Chapter Text
You can waste your time on the other rides
This is the nearest to being alive
Let me take my chances on the wall of death
18 October 2015 || Killeen, Texas – Killeen Rodeo Grounds
Tyler always felt a unique surge of adrenaline whenever he stepped into the rodeo arena. It isn’t just the anticipation of the challenge: it is the culmination of passion, and the sheer grit that makes every moment exhilarating.
The intense atmosphere, with the sound of hooves pounding the earth and the crowd’s electrifying energy, fueled his excitement.
Each ride he saw as an opportunity to test his limits, to measure courage against the untamed spirit of the animals he faces. Some might see it as risky or even reckless, but for Tyler, it was a dance of instinct. Even the smell of the dusty arena tingled his senses and made him feel alive in ways nothing else could.
Fear was certainly part of the equation, an ever-present shadow that hangs over every ride. However, it is that very fear that sharpens his focus and heightens his senses. Conquering it brings and unparalleled sense of achievement—You don’t face you fears; you ride ‘em, was his moto.
The rodeo grounds often provide their participants amenities—locker rooms close to the chutes where the animals are loaded up, a place they can freshen up and prepare; physically, as well as mentally.
Tyler’s not a praying man. He hasn’t believed in anything for years. But there’s a level of faith he does hold close to his heart, and that’s faith in himself.
He knows his life is taken into his hands every time he takes a step into that arena, but that’s only half of the thrill. To have one’s life teetering on the edge, only to pull back within seconds of toppling over.
Tyler sits in the locker room, getting himself ready for his bull ride, when Boone comes walking in. Boone is a rodeo clown—a bullfighter or rodeo protection athlete, someone charged with providing entertainment to the crowd, but also protecting the cowboys, especially the bull riders up there.
His face is smeared with colorful paint, something Tyler has always thought made him look ridiculous, but that’s half the fun of it, “Hey, T – “ he starts, leaning against the lock, “you ready for those eight seconds of glory?” He always tries keeping his voice elevated to jovial levels, less tense.
Tyler nods, still lacing his boots up, “Yeah, almost set.”
He’s shuffling around a bit more, tugging at his flannel top, making sure it’s tucked securely into his jeans, pulling at his belt. One thing he doesn’t grab—something Boone notices—is his medical ID bracelet.
“Yo, T – “ Boone reaches for it, extending it out; Tyler’s shaking his head, waving off his friend like it’s not a big deal, “What have I told you -- ?”
Tyler is smirking, “I don’t need it getting snagged.” Seeing the drawn look in Boone’s face, he gives a short chortle, and a gentle smack to Boone’s shoulder, “Hey, it’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your feet under you and remember, if things go south, I’m there to dance with the devil,” Boone tells him, providing a more light-hearted chuckle.
“Makes it a bit less terrifying, knowing you and the crew have our backs out there.”
As Tyler finished gearing up, he takes a moment to reflect. Next thing he knows, Boone is grabbing his wrist and securing the bracelet around it; Tyler doesn’t get another chance to tell him no.
Tyler sighs, touched with some irritation, but in the end says nothing as Boone gives him an assuring pat on the shoulder before wandering out to the arena.
The rodeo’s buzz hums through the air, and Tyler’s heart is racing, that cocktail of nerves and adrenaline running through him. He shakes off the thoughts that threaten to distract him. He then steps out into the arena, the roar of the crowd engulfing him. Everything else seems to narrow in, the bull pawing restlessly behind the gate.
This massive beast is both the adversary and the partner for the brief passage of time. Tyler takes a deep breath, using that space to ground himself, and pulls himself up, sliding one leg over on each side, and grabbing hold of the rope.
Seconds feel like hours as Tyler nods to the gatekeeper. The world explodes into motion. The bull twists and turns. Tyler’s muscles are taut, responding instinctively. His focus is razor-sharp, feet under him just as Boone said.
The chute opens, and the bull launches into a fury. What happens next is five seconds of hell. That bull is not playing with his rider—something he’s keen making Tyler aware of.
Boone’s job is to keep that bull in line. He’s moving, the heels of his boots shifting in the dirt, kicking up dust, jumping free of the bull that tries his dammest to buck off its rider. But Tyler’s got a firm hold, from what Boone briefly sees.
That is, until the bull is turning in a way Tyler does not expect. The bull swigs his massive head up, nearly clipping Tyler in the jaw, and Tyler flinches as a reactive instinct, but he’s moving in a direction opposite the bull, and the next second has the bull yanking free of Tyler’s grip.
Tyler is thrown up and over the front of the bull’s large horns; the two are eye-to-eye, and Tyler feels like his heart is about to beat clear of his chest.
Boone is reaching for his friend; others are screaming for him to let go. Tyler doesn’t get either option. The ground beneath him pulls away from him as the bull first lifts his head and then shakes his rider free.
Tyler is no longer in control. His body hits the ground with a thud. His instincts tell him to roll. The bull charges. Tyler stands, but miscalculates his position, and doesn’t get out of the way in time to avoid a direct kidney shot.
Boone—two others, as well—run in, waving hands at the bull, trying to put themselves between the creature and Tyler.
The bull is a stubborn one, jutting its head one way and the next—Boone goes one way; the two rodeo clowns are going to other. Boone picks himself up first and tries distracting the bull as Tyler is getting to his feet.
He’s doubled over in pain, holding his side. He doesn’t see it. None of them do. It’s a slow-motion train wreck. The bull’s hind legs come up, and the right kicks out.
Boone thought it was Tyler yelling; he’d later find out it was him. Tyler hits the ground, hard, and does not move again. Boone’s heart leaps into his throat. The two others are already running for Tyler.
He’s able to get the bull corralled into the chute, and then he’s turning back, his chest heaving in and out as his breathing tries catching back up to him.
There’s a collective shock from the crowd—it feels like a buzz to Boone.
Three others have descended, and one of them is hovering over Tyler. It’s a dream; a fucking nightmare. Boone’s legs feel like lead. They’re not carrying him fast enough. He doesn’t even get that far. There’s a pair of arms around him. Boone is fighting hard, but their grip remains firm.
His friend’s name falls from his lips like a prayer no one answers. Someone’s removing the chest padding and helmet—Tyler’s face is scary quiet, like he’s sleeping, but worse.
Someone checks Tyler for a pulse.
There’s no heartbeat; Boone wants to vomit. He feels physically sick to his stomach.
He’s trying to get to Tyler, but someone shoves him back, and someone else is pinching Tyler’s nose and tilting his head back, then breathing into him. Boone knows him—it’s Nathan; he’s one of the organizers for the rodeo. It’s so bizarre that his brain is making him think about miniscule details like that.
Then Nathan is pumping down on Tyler’s chest with the heels of his hands. He does this over and over and over again, and there’s an agonizing amount of minutes that drag by that Boone doesn’t even think about.
This ain’t happening. It’s not. It’s NOT.
Boone tries blinking the image free, but it’s not fucking working.
The rodeo arena is flooded with a red swath of light, and sirens pierce through the silence in his brain. An ambulance stops inches from him, and there’s two EMS barreling out.
He’s screaming at them to help—internally, anyway, because the words don’t make it to his lips.
He’s just standing there, watching, and waiting, feeling like his heart is pounding so hard that it might burst out of his chest. There’s a bunch of technical jargon that Boone can’t process. He feels disconnected, his mind struggling to reconcile what his eyes are seeing.
Someone’s shearing open Tyler’s shirt, another is attaching wires to Tyler’s chest, and flicking a switch—Boone’s eyes become drawn to a small monitor, and he’s not sure what those readings mean, but he knows they can’t be good. Time becomes slippery, oozing slowly then speeding past in jerks, pulling Boone along with it whether he’s ready or not.
He’s not even aware the crowd’s gone so quiet behind him, not over the blood that’s now pooled between his ears.
The defibrillator is charged, and Boone hears the sharp command of “Clear!” cutting through the air; for a moment, everything is still. Boone is holding his breath; he doesn’t realize he’s holding it until someone is reminding him to breathe.
Tyler’s body jerks.
He takes a heavy gulp of fresh air into his lungs, and his face contorts in pain.
He’s blinking; that’s good, “B, Boone -- ? ...where... where’s Boone -- ?” he calls, voice raw and distorted; Boone is on his knees at Tyler’s side, and takes his hand; “Fuck, man – that’s a wild one...”
“You crazy asshole.” A small smile breaks through Boone’s worried expression.
“Yeah, well, you know me,” Tyler croaks, trying to add a touch of humor despite the pain that rattles his ribcage. “H – How’s my time.... ?”
Unbelievable; if Boone wasn’t fighting back his worry, he might have socked Tyler a strong one for that. As it is, he notices something glimmering back at him from the dirt, and Boone notices that—upon inspection—it’s Tyler’s medical ID bracelet.
One of the paramedics—an older man, probably late 30s—grabs it from him, “Kid, hey kid, you diabetic?”
Tyler winces.
Boone is nodding, “Yeah, since 12, and yellin’ ain’t helping him.”
“He’s right...” Tyler’s eyelids flutter, “...it’s not...”
The paramedic whips out a glucometer to check Tyler’s levels.
Tyler’s breathing is shallow, each intake of air a struggle. Boone feels the sharp edges of anxiety cutting into his resolve.
Boone leans closer, speaking over the steady beeps, “Hang in there, man. Just a bit longer, okay?”
Tyler tries mustering a response, but his words are a whisper, barely audible, “I’ll catch... you at the finish line... You owe me a drink... “
~*~
18 October 2015 || Killeen, Texas – AdventHealth Central Texas
Flight time from Newark Arkansas to Killeen Texas is pprox.. 4 hours, giving or take 15 minutes, barring any delays—depending on the departure, but that’s roughly the time spent in the air.
The flight distance from Muskogee Oklahoma is about 45 minutes shorter.
Boone knows all this, of course, because he’s the one who made the separate phone calls to both Bill and Jo hours earlier, and now stood at the wall clock in the ER lobby, and counting his breathing when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
When those automatic door opens, he’s not surprised to see Jo first.
She’s walking quick to him, her expression pulled into something he doesn’t recognize, “Why is the first thing I’m thinking is ‘what the hell did those two do now?!’... and now I’m here...,” they hug, and her hands rub his back, it’s the first bit of comfort Boone’s hand for the last 4 or so hours—honestly, he stopped keeping track.
“You should be used to this by now,” he jokingly says, smiling sheepishly; Jo always took caution over others before herself, Boone knew this but attempted to lighten the mood in the room anyway.
Jo’s eyes roll, “Don’t go there. Where is he?”
“He’s still in surgery,” Boone answers; why is it taking so long? Does it normally take them this long? I had my tonsils out—took 45 minutes. He looks to the wall clock: it’s been at least a few hours now, “I – I don’t know anything, sorry...”
There was the initial intake, and a series of tests to access damage—after that, Boone’s mental capacity just sort of blurred out.
Not one to wait around, Jo sighs, and charges past Boone to the front counter. She’s not bringing the same demeanor she uses with her students—this isn’t ‘Dr. Harding – mentor and college professor’, this here is ‘Jo Harding – storm chaser, and mother’ (even Boone knows not to cross that line).
Jo taps her palm against the counter a number of times, “Excuse me, excuse me – yes, hello. My name is Dr. Jo Harding, and I believe you’ve got my nephew back there – Tyler Owens? I’d like to speak to his surgeon.”
“Tyler Owens is still in surgery, ma’am,” says the nurse at the desk; the woman seems to be in her mid-to-late 30s, “I can try calling down to the surgical floor.”
Jo’s nodding her head, trying not to explode; the day was exhausting, her feet hurt, her legs were cramped being sandwiched in the middle seat, “Do that – please.” She turns away from the desk with a heavy sigh as the nurse picks up a phone to make a call to OR 2.
Boone is walking over. He’s still not sure how he’s able to stay stationary after that. He’s seen Tyler through plenty of scraps before this, been to the hospital more times than he could count on one hand, but this feels different; Boone feels—scared.
He doesn’t get scared, not like this. It’s not the same thing as a jump scare in a horror movie; real life was more terrifying than that.
“Is Bill on his way?” ‘Bill’ and ‘Jo’, not ‘Mr. or Mrs. Harding’, not to Boone; Jo and Bill insisted he call them by their first names.
Jo nods, “He was working on getting a flight out when he called. He’ll be here.”
She looked at the ticking wall clock, the hour and the minute hands that move separately from each other, and entirely too slow.
What was taking so long?
“Walk me through what happened -- ?”
This is why Boone felt so terrible, “The bull – it, it got away from me. I thought everythin’ was going okay for a sec there, Mama Jo, and then.... “ His voice trails off, because his brain is reliving every damn second. It was only five—but they were the most agonizing five seconds of his life.
Jo nods along, keeping a straight face.
“He was fine when he stood up, and I run over to do my job, but the bull, he – that little bastard kicked T real good.”
The nurse at the front desk picks her head up, “The surgeon will up in a moment to talk to you, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Jo says, and re-focuses on Boone, “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down or throw up or -- ? What about some water?”
“Oh – I did that already... throw up... “
The OR doors swing open, drawing their attention. A well-aged man in his mid-40s ish with peppered hair walks towards them.
He stops in front of Jo and pulls down his mask, “Dr. Harding?”
“Jo – please,” they shake hands, and Jo shifts her weight, “Tyler Owens, he’s my nephew. He was brought in here – what’s going on?”
When the doctor sighs—like this one does—it’s not usually a good thing. Jo has mentally been preparing herself for the worst-case scenario for a while now; “Preliminary assessment showed internal bleeding caused by blunt force trauma to both Tyler’s thoracic and retroperitoneal regions that we were able to go in and repair.”
The very tip of Jo’s tongue moves over her bottom lip to moisten it. She feels a tightening in her throat, and for a moment, the room spins, making it hard to focus.
“You should know – Tyler lost a lot of blood during surgery... we lost him for a few seconds, but efforts to resuscitate him were successful, and he’s been stabilized,” he says, with a face so impassive.
Jo’s lungs felt heavy, “Is he awake at all?” she asks softly, trying not to let her voice betray the tremor she can’t completely hide.
“He’s just come from surgery, so he’s still sedated,” replies the doctor, “Once we get him settled, you should be free to see him—keeping in mind he won’t be responsive yet.”
Jo takes a deep breath, “Thank you,” she whispers, though she wasn’t sure if it was for the gratitude, or something else. As the surgeon walks away, Jo turns to Boone, “I knew he was tough,” she manages, her voice graining strength, “but hearing it’s another thing.”
“T is tough, Mama Jo,” Boone assures, and she’s got one hand rubbing at his shoulder.
-
Tyler comes around from anesthesia about a couple hours later, and blinks the fog from his eyes as they adjust to his hospital surroundings—the lighting in the room seems to sooth his still-drowsy mind.
Slowly, he becomes aware of soft beeping next to him, and, as his vision clears, the white walls and faint, sterile aroma that brings some characterization to the room.
He draws a breath. It hurts. He tries again—shallower; the draw seems more manageable that way. He wiggles his fingers and toes, relief hitting him that everything seems to be functioning normally. There’s a painful ache on the left side of his body, and noticeable suturing along his breastbone that peaks out from under a blanket.
Wires snake out across his chest, and there’s an IV protruding from the crook of one elbow. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, processing the sensations one by one.
The sound of footsteps catch his attention, and he turns his head gingerly to see his Aunt Jo standing there at his bedside with a smile, “Hey, kiddo,” she says softly, her voice a relief against the residual haze.
Tyler tries to speak but his throat feels dry and scratchy, so he just nods slightly. She seems to understand, reaching for a small cup of ice chips on the bedside table, offering him a spoonful of them.
As the ice melts on his tongue, Tyler tries finding his voice again, “ – Boone... w.. where’s.. where’s Boone -- ?” He starts coughing, a fit that reverberates pain in his chest.
“He’s right here.”
Boone is on his feet the second he hears his name, and at Tyler’s bedside with his hand tightening a grip on his, “Hijo de puta loco – “ He says with a chuckle.
“... my Spanish is a bit on the rusty side...”
Jo’s brows pinch, “Mine isn’t.”
“Sorry, Mama J... “ a heat blooms in Boone’s cheeks.
Rolling her eyes, Jo looks at Tyler again, whipping out her cell, “Hey, kid, so your uncle is on his way in – “ she rubs a palm against Tyler’s arm, “ – I’m gonna fill him in, okay?”
Jo leans in to press a kiss to her nephew’s forehead, then dips out of the room.
She comes through the ER lobby just as Bill is walking in. He embraces his wife and gives her a gentle kiss, and Jo takes him off to the side to explain what’s happened. Bill takes everything in strides—it’s hard for him, with Tyler specifically.
“The surgeon said wants to talk to both of us,” Jo tells him, and her expression is pulled into a neutral position. “There were complications during surgery he needs to discuss.”
Bill doesn’t like the sound of that. His stomach tightens, and his mind races. He’s squeezing her hand as the walk, and his searching his brain for a glimmer of optimism under that blanket of dread.
They meet with the surgeon in a private room.
He’s already seated; Bill and Jo take seats across from his desk, “During our initial exam, we found a small tear in his pericardium, but the echocardiogram revealed no further damage to his heart, and his lungs remain unaffected, however we did have to reset a couple of his ribs.”
“How long do you think his recovery will take?” Bill asks, trying to focus on the practical steps moving forward.
“To be honest,” the surgeon shifts, and clears his throat, “that part’s on Tyler. You should know though, that in addition, there was significant damage to his left kidney, which we accessed was the source of his bleeding. There were other complications...”
“What other complications?”
“Well, the kidney was too badly damaged to repair and had to be removed, and we’ll need to run analysis on his remaining one to access functionality.”
Bill takes a breath, God damnit, this is my sister’s kid, “And then what? You can live with just one.”
“Correct, and someone with a single kidney can generally live healthy lives, and blood panels should tell us durability of his remaining one.”
“How long should those take to come back?”
The surgeon leans back slightly, adjusting to the weight of the conversation. “The initial results should be in within the next 24 to 48 hours. Based on those, we’ll have a clearer picture and, if necessary, any medication or lifestyle adjustments will be addressed.”
~*~
20 October 2015 || Killeen, Texas – AdventHealth Central Texas
As the surgeon enters the room, the somber expression on his face immediately sets the tone for the conversation that is about to unfold.
Bill and Jo sit quietly, and brace themselves.
The door is shut, “Thanks for coming,” the man sinks down into a chair he’s pulled out from under the mahogany table, scoots himself in, and folds his hands in front of him, “Well, blood panels came back and, it’s not the news we hoped for. Tests indicate alarming signs of kidney failure.”
Bill exchanges a glance with his wife, his heart sinking at the words. It’s more like the irritation of a mosquito buzzing at his ears—this being one he can’t squash.
Jo clenches her hands in her lap, “What now?”
“Well, now,” the surgeon takes a deep breath, maintaining eye contact with both of them to convey his sincerity, “at this stage, the most viable option would be to consider dialysis, and we should also discuss a potential kidney transplant down the line.”
“How soon should this start?” Bill asks, keeping his focus across the table. Between the two of them—himself and Jo—he’s the worrier, “Wh – what’s going to happen... moving forward?”
“We need to start planning as soon as possible so that we can stabilize the situation and work towards the best possible outcome,” the surgeon replies, “I’m going to place a call with UNOS to get Tyler on the official transplant list. You’ll be meeting with a team of specialists who can guide you through the next steps and help manage this.”
Bill nods, trying to grasp the waves of emotions crashing inside him. He looks over at Jo to get a read on her face, but her resolve is very visible—if she’s got anything running through her brain right now, she’s not saying.
He squeezes her hand under the table, feeling a small comfort in the tangible reminder of their partnership, “How is Tyler handling all of this? Does he know?”
“He is aware of the situation, yes,”
Bill and Jo look confused, “How does this just... happen?”
“It’s possible to have kidney failure and not know it, especially in the early stages. It’s likely this started occurring well before his accident. There are few, or sometimes no noticeable symptoms at all until significant kidney function is lost.”
The air feels heavy. They sit in silence as they grapple the news. The reality soon settles in, turning their world upside down. It hits them like a storm, and hits them hard, and they’re left catching their breath.
“We don’t live here in Texas, doctor. Is it possible to get him transferred to a hospital in Arkansas?”
The surgeon nods, “Of course, we’ll get the paperwork put through immediately.”
Bill takes a deep breath and looks over at Jo, “Tell me what you’re thinking...”
“I...” she pauses, like she’s contemplating what she wants to say, but she’s not looking directly at him when she speaks again, “I’ll call the college, get some time off put in. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Bill sighs, “Jo, I can stay with Tyler. It’s fine.”
“It’s not, Bill.”