8 Seconds

Prologue - Shane

Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Professional Bull Riding Championship!" Greg Thomas, the announcer called out. "Don't we have a show packed up for y'all. So grab a friend, grab a beer and let's have a good time tonight!"

The crowd cheered obnoxiously, whistles and hoots coming from all directions across the arena. Intaking a breath, my eyes scanned everyone here. Friends of friends, family, girls looking for a good time- and not just to watch us ride.

They want a ride themselves.

Eight seconds. That's all I needed to win this; eight seconds.

Bull riding was my life. Ever since I could watch it on the TV when I Was a kid, I was obsessed with it. Everything that had to do with riding or farming. I was destined to be the best, regardless of who I had to step on to get my way there. For countless years I put my blood, sweat and tears into this, it would make someone sick.

Not me. I was destined to do this. I was made for this. I wanted this more than I wanted anything else. This was mine to earn. This was my prime.

Round after round, I watched boys younger and some older than I, get bucked or come just close to the eight seconds, but fail. Young man, Jonathan White, about seventeen - out of here within three seconds. I gotta give it to the kid, though. Heard him say to someone earlier that this was his first gig.

Shockingly, he somehow made it this far before he was bucked off Savage. Only 3.5 seconds, and Johnathan was tossed like a Cesar salad in no time.

"Up next, we all know him, and we all love him to death, but I think he should hear that from y'all. Everyone please welcome to the ring, Shane Marshall!"

Once again the croup erupted with hoots and hollers so loud, I bet it was heard from 25 miles away.

"Are you ready, kid?" James Houghton, my best friend and coach, asked, slapping a hand on the back of my neck, giving it a squeeze. "Now is your chance to show everyone what the fuck they are here to see."

"I'm not a kid, James. We're the same damn age, just two years and four months apart." I hissed at him, shoving his shoulder.

Grinning, James slapped my back a couple of times for good measure, and stepped aside, letting me through. Swallowing the lump the size of a golf ball in my throat, I withdrew a breath, taking the next few steps toward the stairs. Looking down, my muscles tensed; the massive and white speckled beast below me, snorted and stomped his hooves. Picking up first, flinging in the cage.

His horns shook the cage, his body bucking wildly. His snout exhaled steam, as a deep roar came from his gullet. This bull named Cowbell, was a beast. Over seventy-four buck offs, and most of them left people withered and broken for months.

The rest? Unable to return.

Swinging my leg over the gate, each leg on either side of the bull, watching his buck and snarl, more snot dripped from his snout. Deep breathing, I looked over to James, who clipped a nod to me, smirking small. Nodding back, I watched as Cowbell came to stand still, calming down for the time being.

Lowering myself onto his back, I placed my hand through the handle, wigging my hand through securing myself. I swallowed, and took in some more deep breaths, closing my eyes.

3.

2.

1.

"Let's do this!" I barked raising, my left hand in the air. The boys on the other side ripped open the rage with ri roped, and I went flying. Cowbell jumped, wiggled and thrusted his body weight over which way possible, trying to get me off. But I wasn't budging. No way in hell.