Bullheaded

him to retire and he was riding as if he already had.
    “I’m calling it Behind the Box. We’ve got the arena announcer, and a professional sports announcer up in the broadcast booth with a retired bull rider sitting up next to him, telling the fans at home what everybody’s doing right or wrong. I was thinking if we put you in back of the chute, you could give us your views on the bulls and how the riders match up with them. You’ve rode most of those bulls and you know how they act. Hell, maybe the riders can pick up a few pointers.”
    “On TV?” The show-off in Cody couldn’t help but get excited over a new chance for some face time.
    “Yep. Get you wired up for sound, get a cameraman down there. Sound interesting?”
    “Well, it would if I were thinking of retiring.” Cody took an unexpected step forward as Dub cuffed him again and turned to glare at his friend. “Which I’m not!”
    “He’s interested,” Dub told Sam. “He never met a camera he didn’t want to romance and he ain’t all that ugly. Give it a little time for the idea to percolate through the granite.”
    Sam chuckled. “The R-word is hard on all of us, Cody, but there is life in bull riding after you retire. We need experienced riders to stick around and make this operation work like one big family. Give it some thought. Wouldn’t be ’til next year anyway.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Cody didn’t need the smack Dub aimed at him that time. He’d remembered both his manners and the fact that Sam was the livestock director for the NBR, and that he had better play nice with Sam if he wanted to place his bulls.
    As Sam walked away, the distinctive bow of his legs giving away his many years of riding bulls and horses, Dub said, “There goes a real gentleman.”
    “Yeah, he’s all right.”
    “And you’re one cocky, arrogant asshole.” Dub rounded on him. “You know, some people actually care about you, God only knows why.”
    Guiltily, Cody asked, “Why are you even sticking around?”
    “Because I knew you before you had to order an extra large in hats,” Dub retorted promptly. “Sam’s trying to help ease you over the gap, show you a way you can stay in the sport without having to break your neck in the ring every week. And you’re acting like he dropped you in the middle of a fucking calf-dressing competition—as the calf!”
    “He took me by surprise!”
    “Goddammit, I’d slap some granny panties on you myself if I thought it would give you a lick of sense!”
    Dub spun on his heel and stalked away.
    Watching him go, Cody knew he was behaving badly. Even Dub was getting pissed at him, enough to where he changed seats to sit next to a stranger on the airplane. Although Cody usually hated traveling alone, he was relieved. He couldn’t explain the source of his irritability to Dub without talking about the root of it. Johnny. Or rather, the lack of Johnny.
    Cody was drowning in failure, and he wasn’t used to it. Johnny wasn’t talking to him, he kept falling off whenever he tried to ride, and he was acting like to prick to everyone. The more Cody tried to fix whatever was going wrong, the worse he rode. He’d never wanted to retire and generally avoided thinking about it, but if it was inevitable, nothing could be better than to go out with a big win. Not in a slump, dwindling away to a rider people would say used to be great and should have retired before he got past it. The worst fear of Cody’s life was to announce his retirement and then fall off the next bull he rode.
    If only he’d been able to make some headway with Johnny before the Top Cut tour started riding again, but next week was the first competition after the summer break and things still weren’t settled. They might never get settled to his satisfaction.
    After that it would be only ten weeks to the finals. Ten weeks of falling off every bull if he couldn’t get his shit together. And even worse, the thought of falling off right where Johnny had the best possible front-row seat, right in the ring with him, the better to witness his failures in front of everyone.
    Cody needed to talk with Johnny and force a resolution. This wasn’t something he could do by text. If he’d been born with a boot in his mouth, surely things would be even worse if he had to type what he was trying to say.
    And around and around the whole situation went in his brain, never reaching any answer.
    So Cody decided to skip the rest of the exhibition rodeos and go