I FLOPPED ONTO MY BED last night after that super large carbalicious meal and was useless for the rest of the night. My food coma started coming on as we drove home. The insulin was racing through my body chasing down all that sugar, making me moody and sluggish. I simply told Braxton that we’d talk today.

The alarm clock flips to 4:55 am, and I know in the next five minutes, birds will chirp annoyingly. That’s why I chose it. Chirping birds grate on my nerves. They chatter happily and refuse to be quiet, making me get up since my brain won’t tune them out. I reach across the bed and flip the button to off. I’m awake and have been for the past half hour, so I might as well start my day.

Stretching from side to side and then lifting my toes to the ceiling while flexing my hips and calf muscles, I begin my morning routine of preparing my body to move. I slept solidly up until a little while ago when my natural body clock started to remind me it was time to get up.

I thought I’d be restless in a strange bed, but no. The only disturbing thought that kept me awake is that this bed smells like Braxton. His cologne and deodorant, or maybe it’s his body odor— I’m not sure, has sunken into the sheets. They smell clean, but there’s still just a hint of him lingering there.

I’ll try not to think about him. Or let him get to me. I’m starting a new chapter here with my life. I will not fall in love quickly. He’s just another guy; another arrogant guy who likes to argue with me. 

God, I need Myla. We promised to video chat every day, if possible. I will call her later and check in. She’ll set me straight. We went over the PBR schedule before I left and she’s already promised to come to at least two of the dates, she just needed to pick which cities she wanted to visit.

I squeeze into the tiny bathroom and complete my morning wake-up routine quietly before grabbing my yoga mat and heading out to look for a quiet place.

The tour is full, and the lot is really hard to get around with all the different-sized campers parked haphazardly. I keep hitting dead ends or blockades everywhere I turn. Luckily, I end up behind Maverik Center and see a sign for Decker Lake.  Within minutes, I roll out my mat under a large, spreading Maple tree facing the lake and start my asanas.

A gorgeous day breaks around me, and I sit quietly repeating my mantra.

“Are you asleep?” a familiar male voice asks. I open one eye to see Braxton in running shorts with this t-shirt slung over this shoulder.  Sweat runs in rivulets down his face, dripping onto his chest, matting the hair there. Just like when he got out of the shower. He uses his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and neck, staring at me.

“No. I’m completing my exercises and centering my mind for the day.”

“Do you run?” He’s bent at the waist with his hands on his knees catching his breath. The morning sun is glinting off the sheen of his muscles and my core twitches.

“No. In my opinion, running is bad for the knees since most people do it wrong. I’m no exception. I take care of my body in other ways.”  I have a feeling he’s not going to let me finish, so  I stand and shake the dirt off my mat, rolling it up and cinching the straps tight to hold it closed. There, easy and ready to go. “Are you done with your run?”

“Cardio is done. Next is weight conditioning.” He flexes his right bicep as he says the word weights causing me to roll my eyes. Men— they are still mostly boys. But damn, his bicep is bigger than my head. It’s smooth, and I curl my fingers inside my palm to avoid the urge to squeeze it.

On our walk back to the camper, Braxton gives me a tour of the usual set up. He shows me the gym location, the mess hall where the vendors deliver our meals, and finally the tent for holding meetings and other miscellaneous things. He explains that it always has tables and chairs set up in it for anything we might need.  “Speaking of which, I have a 10:00 am staff meeting that I need to shower for.”

“Alright then; the tour is over.”

Braxton drops me off at our place and jangles a set of keys before placing them in my hands. “Here is your set of keys to freedom. Away from your routine job, your family, and yourself at times. Enjoy.” He uses his T-shirt to wipe the accumulated sweat from his face and slings it over his shoulder again before heading off in the direction of the gym.

I stare after him, gripping the keys in my hand firmly. He’s so different than what I’m used to in a man. Whoa, girl. Back up and leave that thought right there.  He’s still a man with the potential to break my heart. He’s friendly. Just leave it there, and no heartbreaking will occur.

****

BILL KNOCKS ON THE door about ten minutes before the meeting is scheduled to start.

“Are you ready to meet the other members of our family?” His smile is so big and contagious; it’s really hard to resist his charm. It’s a good thing he’s in his late sixties, or I’d be smitten.

“Absolutely. Lead the way.” I use my newly acquired keys to lock the door, tucking them firmly into my pocket and patting them securely. Freedom.

I’m surprised when we walk into the meeting tent to find a packed house of about a hundred people. There are smiling faces everywhere. “Bill, I thought this was a staff meeting?”

“It is. Our staff is our family, and we’ve got a very big family.” He winks at me before gesturing for me to take an empty seat up front. I see Braxton over at the left, chatting with a few other riders. He nods at me in acknowledgment as he continues with his conversation.

The meeting goes on through its business first giving stats of the winners and top rankings with prize awards. Shouts, high-pitched whistles, and congratulations roll throughout the tent in good spirit, but they grow silent as a man in a suit takes the podium.

“Hello. Some of you know me already, but most of you don’t. My name is Walker Campbell, and I’m the head of security for this tour of the PBR.”  The room silences immediately as all faces turn to give Mr. Campbell their full attention. “I get the unfortunate privilege of letting you know we have a thief among us.”  Gasps of shock roll through the crowd as it crescendos into a loud roar of words as everyone comments on his last words. 

He taps the microphone with his thick fingers, creating a heavy thumping noise that blares through the speakers. The buzz of the crowd dies down, and all eyes are on Mr. Campbell again. “At first we thought it was the locals that we hire to run the merchandising booth, but the thievery has continued in the last three cities after we replaced them with tour wives. And the money count isn’t adding up. So it’s not skimming from the sale as it happens, it’s occurring after the close of the show somehow. We’ve made some changes, and will be utilizing special bank bags from now on.”

“Well, who’s been near the money then? Surely that’s a small number since we should all be working or preparing to work and not near the business trailer,” someone in the crowd shouts out.

“We’re not going to provide suspect names. What we’re asking is to keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. We’d hate to have to end the entire tour for this problem. That alone will cause more loss of revenue for the PBR and you good folks. It will also ruin many people’s chances at a run for a Championship title. So we’re hoping that by making this public knowledge among family, someone will see something and we can get rid of the bad apple, or apples, we have among us. That’s all I’ve got to say.” He nods his head towards the crowd and takes his seat again, next to Bill.

Bill turns to me and says, “You’re next. Get ready.” There’s no more warning than the few seconds he takes to walk to the podium. The tent is silent again as he starts his general introduction of the new sports medicine doctor the PBR has promised to provide.

“...Dr. Noa Knight.” He raises his hands above his head and claps them loudly as the room follows his lead. I stand and wave as he gestures for me to take the podium. Holy shit. I wasn’t planning on talking. Loud catcalls and whistles belt out through the noise as everyone gets a good look at me as the heat of embarrassment floods my face. I hate being the center of attention.

“Hi Everyone. Thank you for the warm welcome. As Bill said, I am joining the tour to help with any sports-related injuries you may already have or experience while here. My specialty is the shoulders and back, which are the more common and prominent injuries for this sport. I’m going to create some office hours that I will hold in the gym that is set up. I’ll also be able to provide some modified physical therapy with the equipment that we have on the circuit. Please reach out to me. I’d love to meet you and help you if I can.”

I take my seat just as quickly as I left it. My hands tremble as I smooth out an invisible wrinkle in my jeans. As I do my best to calm my nerves, many people around me pat my back and shoulders, providing me with words of welcome. This must be how Monty feels all the time. I don’t know how she does it.

Bill gives a quick run-through of the week’s agenda before opening night, proclaiming we have a lot of work to do before it’s show time and to get to it. “Meeting adjourned.”

As we make our way out the tent flaps and back into the sunshine, I  hear my name and title repeatedly shouted through the crowd, and decide to stand over to the side and wait for whoever is trying to get my attention.

Before too long, a swarm of well-wishers gathers around shaking my hand, while others want to talk specifics about their injuries and prescriptions. Many of the wives and girlfriends of the men I speak with are giving me hateful looks of jealousy as they notice I don’t wear a wedding or engagement ring. This will be an interesting year.

One man waits in the back of the crowd. As I speak to his colleagues, every now and again I catch his eye. He waits patiently, giving everyone else their turn to talk. He never gets upset when another swoops in and takes his opportunity. He simply steps back again to wait. The blue depths of his eyes are cold and haunting causing my ‘caution: warning’  radar to go off.

I smile and shake my head a few times in shock listening to the overwhelming aches and sheer discomfort of some of these riders. It’s very apparent they need a doctor on staff listening to some of the home remedies they are trying.

It’s also amazing how much pain the human body can endure for something they’re passionate about. And these people are all overflowing with it in their love of this sport. I hear it in their words and see it in the smiles and grimaces of their faces.

I promise each one of them to post my hours by mid-afternoon and explain that I’ll probably start seeing people by the evening time. With the number of people I just spoke with, I believe this will be on-call constantly and wonder for a moment what I’ve gotten myself into.

Finally, he approaches with the stealth of a ninja. He’s dressed all in black emanating a dangerous, almost spooky, air about him. His height blocks out the sun, and my skin goes cold as goosebumps rise on my forearms. He reaches up to remove his hat as he holds his other hand out to shake mine. “Dr. Knight. It’s a pleasure to have you on staff. I’m Wes Stanton.” His granite jaw doesn’t smile warmly at me in welcome.

“It’s nice to meet you too Wes. Thank you for the welcome, and I’m  happy to be here.”

“I would like to talk to you about some specific injuries and a few surgeries I’ve had performed on the C3 and C4 bones in my neck. Will you have access to those through the PBR or should I bring my records?”

“I’m not sure what I’ll have access to yet. I’m still becoming acquainted with the process here, so bring your records, and we’ll see what I have and if they supplement that. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make an appointment once you get settled. Again, glad to have you with us Doc.” He squares his cowboy hat back on his head and nods at me quickly before walking away.

What a brief conversation to have for him waiting so long. I stare at him as he gets lost in the crowd. His hat gets swallowed up into all of the others roaming this full parking lot.

“I’d stay away from him as much as you can. Limit his access to you, and do your best not to be alone with him,” Braxton says, coming up beside me. I turn my head to look at him, lifting it up and squinting as the sun blinds me. He adjusts his stance to block out the sun so that I can see his face, and I instantly know he’s not kidding about Wes.

“Yeah, I got that feeling, but I’m the doctor on staff. I’ll have to see him alone; I can’t do physicals out in public.” A wide grin brightens his face, coloring it a little bit with whatever dirty thoughts are floating around in his brain. He wiggles his eyebrows at me, putting an exclamation point on his unspoken dirty joke. “Stop it.” I laugh and fake punch the bicep he flexed for me this morning, hitting a solid rock-hard wall of muscles and tendons.

“C’mon, Doc. It’s almost lunchtime, and you’ve got a schedule to post.”

“I think I’m going to need an assistant. Like an MA or something to help keep records and appointments. I know this is all brand new for the tour, but I can’t do all of this by myself. We have a load of assistants back in  my office that help make it all one efficient process.”

“Don’t short-change yourself, Noa. You’d be amazed at what you can accomplish yourself with enough focus.” He slides his key into the door and opens it for me to enter the door first.

Home, at last. He plops down onto the lounger in the kitchen, pulling the footrest out. I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to cook lunch. He’s sorely mistaken. I walk back slowly into my bedroom to create my work schedule, taking deep breaths and adjusting to the close confines of the camper. Welcome to life on the road, Noa.