IN THE CHUTE, Diablo secured his left arm and raised his right, gave the signal and burst through the gate, marked out and precise, because some things were bigger than any single person.
Some things were universal and primal—the roar of a crowd, the rage of a bull, grief...
Some things were capable of resisting the incredible willpower of a man who’d learned too much, and far too young.
Not many things, but some. His nana had been one. Bulls were another.
The crowd chanted his name, the three syllables becoming the sound of the people clamoring for a hero, and not a hero with a ranch in Montana, but him. Diablo.
DI-A-BLO—DI-A-BLO—DI-A-BLO!
In all his life, bulls were the only creatures he’d met that were strong enough to take the full force of him and end up standing.
It took three thousand pounds of primal rage to face off against the boy who had been left on his grandmother’s doorstep, to become a family of two, then one, and then, miraculously, two again.
And it took three thousand pounds of focused and unbridled deadly intent to acknowledge just how much he’d lost.
Bulls had brought him everything good in his life, and his nana had brought him bulls.
The world—his world—would never be the same, could never be, but he didn’t have to worry about hurting the bull as he let it all out.
And even though it all happened in the blink of an eye, it was enough.
His nana had left him a pink house in Houston and the gift of forgiveness—and the bulls. Everything she’d known he needed.
Nothing would ever be the same.
When the eight-second buzzer rang, tears freely streamed down his face, but he didn’t wipe them away. The pickup men rode out to meet him.
He didn’t know if he’d had a good ride or not and didn’t care.
He understood why his nana had done what she had done, and he forgave her, he forgave the old man and he forgave Sierra, to his everlasting fortune.
She would be his wife. Or rather, he would be her husband.
Only she would have the audacity.
And he would be forever grateful for that—and for showing her exactly how he felt.
When Sierra’s voice rang out over the loudspeakers, it was to sing his praises, infused with the warmth of a person who hadn’t let love slip by them. “Now, that, folks, is how you ride a bull.”
Her dress was slightly loose on her, only a bit off, but nothing like the perfect rodeo queen she usually presented. The dress was simple, all black with some fringe here and there and a few studs, a little big everywhere and intentionally big in the shoulders. He imagined she’d been going for some retro theme she’d planned to do more with. But it was actually cute with her thick black hipster glasses and pin-straight hair.
She’d been wearing sneakers to come for him and he wondered where she got the ivory boots she wore from. And the hat, too. Simple and plain and perhaps a size too big, they most certainly didn’t belong to her.
Leave it to her, though, and she’d probably end up starting a new fashion trend in rodeo pageants by the end of the night.
She was glowing and captivating, and the audience wanted in on it.
But strangely, he could tell she paid them no mind. Her voice wasn’t controlled tonight; it was filled with enjoyment for her favorite sport. She was thoroughly in the night, because as only he knew, she was going to be saying goodbye.
She hadn’t been able to go back to her hotel room after they’d landed for a full change, but it didn’t matter. She looked beautiful. And he’d actually ridden the finale in a suit. There wasn’t a lot he wouldn’t do for her.
Julio finished the season with an astounding ride, as usual, and in the end, the positioning of the top three endured, but of course with Dillon switched out with Casey.
Sierra called them to the podium, brushing her fingertips against Diablo’s as she handed him his buckle, the contact a promise of more to come later—more talking, more laughing, more crying—and Diablo was under no illusions as to who the true winner of the tour was.
He was impatient to make up for lost company with her, and to get away from the lights and watching eyes to be raw and aching again.
But of course, it was the Closed Circuit finale, so everything had to be dragged out.
Good TV, and all of that.
But when Sierra raised her palm and said, “Now, just one more thing, y’all. I’ve got more news before The Closed Circuit closes for its second, records-breaking season! You didn’t just think I’d let you go without a little peek and nibble of what you can expect from the new, always improving, renewed for a third season Closed Circuit, now, did ya?” It was a hard thing not to grimace.
The audience shouted back their deafening refutation and Sierra smiled at them before turning her face into a pout. “But before I get to that, I do have a little bit of sad news, my friends. The Closed Circuit Rodeo is going far, y’all, all the way to Hawaii, even, but this little rodeo queen won’t be crossing the big blue with them for a third time around. Nope, y’all,” she said with a crowd-pleasing shrug and shake of her head. “I’ve finally met a cowboy worth leaving the circuit for, folks, and it’s none other than our very own lawman, Diablo Sosa!”
The audience ate her performance up while it was all Diablo could do but grin down at her from where he stood on the podium while the jumbotron zoomed in on the two of them.
He hadn’t expected her to do that, hadn’t needed it, even as he couldn’t help but puff up his chest.
Like in everything else she did, she’d managed to make the announcement on her terms, and while her adoring fans would be sad to see their beloved queen go, it made a great story to lose her to love.
And when it did finally come time to exit the stage, she rushed to him and grabbed his hand, setting off another wave of cheers, and they walked off together.
Julio, glowing with the pleasure of having won, but grave in his approach nonetheless, grabbed Diablo’s shoulder, giving Sierra a pregnant nod before returning his attention to Diablo as he said, “Gracias. No hay nada más que decir.”
And Diablo said, “No hay de qué,” because there hadn’t been, which was always the cruel part. All Diablo had done was be decent.
But somehow it had all turned out for the good anyway. In this very real Closed Circuit, a community separate from everything hard and cold waiting for their return in their regular lives, trying had worked out. It had more than worked out.
Here, when life had been preparing its greatest offense on him yet, he’d found the one person in the world who could face it with him. What were the odds of that?
Sierra stayed beside him for the barrage of reporters that met them outside the venue, and through the rest of the night, her hand looped tightly through his the whole time, for which he was grateful.
The grief continued to come, wave after thrashing wave, but Sierra was there, and the old man would be there, and AJ and Lil were there, and, with the deep sense that he wouldn’t go over fourteen years without riding ever again, the bulls were there, too.
Things would never be the same, and they weren’t okay now, but he knew they might be alright again someday, and that was something.