Battle

I grab his arm. “No, they’re good. I promise.”

“You sure?” Cooper asks, giving me a doubtful look.

I smile. “Positive. They’re gonna kiss and make up.”

“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit.” He laughs. “’Bout damn time.”

We take a seat at the table, Copper still shaking his head. I haven’t had many opportunities to spend time with Cooper and an awkward silence falls between us. Finally, he says, “Looks like your friends are havin’ fun.”

JT and Ginger dance sweetly to a slow song. Marty and Austin grind into each other, like horny teenagers at a school dance. “Looks like,” I agree with a huffy laugh. “You got a girl?”

“It’s complicated,” he says. “She’s not a fan of bull ridin’.”

Although I’m curious about the details, it would be impolite to ask for them. I smile with understanding. Riding bulls is a dangerous sport, especially when you do it for a living. Riders are often on the road, which I’m sure wears on a relationship. He stands, offering to get me a drink from the bar, but I decline.

His comment loiters in my mind, making me question how I feel about Battle’s profession. I’ve been around the sport long enough that I know what it entails, but I never considered how the danger or travel could impact a family. Wyatt travels. I was prepared to marry him. As far as riding being dangerous; well, now days, the sport is safer than it’s ever been. Statistically it’s safer than many other professions. I think if you choose to get involved with a bull rider, you have to accept the terms. Riding is in their blood, and you can’t expect to change them.

Battle and Tucker return double-fisted with goofy smiles on their faces. The rowdy twosome carries on at the table as though their friendship had never been interrupted with a lousy misunderstanding. It warms my heart seeing the two of them friends again, and pride surfaces, knowing I gave them the nudge they both needed.

Cooper rounds everyone up to leave. Somehow all nine of us squeeze into a cab. Girls on laps across the back—me on Battle’s, Ginger on JT’s, and Marty on Austin’s. Poor Scooter gets smashed into the side window while Tucker and Cooper share the front seat. I apologize to the cab driver several times for my rambunctious friends, but he assures me he’s seen worse.

The arena’s parking lot transforms into a giant party. Our site is no exception. Battle and I sit in chairs around Cooper’s chiminea. He starts a fire while I take in my surroundings. Beer flows and many of the riders have kegs, open to anyone of age, and a few girls who probably aren’t. Fire rings twinkle in the night. Music blares from various sites, and of course, women make their rounds, hoping to land themselves a cowboy.

The buckle-bunnies, as Battle refers to them, are easy to separate from the girlfriends or wives. Their perfectly styled hair, heavy makeup, and skimpy clothing don’t make them stand out nearly as much as their desperation.

Three of them approach our site and flirt with Scooter and Cooper. As I watch Cooper pull the brunette onto his lap, I realize his girl not being a fan of riding isn’t about the danger or the time apart. That her issue isn’t with the sport. Their relationship lacks trust. It dawns on me trust was the ultimate demise of mine and Wyatt’s relationship. I lost faith in him from the first break he asked for, and I was never able to find it again. I haven’t known Battle long enough to know if I trust him, but the incident with Tucker makes me believe I can. He was willing to lose his closest friend to avoid lying. I don’t know many people who would take such a risk.

Once the fire is roaring, Battle goes inside to mix me a Jack and Coke. Our group, and the three uninvited, although apparently welcomed guests, start up a game of dice. Marty and Ginger try to convince me to play. I decline, hoping to spend the rest of the night getting to know Battle.

Battle appears from behind me and hands me a red Solo cup. I take it from him and smile as he sits down next to me with the bottle of Jack between his thighs.

“You want to play dice?” he asks.

I glance over at the group of people who are now sprawled out on the concrete. “No, thank you. That looks like an orgy in the making.”

He laughs, rolling dice in his fingers. “I was thinking just you and me play. A little game of get to know each other?”

I tilt my head. The last time we played a game, I ended up flat on my back. “And how do we play this little game?”

“Whoever rolls high asks a question, and whoever rolls low has to answer truthfully.”

I purse my lips, but I don’t ponder the decision long. A game of truth is a perfect opportunity to learn more about him. “Okay. I’m in.”

“Ladies first,” he says, handing me the dice.

I set my drink down and roll the dice on the ground below my feet—eleven. He rolls nine.

There are many questions I want him to answer truthfully, but I don’t know where to begin. I decide on something simple, asking how he got the name Battle. By the look on his face, he’s not thrilled about answering.

“My father believes we’re related to the McCoys, like from the infamous Hatfield and McCoy feud. He named me to honor the battle that he says finally brought prosperity to the McCoys.”

“You don’t believe him?”

When he laughs with disgust, a strange feeling rolls through me. I shouldn’t have asked a question that makes Battle think of his father.

“About the prosperity or our relation?” he asks.

“Period,” I say, returning his laugh.