Page 5 of Came the Closest
“—and they’ll have a heck of a lot easier time out there,” Travis continues sternly. As sternly as he can be with crooked glasses and being six inches shorter than my six-two height, that is. “Look, Colt, I know these past few months have been difficult—”
“I’m fine,” I cut in.
“—and if you need—”
“I said I’m fine,” I say sharply, snapping my gaze to his. “I’m going to finish this tour. And then I’ll give Rose that interview.”
Travis irritably pokes his glasses into place. “It’s Rhodes. Ben Rhodes.”
A slow smile curls my mouth. “You could say I’ve Ben there and done that.”
“Colton,” he groans.
“Or,” I say, a little too cheerfully, “that all Rhodes lead to a win with the right bull in the chute.”
Travis glares at me.
“Okay, but here’s my favorite one.” I pause for dramatic effect because I’m nothing if not dramatic. “I’ve Ben down these Rhodes before.”
On my shoulders, Jolene bursts out laughing, and behind me, reluctant chuckles rumble in my brothers’ chests. Travis says nothing to me; he just points at his eyes and mine in a decidedly supposed-to-be-threatening way before speedwalking off to do God only knows what. Hopefully not bug me until I’m good and ready to be bugged.
Maybe things are looking up.
I spoke too soon.
One look at the gleam in Ben Rhodes’s eyes is all it takes to know I shouldn’t have agreed to this interview. I can’t put my finger on why—I’ve fielded plenty of hungry reporters in the last thirteen years—I just know I don’t want to talk to him.
Unfortunately, Travis already sequestered me to the “studio”, which is really just one of the arena’s many offices. Two chairs face each other, a camera stares me down from a tripod, and Rhodes attached a mic to the collar of my blue chambray shirt. Based on the way he counts down silently on his fingers, I have four seconds to prepare myself.
Three.
Two.
One, and—
“Welcome back to the Rhodes-deo Podcast, where we’re sitting down with some of the biggest names in rodeo before tonight’s Finals,” Rhodes says. He sounds nasally. I don’t know if that or the podcast name would turn me off faster as a potential listener. “Right now, I’ve got the two-time world champ, Colton Del Ray, in the room with me. Colton, can you give us a brief intro?”
I’m almost certain an introduction is unnecessary considering I’m known in this sport like Tom Brady is known in football. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. Bulls like to buck me off, but I like besting them. I’ve been pretty successful at those eight seconds in the last thirteen years, yeah?”
Ben laughs, but it doesn’t sound particularly amused. If Travis is listening, he’s swearing at me under his breath, one headphone on his ear and one off.
Who am I kidding? I’d bet a million dollars he’s standing outside the door right now.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Ben replies. Under his light tone, something hovers ominously. Something I don’t like. He shifts on his red pleather stool. “So, this is your ninth time here in Arlington. If you could give one piece of advice to the first timers, what would you say?”
My shoulders relax marginally. Maybe I’m imagining the glint in Rhodes’s eyes. I shift on my own stool and scratch the back of my neck.
“I guess…” I pause to consider my words. It’s easy to give the generic keep your head on straight or enjoy the ride, pun intended, but I won’t. I know what it’s like to be at the start of this career; I won’t pretend I’ve forgotten now that I’ve reached the metaphorical top. “I guess I’d say that making it is only the starting point—seizing it is the real opportunity. How well can you perform under this much pressure? What are your pre-ride rituals that you need to hold onto, even in the adrenaline of the moment? Is there anything in your head that has the potential to stop you from outperforming your last best ride? Those are the game changing questions for me.”
“And how would you answer that last question?” Rhodes asks. “It’s no secret that you haven’t taken the bulls by their horns, so to speak, since you lost your mentor Tripp Kolter last year.”
There it is—the reason for my apprehension. I made it clear to Travis that the one thing off limits in any interview, live or pre-recorded, audio or television, was Tripp’s accident and ongoing hospitalization. Drill me for a failed ride or drag my name through the mud for some crime I didn’t commit for all I care, but don’t bring Tripp up.
I hate that it makes me question my longtime manager’s loyalty.
Curbing my irritation behind a neutral expression, I shake my head. “Sorry, but I’m not going to discuss that.”
I haven’t lost Tripp yet, but it’s not even worth correcting him.