I jump off my bull, dismounting easily. My draw had been a bit of a sleepy old bastard, but I rode him with style and hopefully that would be enough. I just needed to boost up my points a little bit more and then I could enter a cup tournament. I hightailed it off the sand while Frankie showed off for the crowd. Frankie was nuts, but he was also my best friend.

The bull wasn’t really overly aggressive and trotted out of the arena now that he knew he had done his job. I headed out the gate toward the back, nodding to the guy getting ready to ride. He nodded back respectfully, though it wasn’t always that way. The Rodeo had always been a boy’s club, and the first year after I came back, after the… accident, had been tough.

My mind stuttered away from the accident. The screams, the crunching metal. Waking up and seeing my father’s lifeless eyes. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep the panic at bay. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not now. One meltdown and all that hard earned respect I'd garnered over the years would be down the drain in a moment.

An arm came around my shoulders and I looked over. Frankie’s smile was wide but his eyes were concerned. I shuddered with relief as I focused not on the memories, but on the feel of his arm around my shoulders.

“You good, Querida?” he whispered and I nodded. Frankie was my savior. He was a bit crazy, a bullfighter on the circuit because his brother had come up here from Brazil to ride and Frankie had come with him. When Luiz had gotten injured and gone home to Brazil, Frankie had stayed. He was my roommate, my travel buddy, my rock. I loved him to pieces.

I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow and smiled up at him. “I’m good. Shitty memories trying to creep in. We hitting up a party later?”

Frankie knew about my past. About the accident. When I’d been shipped off to my aunt out in Cali, I hadn’t been able to see a bull for a year until I turned eighteen. But as soon as I could, I headed back down to Texas and signed up for the first tournament I could find. I paid my dues, even if the WBRP people gave me a funny look. I had nothing to prove to them. The only person I wanted to prove anything to was dead and gone. So I rode for me. For the love of it.

Luiz and Frankie had been as out of place in that first tournament as I had, and we bonded together as outsiders. Luiz was older than Frankie and me, and while he’d looked out for me, even beaten down a couple of loud mouthed cowboys, it was Frankie who really had my back.