right.
This, bull riding, is a part of Wes. It doesn’t make him who he is, but it is a
part of him. Now that I’ve seen what he does for a living with my own eyes, what
his passion is, can I handle it? Am I strong enough to support him? Do I have
the strength to watch him get hurt, only to turn around and watch him get back
on for the ride of his life again and again? Is my love for him strong enough
to overcome my own fears with his occupation of choice? The only answer that
comes to mind is
yes
! I love him enough to be with him through anything
and everything. My thoughts freeze as the sound of a buzzer goes off. My eyes
snap to the electronic board where the timer has stopped. The eight seconds
every bull rider dreams of reaching is plastered against the clock.
Immediately, my eyes fly to the arena, but there’s no sign of Wes, only the
people corralling the bull into another gated area. My head whips from side to
side as I search for Wes, and it’s all because I checked out for a minute, and
now, I don’t know where the hell he is. “Where is he? Oh my God, did he get
hurt?” My words are frantic as I continue looking for him.