𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒, JENSEN ACKLES

𝑶𝑵𝑬

The familiar sounds of cheering and Rodeo host, Todd Winston, talking through the speakers erupted around her but Ty drowned the noise out as she counted her breaths, the way her chest moved up and down with every inhale and exhale.

She was never nervous before a ride, the opposite, actually. The season was nearing its end and all that had been occupying her mind during her sleep and while she dreamed were taking the win selfishly and greedily. Her grandfather was one of the greatest of all time, an aspiring character that not only she looked up to and admired but so did others around her.

He took five Championships and held them on his belt, proudly showing them off when anyone dared to ask. That's all she wanted in her career, to live up to her grandfather's legacy that he left for her and her only.

Her three brothers, excluding her half-brother, refused the life of being a Bull rider. Ty was the one who crawled into his weighted vests and stuck her feet in his footprints, she was the one who wore a proud smirk on her lips as he held her after all of his wins, including non-World Championships.

To be inching close to having half of what he had made her eager to win until she couldn't anymore. She won her first World Championship a year after giving birth to her son, Andi Costner.

It filled her with pride when she heard the whispers about her being a woman in a man's sport, winning the title even after her body changed from giving birth. She took hold of the reigns a short couple of days after giving birth to get her body back in shape to take what was rightfully hers.

Was she hungry and cocky? Absolutely.

Her father reminded her every time he saw her that she was risking her life every time she sat on a Bull. It was thrilling to feel a bucking Bull beneath you, more so when you know you've received a high score to push your chances to win even higher.

She won her second World Championship two years after her first, having come second the year before her second win. Now, she was on her way to win her third World Championship in a few months. 

Wrangler jeans secured her waist down while a black pearl snap adorned her frame and tucked into the denim material. A weighted vest sat over it while her black and red chaps — her son's favorite colors — clamped over her legs. Spurs sat on the heels of her brown boots as she walked along the halls.

It was dark but the arena's lights brightened the place once she escaped the lonesome walls, her eyes cast downward as she moved along the crowds of cowboys and cameramen. Her black felt hat sat atop her head to obscure the scar that ran along her face, a perfectly straight line that rested beneath her right eye and crossed over her nose to rest underneath her left eye.

It was hideous, she thought. She received it as a child and was reminded of the horrid things that happened in her childhood.

Shaking the thoughts away, the sway of the fringe on her chaps caught the attention of the five-year-old boy only a few feet away, his shrill breaking her out of her head. "Mama!"

She lifted her head and searched for the boy, her green irises landing on his running figure as he maneuvered his way through the number of people around them.

Her arms spread as she crouched down to his level, one of her chap-covered knees landing on the floor of the arena. "There's my boy!" She smiled, the sight a rare one and only used around the toddler. "I missed you, sunshine." She breathed as he attacked her in a hug, his arms wrapping around her neck.

His chest heaved off of her and she could tell he was grinning from his face tucked into her chest. "I missed you too, mama. Uncle Bash and Uncle Kip brought me, said something about Grandpa bringing Uncle Quinn and the cowboys with him, too." He rambled, untucking himself from her grasp and staring into her eyes as he stood in front of her kneeling frame.