“MYLA! MY-LAAAAAAAA!! Wake up— we have to get the hell out of here.” I flipped the lights on when I entered the room, and she didn’t even flinch. Now I’m jumping on the bed while pulling her arm, and all I get is a grunt.  “Don’t make me get cold water and throw it on you.”

“I’m exhausted. Go away.” She pulls her arm out of my hands and rolls away from me, burying her face in her pillow.

“There are news vans everywhere, and they ALL want to talk to me. No effing way can I go out there. We have to leave.”

She turns her face to mumble at me. “I may be groggy, and coffee-deprived, but even I realize your words don’t make sense.”

“What? My words make perfect sense. Now get up!” I grab hold of her legs under the sheet and tug on them. “Girl, you need to make a waxing appointment.” Her legs slip out of my grip as her little cacti hairs poke me.

“Noa, damn it. Stop. Just stop.” She finally sits up in bed and flips her hair out of her face. She looks exhausted like she said. “If the news is everywhere, how are you going to leave? I don’t think a Bat signal is going to send help. I need to sleep a little more. I’ve been up all night dealing with your parents. Give me an hour more; then we’ll get ready to leave.” She snuggles under the sheet again and shuts me out.

“My parents!” I shriek. Myla grabs my phone from under the spare pillow on the bed and tosses it blindly at me. I catch it just before it hits the carpet, and scamper out of the guest room holding the power button on.

“Geez. I’ve got seventy-two missed calls.”  My phone buzzes in my hand while I’m scrolling and Braxton’s number pops up on my screen. No. No. No. I swipe left and end that call. Instead, I dial my dad. He answers in a panic.

“Noa, honey. Are you okay?”

“I’m a mess, Dad. One of my bull riders died last night. I’ve never lost a patient.”

“Yes, we saw that on the video that keeps playing on the news.”

“Video? What video?” I scramble for the remote and click on the television. It doesn’t take long to find a station talking about it. “Oh my god, Dad. The hotel where Myla is staying in has news trucks surrounding it. We need to leave and can’t get out.”

“That’s why we sent Dale. He took the red-eye and landed two hours ago. With any luck, he’s sleeping and will contact you, so leave your phone on, please. We need to be able to get through to you.”

“Dad, thank you, but I don’t need an attorney.”

“No, you need a savior, and that’s what he is. As soon as they find out your name and they dig a little, they are going to crucify you and your sister. I’d rather be proactive than watch both of your hard-earned careers end.”

“Okay. Have him text me before he calls. I’m not answering my phone unless I have the number pre-programmed.”

“I’ll make sure he knows. Now, get ready. I’m sure he’s going to want to get out of there fast.  Keep your phone charged. I’ll check on you in a little while. I love you, Noabear.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” I end the call and turn the TV off. I’ve already seen that video more times than I care too in the last five minutes.  In the still of the room, I can hear myself breathe. That’s what I need— to calm my mind.

I get down on the floor into the Lotus position. My yoga affirmations will bring me the peace I need. 

I repeat these affirmations over and over until I am powerful and strong. I am ready to conquer today, but first I need a shower.

When I come out of the bathroom, Myla is sitting on the couch flipping through the channels and ignoring the video replay or any broadcasts coming from outside. She winces when she sips the instant coffee she must have made.  “Not good, huh?”

“Hell no, but it’s all I’ve got until room service gets here.”

Knock. Knock. Knock. “Room Service.”

“And there you have it. I’ll get dressed in your room.”

“Stay in there until I say it’s clear.”

I nod my head and grab my bag closing the door behind me.  As I pass the window, a helicopter buzzes around outside.  I know it’s not for the Sunday morning traffic report. All of a sudden, I know how my sister feels with the paparazzi. Feeling hunted and trapped is miserable.

This is the crap my mother always warned us about. Why was it always Monty that I pictured being harassed like this?  I’m a nobody sports medicine physician. Well, I’m not a nobody anymore.

As I pull my leggings on, my phone beeps with a text. It’s Dale.

D:  I’m in room 526. I have disguises. Be here in thirty, and ready to leave.

Me: okay

There’s a light tap on the bedroom door before Myla pushes the door ajar. “You can come out now.”

“Thank you.” I pull a t-shirt on and stuff everything back into my bag. One last look around the room shows me I have all of my stuff, but Myla still has a lot of packing to do.

“Hey, there wasn’t much to choose from, so I just ordered bagels. We’ll get something when we are finally out of here. Okay?”  She hands me a cup of coffee, but it isn’t made the bulletproof way. My heart squeezes tight in my chest at the first thought of Braxton.

“Dale is here. We have to pack up and be in his room in thirty minutes.”

“How the hell did Dale get here?” Myla whips her head around to me in shock. “Nevermind. Marlena Knight is in full protection mode. She’s circling the wagons to make sure the stench doesn’t cling to anyone named Knight.”

She walks to her bedroom and throws her suitcase onto the bed and lays it open. She sweeps through the room haphazardly throwing articles of clothing into it. Within a few minutes, she has circled the entire suite, bathroom included and is zipping it all up into one messy bag of luggage.

“I’m ready,” she announces, sitting down again to finish her bagel and sip the last of the coffee in her mug.  I look at her, and the situation that we’re in floods my heart with regret. She’s bailed me out of more situations than I care to admit. “This too shall pass,” she reminds me.

My phone beeps with a text. It’s from Braxton.

B: Are you all right? Answer the phone.

My finger hovers over the reply button, but I hesitate. Tears fill my eyes at the thought of leaving. I can’t stay. Not anymore. My stunt of running away from home has come full circle.

“Is that Braxton?” Myla has always had this sixth sense when I’m hurting.  She takes my phone from me and responds.

M: It’s Myla. She’s still sleeping. She’s fine.

B: Thank God. You’re surrounded. I’ll figure something out.

“You’re a knight in shining armor is a great man. It’s too bad we’re about to run.” She hands me back my phone. Her sad doe eyes reflect my heart.

I have to ride out the storm until it’s over. “Let’s go.” The thought of all my stuff back in the trailer squeezes at my mangled heart, but that’s a worry for another day.

Myla opens the door first and peeps outside. The hallway is clear. I put on Braxton’s ball cap pulling the bill low again, and we head to the elevator.

It takes just a few minutes to get to Dale’s room, and I knock.

He opens it with a flourish, motioning us in quickly with his hands. “I didn’t expect you for an hour.”

“You said thirty minutes in your text,” I snap at him.

“I’m used to playing this game with actors and actresses that have no sense of time. Sorry. I keep forgetting you're not in the biz.”

“This is not a game. My career is on the line, and I didn’t do anything wrong. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

“Famous last words,” he laughs. Arrogant ass. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but his phone rings. He walks across the room to talk, pacing back and forth. “...Room 526. Yes. You’ve got her for a half hour, and then we’re leaving.” He ends the call and turns back to me.

“Excuse me, but who was that?” I walk over to him while Myla sits on the edge of the bed. Some wigs, hats, and sunglasses are scattered around the bed, and she starts rifling through them, picking up each wig and finger-combing the hair.

“We can’t leave the state until you give the police your statement. It’s standard procedure,” he tries to assure me, but the eye-roll that follows his words is not comforting.  He’s very dismissive. I don’t like him and never have.

Someone knocks on the door, causing me to jump. Myla scoops up the disguises and tosses them under the pillows. I give her one of my ‘Really’ looks with my raised eyebrow.

“What?” No one needs to know what you’re going to look like walking out of here,” she explains.

Dale opens the door, and two men walk in; I assume they are policemen. The knots in my stomach keep pulling tighter the longer I stay in this room.

Brief introductions are made as Detective Ron Blair and Detective Paul Morrison. We spend about thirty minutes going over the details of the few interactions I had with Wes in the time leading up to and the day of the accident. I answer all of the questions that I can without violating the doctor-patient privilege.  Dale stopped the conversation when we got close to speculations that he wasn’t comfortable with.

“My first inclination is to believe this is an accident,” Det. Morrison states.

“Or a very elaborate suicide mission with painkillers, alcohol, and the imminent danger of the sport. It all adds up to ‘crazy’ to me,” Det. Blair shakes his head in amazement. “We have your attorney’s contact number in case we have any additional questions.”

“Yes, Dr. Knight. You are free to leave the state,” Det. Morrison says. With that good news, I expel a huge sigh of relief.

“If I can get out of here with all of the news media outside.”

“Ignore them. I’m sure they want the feel-good story out of it for ratings,” Det. Blair hints.

“There is no feel-good story here. A man died. Period,” I exclaim in anger. I know it’s not his fault. He was trying to ease my anxiety. Myla comes over and shakes their hands in a goodbye gesture for me, as I step out onto the balcony. Dale escorts them out, making sure they have his card. This whole thing is beyond senseless.

I look out at the street below, and my heart breaks for a man who had no one. He just wanted to ride bulls in a sport that he loved. 

There’s no way I can continue with the circuit. My heart isn’t in it. I’ll take a break. Find another job. Maybe in another town where no one knows my name or has seen that damn video. Someplace that doesn’t have any cell phone towers or the internet.

The balcony door opens, and Myla sits across from me. “He’s ready to go and,  unfortunately, they don’t have an underground parking lot. We have to get you ready to leave the hotel, as well, so you can walk out into this mess unrecognized.”

“I know.” A tear falls and splashes onto my leggings.

“Hey, I know what you’re thinking.”

“I bet you don’t. There’s some crazy stuff going on in there right now.”

“I’ve not been your best friend since pre-K, and haven’t learned a thing or two about that mind of yours. It’s a steel trap for sure. Once things get set in your mind, you leave them there.”

She’s right. I am stubborn, but that’s just my inner redhead exerting its position on the matter.

“I know you want to run and hide somewhere far, far away where the internet doesn’t exist. Well, I’ve got news for you. It’s everywhere.” She throws her arms wide open to symbolize the universe. “Even Tibetan Monks use social media.  You did nothing wrong. This is no different than people getting pulled off planes and family military reunions; you were simply the subject of a heart-breaking video.  Give it twenty seconds, and another adorable cat video will be uploaded and get more views and likes than your video.” She laughs and nudges my knees with her hand.

I stand and stretch my legs, taking one last look over the balcony wall at the street below. I wish they’d all go away.

I should have put him on the injured list.

I should have spoken more sternly to him about the alcohol.

I should have reported him to Bill as soon as he came up to me near the chutes.

I hope they all forgive me for killing their friend someday.

“Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”