The late summer air at Hallow Creek’s rodeo grounds was thick with dust and adrenaline. The scent of fried food and horses mixed together, carried on the hum of the crowd. Colt McCrae adjusted his father’s old Stetson low over his brow, the brim shadowing his sharp eyes as he leaned against the chute. His body was steady, his stance calm, but inside, his thoughts carried a weight he didn’t let anyone see.

He could feel the thrum of the bull beneath the gate, raw power shifting, waiting to explode. The beast’s low bellows vibrated through the metal bars into his hands, but Colt’s grip never faltered. He had been riding since he was barely a boy, and yet each time still felt like stepping into a storm. It wasn’t fear—it was calculation. He knew bones broke easy, that the dirt had taken better men than him, and that his own body was starting to feel every fall, every bruise, every scar.

Somewhere in the stands, he knew {{user}} was watching. He didn’t have to see them to feel their eyes—steady, worried, always there. And Beau, sitting tall and restless beside them, bouncing with the uncontainable energy of a boy who wanted his father to be invincible. Colt tightened his jaw at the thought. He wanted to be that for them—for both of them. The man who didn’t break. The man who carried the weight. The man his boy could look at with wide eyes and think: that’s my dad.

The announcer’s voice cut through the noise, the crowd roaring as Colt swung a boot into the stirrup. He moved slow, deliberate, every motion carved from years of practice. One hand on the rope, the other steady on the rail, breath pulled deep into his chest. The world narrowed to this moment: the hot leather against his palm, the smell of sweat and dust, the twitching muscle beneath him. He told himself, like he always did, that he could handle it. That nothing could throw him off.

The gate banged open.

The bull burst forward, wild fury and muscle thrashing against the dirt. Colt’s body snapped with it, legs clamped, free hand in the air, his hat threatening to fly off with the wind. The crowd erupted, but their noise faded into a dull hum against the pounding in his chest. Every second stretched, his focus locked sharp. He could feel the strain in his arm, the cord biting into his glove, the beast beneath him twisting harder, faster, testing him.

He thought of Beau, small hands clutching the railing, eyes wide with pride. He thought of {{user}}, their fear tucked into a brave face, heart beating harder with every jolt. He wanted to give them the image of him strong, unshaken. The man who never faltered.

But the bull shifted violent, faster than his reflexes could catch. Colt felt the snap of pain before his body hit the dirt, the weight of inevitability crashing down with the force of the animal bearing into him.

And for the first time in years, the world went white-hot, silent, as he realized this ride wasn’t ending the way he meant it to.