Ryder strove for solitude on his path to the ring, clutching his father's riding glove and the equipment for his ride. A maelstrom of emotions—anger, sorrow, and the palpable tension of a momentous day—left him taut as a wire. He was about to face his inaugural ride since losing his dad, and each person he passed by offered gentle words of sympathy and encouragement.
Dropping his gear onto a hay bale, Ryder settled beside it. He tugged at the zippers lining his chaps until they were snug, then took off his hat to brush away the dust. The heat was relentless; the arid air swirling with dust from the arena.
His moment rapidly approaching, Ryder hopped onto the wooden planks behind the chutes. His lot for the round was Candyman—a bull that promised an easier ride but modest scores—housed in chute number four. As he fitted the rigging and perched atop Candyman, an announcement halted his actions and drew his focus.
"It's been just over a year since we said goodbye to a legend. Tyler Hayes wasn't just a three-time world champion; he was someone who could stay astride bulls that had bested many men before him. Tyler's absence has left a hollow in our hearts. Today marks a stirring occasion though, as we witness Tyler's son make his adult division debut. Folks, let's give a heartfelt welcome to Ryder Hayes as he gears up for Candyman."
The roar of applause echoed through the open arena, sending Ryder's heart into overdrive. Emotion welled up in him as he cautiously positioned himself on the bull. When it came time to warm the rosin on his rope, Jim, an old comrade of his father's, assumed responsibility for it—his nod signaling respect and encouragement—pulling the rope taut for Ryder who returned his silent acknowledgment with ritual preparations.
Exiting the arena after a mere four-second performance, tears threatened to spill as Ryder locked eyes with Jim waiting by the gate. The embrace they shared spoke volumes more than words ever could.
When they parted, Jim anchored Ryder by the shoulders from an arm's length away. "Seeing you back here is wonderful, Ryder. Your decision to return would have made your father proud—it reflects precisely what he hoped for you. You must not give up on what stirs your passion."
Ryder listened intently, nodding at Jim's reassurances despite feeling overwhelmed by doubt and loss." It feels insurmountable without him by my side," he confessed.
Jim fixed him with a stern look of confidence. "You've got your dad's resilience in you, Ryder," he said firmly. "I won't pretend it'll be easy—you have tough days ahead—but I'm certain you will find your way through this."
Strolling towards the bustling arena, Ryder's gaze locked onto a face woven with memories. It was Jim, the lifelong comrade of his father, striding in their direction.
"Heading our way – it's Jim!" Ryder's voice lifted with warmth as the distance between them shortened.
"Ryder! It's been ages," they embraced like family reunions demand, "You're looking sharp. Life treating you better now?"
"Things are on the upswing, Jim. It's an ongoing journey but definitely on the mend," Ryder shared, a note of optimism threading his voice. "What about you? It's been a decade, hasn't it?"
"Indeed, it has." Jim's face softened into nostalgia. "Life's full – Sarah's thriving and the girls have blossomed into women. You won't believe it but Jenny's a mother of two boys!"
A flicker of surprise crossed Ryder's features. "Feels like just yesterday she got rid of her braces," he mused fondly.
The conversation drifted to today's events.
"You set to compete in the saddle today?" inquired Jim.
"Just heading to enlist our names," Ryder confirmed with a glint of determination.
"Can't wait to see what you've got," Jim beamed with support. "Show 'em what you're made of and do pass my regards to Sarah."
"I sure will," grinned Ryder, appreciation lighting his eyes.
Continuing on their path, both men found themselves enveloped by comrades from years past; waves and calls came from all sides, a few admirers attempted to steal their attention but were gently repelled.
"Look at us breaking free from the old chaos," Wren shook his head in disbelief.
Ryder let out an amused chuckle, "Seems like we're getting tangled in something real – entrusting our hearts and sketching out new dreams."
"Yeah..." Wren nodded slowly with a smirk, "You just might be onto something there."
It was Wren's turn to take the spotlight, and fate paired him with the formidable Charlie's Red Devil. With Ryder's seasoned hands assisting in the adjustment of his gear, Wren found himself confidently situated atop the beast.
"Own it, Wren. That victory is yours for the taking," Ryder encouraged, offering a supportive slap on Wren's rigid back as reassurance.
With a firm nod, Wren braced as the gate burst open. The Red Devil lunged out, veering left in a sudden twist, but Wren was unyielding, wedded to his resolve. Almost in a blur, the eight-second siren pierced the air amidst a crescendo of cheers and applause that swelled throughout the arena. With grace borne of grit, Wren disengaged his hold, vaulted from the bull into flight and executed a calculated tumble upon landing.
Rising triumphantly, he could see the bull contained in defeat down the alley as he lifted an arm high, his silhouette bathed in victory while acknowledging the exuberant crowd.
"Wren has set the bar at 86 – the pinnacle score everyone else must now vie to topple," announced the voice over the loudspeakers as applause thundered anew for Wren's formidable feat.
With spirits high, Wren regrouped with Ryder at the chutes where his comrade was up next.
"That was one hell of a spectacle, Wren. A tough act to follow," lauded Ryder as Wren ascended to join him on higher ground.
"Appreciate it. Haven't hit numbers like these in ages."
"Just a handful remain in competition. Looks like tonight's title is all but yours."
"Don't sell yourself short yet; your run could still clinch it," Wren countered with camaraderie warming his tone.
Ryder stretched out tentatively before sinking down onto his own bull challenge as Wren secured the rope tight. Ryder methodically geared up and cinched himself in place before an unexpected pause overtook him.
"What's holding you back, Ryder?" probed Wren with concern.
Silence lingered unreceptive to an answer.
"Come on, you've conquered bigger battles. Time to dive back into the fray," urged Wren with conviction.
With renewed determination, Ryder reinforced his grip on reality and his rope then plunged into focus with a deep breath of intent. As if shot from a cannon, Ryder matched each jolt and swipe of the bull beneath him with sheer willpower until salvation sounded in another eight seconds' buzz.
A ghostly replay of Tornado's turmoil haunted him momentarily – but he purged it instantly from thought with relentless tenacity. Loosening his restraints at last, Ryder evacuated from his adversary's back into safety.
He withdrew towards the security of the chutes; eyes locked onto to bull now veiled by an alley gate anticipation hanging thick as he awaited his own score. As he rotated his shoulder – pain conspicuously absent – reality set back in.
"Ryder racks up 85 points! He now stands formidable in second!" came the proclamation that sealed his fate just shy of victory.
Ryder casually lifted off his hat and flung it skyward, sending a wave of exhilaration through the onlookers. With a shared triumphant hug and hearty back pats at the gate, he exchanged victorious chuckles with his comrade, Wren.
"Knew you had the magic in you," beamed Ryder, his face lit up with pride.
"Don't count our blessings before they hatch," cautioned Wren.
"With Todd on Firebird, we might as well start celebrating," Ryder said with a confident smirk.
"Imagine us clinching the top spots," Wren mused.
"That'll be the day to remember."
True to their hopes, they did just that; Wren clinched victory closely tailed by Ryder. In high spirits, they packed up their equipment into Ryder's truck, setting off towards home.
The clock struck four when Ryder's truck hummed to a stop at Wren's ranch. "You owned that ride, congrats!" praised Ryder.
Stretching out a yawn, Wren responded gratefully, "Means a lot, buddy. You were outstanding too. Catch ya soon." He then retreated wearily towards his homestead.
Ryder then resumed his journey home. Once arrived, he lingered in the silent cab of his truck gazing at his dwelling. A deep yearning filled him, imagining Isobel inside waiting to revel in his triumph with him. His eyes lifted to the bedroom window picturing her silhouette bathing in moonlight—Isobel's ethereal presence so near yet so far.
Stepping out into the crisp night air, he wandered inside letting out another longing sigh. After securing his keys and hat in their places and shrugging off his boots, he made for the living room and illuminated it with the soft glow from a lamp.
He reached for his journal and obsessively reread Isobel's final words etched on its pages before flipping to a fresh page to pour out his soul.
"I secured second place today," he wrote soberly. "A joyous defeat at the hands of my finest friend. Yet tonight I return to an unwelcoming silence, my happiness unshared – an ache more piercing than loss itself.
My aspirations evolve nightly; all embodied by one person—my guiding star. She comes alive in slumber's embrace: arrayed in purest white; cradling our future.
But courage fails; secrets unspoken cling like shadows. The risk of losing her looms – a specter I dare not face alone. For now, I cling to newfound ways of bearing sorrow's weight – safeguarding myself for the day her presence may dissolve like morning mist."