His eyes are as intense as his words, and I find myself standing up and slipping my hand in his.
“You don’t have to do this,” Jack says.
“He’s right,” Phillip interjects. “What if you get hurt?”
“I would never let you get hurt,” Lincoln says, softly. “But life is too damn short to let fear hold you back. If you want to get up there and ride Cheryl, then get up there and ride Cheryl.”
At first, I didn’t really want to ride Cheryl. I was just trying to draw the attention away from Abby. But now I want to show Lincoln that I can be fearless and brave like he is.
“You said Mo did this, right?”
Lincoln chuckles. “Yup.”
I square my shoulders. “Well, if Mo can do it, I can do it.”
With my hand in his, Lincoln guides me to a small table behind a control panel.
“Hey, Jimmy,” he says.
“Hey, Linc.” The older man wearing a Broken Boot T-shirt stands up and shakes Lincoln’s hand. “You wanna have a go at Cheryl?”
“Not me.” Lincoln looks down at me, and Jimmy’s eyes follow.
His gaze narrows, and he tilts his head a fraction. “I know you. You’re Rhett’s sister.”
“Adley,” I say, shaking the guy’s hand.
I don’t remember meeting him, but I’ve been here so many times over the years with my dad and Rhett, it would be impossible to recall all the names and faces.
“She yours?” Jimmy asks Lincoln.
Lincoln wraps an arm around my shoulder, holding me proudly. “She is,” he says, smiling down at me.
“You okay with her getting on Cheryl?”
“Fuck no,” Lincoln answers, surprising both of us. “That’s why I’m getting on with her.”
“You are?” I ask, slightly relieved that I won’t be getting up there alone and making a fool out of myself.
Jimmy scratches his head and looks at the bull. “It’s not really made for two people.”
“Since when do you follow the rules?”
“You’re right.” Jimmy laughs, motioning toward Cheryl. “Have at it.”
My friends stand off to the side while Jimmy goes over the rules of riding Cheryl. Once he’s done, I climb onto Cheryl’s back, and then Lincoln swings a leg and gets on behind me.
It’s a tight fit, but we make it work.
“I’m a little nervous,” I admit.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he says, guiding my right hand to the bar in front of us. “Hold this, tight.”
His long fingers curl around mine, securing my hand to the bar.
“Your left hand has to stay up in the air, like this,” he says, lifting my arm up.
“But what am I supposed to hold on to?”