Sidelined

By Eden Monroe

In the space of eight seconds Tate McQuaid’s rodeo career was over. A superstar in one of the most dangerous extreme sports on the planet, his journey back begins after waking up from a coma.

There’s a lot to be made right from his reckless lifestyle, both inside and outside of the arena, and that includes reconciling with his ex-wife, Erica, although she’s now married to another man and wants nothing more to do with him.

Never afraid of a challenge, he intends to win her back despite the fact that the odds are stacked against him. But Tate doesn’t know any other way than to saddle up and tackle whatever needs tackling, head on, and hope he’s still standing when the dust settles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228622697

Eden Monroe

Eden Monroe loves giving voice to the endless parade of interesting characters that introduce themselves in her imagination. She writes about real life, real issues and struggles, and triumphing against all odds. A proud east coast Canadian, she enjoys a variety of outdoor activities, her cat, and a good book.

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Sidelined

By Eden Monroe

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228622697

Kindle 9780228622703

PDF 9780228622710

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print 9780228622727

BWL Print 9780228622734

LSI Print 9780228622741

Copyright 2022 by Linda Hersey

Cover art by Pandora Designs

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

Dedication

To Moira

Chapter One

The announcers voice boomed over the loud speakers in the large outdoor arena, the bleachers packed with rodeo fans, keen for the popular three-day event. "And now ladies and gentlemen we have Tate McQuaid from Alberta, Canada on Gunpowder. This is the rematch we’ve all been waiting for between the meanest, rankest bull on the circuit, and the number one bull rider in the world today. Gunpowder is a high-score draw, last year’s bucking bull of the year and he’s only been rode the full eight seconds once, and that was by McQuaid last month over in Wichita, the four-time world bull-riding champion. Can he make it two in a row?

Folks, this cowboy is the number one contender for another world title. He needs a high point ride this time out and Gunpowder is just the bull who can give it to him. Are you ready everyone? Fasten your seatbelts because the fuse is being lit as we speak!

As Tate secured his hand in the bull rope, his worn leather glove heavily rosined and the rosin heated to his satisfaction for ultimate grip, the animal could barely be contained in the bucking chute, twice nearly unseating the seasoned cowboy. Gunpowder, his testosterone in full throttle, tried to climb the walls of the narrow enclosure in his furious bid to be set loose into the arena and win this round.

Finally with Tate’s brisk nod that he was ready to rock and roll, the gate was pulled open. Gunpowder exploded into the arena, twisting, jumping, kicking, bucking, spinning in tight, quick circles, and changing direction with lightning speed, more than living up to his high-octane, dangerous name.

Okay folks, look at that explosion! Kaboom! exclaimed the announcer. "But it looks like Tate’s gonna get it done. Look at the way he’s controlling that bull, he’s going to get extra points for style all right. Go Tater!"

After what seemed like far too long the loud buzzer sounded, indicating the completion of the mandatory eight-second ride. Tate, victorious with a ninety-four-point ride, was about to make his signature flying dismount when his right spur caught high in the flat braided bull rope tied around the bull’s belly. Thrown off balance, Tate slammed into the arena dirt, now in the dangerous situation of being hung up as the bullfighters fought to cut him loose from the animal. And then in a sickening twist, Tate was slung forward, his head colliding with force against one of Gunpowder’s huge horns. At last he was cut free of the rope, but lay where he’d fallen, not moving.

He’s out! shouted one of the bullfighters to indicate that Tate was unconscious and completely at the mercy of the bull, the animal seemingly bent on evening the score with the cowboy who had bested him in the ride.

The broadcast play-by-play commentator, Hasty Stevens, a former champion bull rider himself, and broadcaster Kelvin Brown followed the action in the arena for broadcast media.

Oh he got hit hard, Hasty! It certainly appears as though he’s knocked out because he doesn’t seem to be moving at all and look out! Here comes Gunpowder again! he said as the bull, who had been momentarily distracted by the bullfighters, came back after Tate with a vengeance. It looks like he isn’t done with him yet. Did you see that? Tate just got stepped on. Hard. Twice. The bullfighters are doing their best to get the bull out of there, but Tate is pinned, and Gunpowder is really putting it to him. This is a dangerous situation! It’s hard to watch. First of all, he gets hung up, then he got hit right in the head with one of Gunpowder’s big ole horns. That’s like getting hit with a baseball bat and now he’s being trampled. The bullfighters are doing all they can to protect Tate, but Gunpowder isn’t in any hurry to leave.

"Oh my goodness! Thompson Stokes, one of the bullfighters just took a shot from Gunpowder! said Hasty. Wowser, but he’s back on his feet and he seems to be okay. This situation is going from bad to worse, very quickly. Here comes the pick-up man, Cody Mathers, on his bullfighting horse, Maverick. He’s going to get a rope on the bull, get him out of the arena, and now Gunpowder’s going after him! This is one of the worst wrecks I’ve ever seen! Gunpowder is a relatively new bull, only on the circuit for a little over a year, but he didn’t waste any time making a name for himself. He’s a tough bull with a mile-wide mean streak. He’ll try to hurt you if he can and like most bulls, he’s unpredictable."

Finally, the bull was roped and safely hazed by the pick-up man out of the arena and into an exit chute, the gate shut securely behind him.

Tate still lay motionless, immediately surrounded by arena staff, the blood seeping from his head wound clearly visible to the hushed crowd as the commentators continued. He still hasn’t moved, Hasty. This doesn’t look good at all.

No, it doesn’t look good, he was stepped on more than once right on his lower back. You can see it on the replay. He took quite a pounding. I don’t know how the protective vest would help in that smash up, but of course without it, things could easily be much worse. The sports medicine team is with him now and, Kelvin, I’d say he’s still out cold. He could be hurt bad.

"Yes … they’re coming with the backboard. They’ve put a collar on him and they’re moving him very carefully. I hate to repeat myself, but this does not look good for Tate at all. This is a terrible way to start today’s event. Professional rodeo has been called one of the most punishing sports in the world, and we’ve just seen that here today. It is an extreme sport."

The crowd was on its feet cheering amid thunderous applause in tribute to the fallen cowboy as he was carried from the arena, apparently still unconscious.

A true warrior of the sport, Tate had of course seen his share of injuries, but his fans knew that no matter how bad it was, it seemed he was always able to raise a hand to the crowd, and if he was able to walk at all, he’d make it out of the arena under his own steam.

The commentators were subdued. You know, said Hasty, Tate McQuaid is one of the toughest cowboys on the circuit, but we’re not getting a wave from him today. We will have an update on his condition as soon as it’s made available to us and in the meantime, all we can do is say a prayer that he’ll be okay as I’m sure the good people here today and within the sound of our voices, are doing as well.

Kelvin nodded, concerned. Tate is not just a superb athlete, but an all-around good guy, and it’s always hard when something like this happens. No matter who it is. Rodeo is like family, and we look out for one another, but as they say, and as difficult as times like this are, the not knowing, the show must go on, and next we have Rex Monahan getting ready to ride on Thunder Boomer….

* * *

The siren whooped its way to the nearest trauma centre as the rodeo bull-riding event continued on without Tate, bulls stomping a bovine cyclone as cowboys tested their talent and skill in one of the most dangerous sports in North America.

* * *

Hello, cowboy, nice to see you’re back with us again. How are you feeling?

Tate heard the voice from somewhere off to his left, but it took him a moment or two to get the cotton wool out of his head. His throat felt as though it was closed for business, a long tunnel through which words didn’t seem inclined to pass. He doubled down on the effort as he tried to focus on the machines that surrounded him, beeping and whirring, each with their own vital function. He’d been in enough rodeo wrecks to know he was in a hospital, but which one and why, escaped him at the moment. He looked up foggily at the nurse who had spoken to him, asking him how he was feeling. The answer was, in a word, awful. No, about a half-mile worse than awful. Falling out of an airplane without a parachute came to mind, the landing often the worst part of the whole deal. That was before the bull got you.

Where am I? he finally managed to ask through dry lips, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

You’re in the hospital, Mr. McQuaid.

He closed his eyes and even that was an effort, as was opening them again. That much I know, he answered her testily, which one?

If the tall thin nurse with the no-nonsense hairstyle took umbrage, she didn’t show it. She likely understood from experience that injured people were not at their best, and let the rest go. You’re at County General.

Do you know what happened to me?

You were in a rodeo wreck, you got stepped on by a bull, struck by a horn, flung around a lot. I was in the crowd watching with my husband when it happened; we’re both big rodeo fans. It was quite a wreck, but you had a great ride.

He closed his eyes again and opened them slowly, and that was about as much as he seemed capable of at the moment. How come I can’t remember?

It’s not uncommon to be confused when you wake up from a coma.

Now that got his attention, a shaft of light beginning to penetrate the fog. I was in a coma?

Yes, she said leaning over him. You were placed in a medically-induced coma. You’ve been coming around for the past few hours and I just put a call in to the doctor. She should be here in a few minutes. Dr. Prescott. She asked to be notified when you started to wake up.

He assimilated that information, or tried to, then closed his eyes again. He’d save it for the doctor.

True to her word, minutes later a woman in a stereotypical white lab coat with a stethoscope slung around her neck marched efficiently into the room and rested her hands on the bed rail. She didn’t seem inclined to smile, although she did not regard him unkindly, first glancing at the readings of the mechanical devices surrounding Tate before her gaze fell to the patient.

How are you feeling, Mr. McQuaid?

Not good. When can I get out of here? he asked, not much interested in conversation although he wasn’t sure where that question had come from because he had zero energy at the moment. The prospect of even climbing out of bed was daunting, let alone walking out of the hospital.

I’m afraid it will be awhile before you go home … or anywhere else. You suffered some very serious injuries, and it will take time to heal. You’ll need therapy.

Therapy for what exactly?

You have no recollection of your accident?

No, but the nurse here, he glanced to where the nurse had been standing, but she had evidently left the room. Well anyway, the nurse said I was in a wreck. Got stepped on by a bull.

That’s correct, what do you remember?

Bits and pieces of it were beginning to filter into his brain like confetti fluttering in the wind, the odd piece lodging long enough to create a memory fragment. And then more light, like a door slowly opening on a new day.

It’s starting to come back, I think. Yes, I remember, it was last night. My spur got hung up in the rope and I fell…. I was riding a bull, let me see … Gunpowder was his name … I think.

That’s very good. I’m not sure of the bull’s name but I’d say he came out on top in that encounter. He sure did a number on you, and it wasn’t last night, it was two weeks ago that you were brought into our ER.

His head was continuing to clear. I’ve been asleep for two weeks you’re telling me? I must have broken something … badly.

Yes, you did, Mr. McQuaid. Your back is broken in two places, you have broken ribs and a collapsed lung. You were also knocked unconscious and there was swelling in your brain. You had an ACL tear in your right knee as well, which has been put back together.

His senses were becoming sharper by the minute.

Has the rest of me been put back together too?

What can be, yes.

"What can be? What does that mean?"

Your lung was reinflated, your ribs are healing nicely, and you’ve had surgery to fix your back and your knee, but your concussion will take a while to get over. I was reading your chart. This isn’t your first concussion, or broken ribs, and you’ve had your ACL repaired before. You have some very interesting X-Rays.

I’ll bet.

He tried to move his feet under the sheets but was disheartened to discover that they weren’t working to his satisfaction. You said my back was broken, am I paralyzed?

No. At the present time there is some weakness, but with therapy, and time, you should regain the use of your legs.

"How much time?"

That’s difficult to say precisely, it could be days, weeks, months. Your back injury in the area around the spinal cord caused swelling, compression. The pressure is off now, and healing can take place. You’re still young and strong and in good physical condition and those are all very important factors in your favour. Also, you’re a competitor and that means you like to win; you have lots of fight in you so although I must be cautious in managing your expectations, I feel strongly that you will make a full recovery.

He let the information he’d just been given wash over him, sink in. But I’ll ride again, compete. He willed the fear from his eyes and hoped he succeeded. The last thing he wanted to appear was weak, pitied. Maybe it was a macho thing, who knew, but Tate McQuaid wasn’t in the habit of backing down … from anything.

You could very well ride again, yes, but it’s going to….

"Could very well. Like hell! I’ve been riding a horse since I was four years old. My own horse."

His Uncle Arthur, a rancher, had seen to that, and knowing his parents the way he did, Tate couldn’t imagine how said uncle had escaped litigation for introducing him so young to the thrill of horseback riding. His family had a natural aversion to it.

"I was about to say that it’s going to take some time for your back to be strong enough to do that. This accident has changed the way you may have to live your life, at least for a while, because you’ll be in a back brace for some time and as far as competing again goes, absolutely not. You reinjure your back and I doubt you’d be so fortunate a second time. You’ll have enough of a challenge ahead of you as it is, recovering from these injuries."

He thought for a moment, looking again at his legs stretched out in front of him under the covers, summoning what little strength he had to speak with conviction.

When can I get started? Today?

With therapy?

Yes, with therapy. I want to prove you wrong, doc. In fact, I will.

She did smile now, and he wondered why she didn’t do it more often because it softened her otherwise severe features. I would love nothing better than to be proved wrong, and there’s that fighting spirit I was talking about.

He considered that information for a moment. You’re saying I can prove you wrong?

That’s what I’m telling you. You can actually start physical therapy relatively quickly. Even then though you’ll have to proceed in moderation. Don’t go at it too hard, but of course your therapist will guide you. Slow and steady is the key. It is not a timed event. You’re not trying to beat the clock in this one. You’ll have to be content with steady improvement, not overnight success.

How badly was my spinal cord damaged?

It was bruised by a two-thousand-pound animal with very punishing hooves, but no, not severed or torn, although it was still a very serious injury.

He exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath. She was right, he had been lucky. He’d come back from some very painful injuries before, and he would again, although he did acknowledge, however reluctantly, that it was not a bottomless well. There were natural limits to his strength and physical endurance.

Time to change the subject. He didn’t care to dwell on the negative. Sure, he had some broken parts, but there were more that weren’t broken than were, so he’d focus on them. Glass half full.

Do you know if I’ve had any visitors?

Your Uncle Arthur and his wife, Yvonne, have been here as much as they can be, they said, considering the distance. Actually, they just left a short while before you woke up. They said they’re your only family in the west. I believe your rodeo travelling partner, Boggs Trueman, came to see you too, but he wasn’t allowed into Intensive Care. He’s quite the character. He said he had to go on down the line but that he’d be back when you got out of the ICU.

Tate reached up and touched the stitched laceration on his scalp. I was asleep anyway, but couldn’t you have let him in to see that I was still in one piece?

A statement was released on your condition, but its just family allowed in here. Hospital rules.

Family. He said the word thoughtfully. Were my parents here? Did they call?

She shook her head appearing reluctant to do so. Not that I’m aware of. Of course, I’m not here all the time, but….

And then he remembered he didn’t have them listed as emergency contacts. He didn’t have anyone listed as an emergency contact, or did he? Of course, Uncle Arthur…. There were obviously still cobwebs.

He thought about his parents. If they were contacted every time he had an injury…. He usually didn’t end up in intensive care because that certainly looked like where he was at the moment, hooked up to a forest of medical equipment. His parents were probably immune to the whole injury thing by now anyway. Since they didn’t follow his sport, they’d have no way of knowing he’d been hurt because he’d made his uncle swear he’d never make that call. Only if it was bad enough that he wouldn’t survive and that obviously didn’t include this time. Good, leave it that way, it was easier. Of course, why worry them? Besides, they were busy professionals and didn’t have a lot of time for things like rodeo. It was nowhere near their wheelhouse, not even in the same area code.

His mother and father were lawyers, and then there was him, their only child, and heir apparent to their firm … and he was a cowboy. Way to tarnish the good family name. He hadn’t fit the mould from the get go, leaving home when he was eighteen and going west to live with his uncle who had moved to Alberta years before. That’s where his cowboy dream came true, thanks to Uncle Arthur who owned a fair-sized ranch in the foothills. A natural athlete, Tate had taken to professional bull riding like a duck to water.

No, as far as his family was concerned, they were not close, awkward Christmas visits included. That’s usually when they’d try to talk some sense into him, trying to convince him to attend law school.

He lifted up his free hand, briefly. At least that still worked. Don’t worry about it, doc, the lack of visitation I mean. I’m a bit of a loner and loners don’t usually have anyone sitting a bedside vigil. I do have friends, but they’d all be away somewhere on down the line, rodeoing.

She pursed her lips. Still, I understand there have been plenty of inquiries about you, despite the media release. You do have quite a fan following. We’ve been saving the cards and gifts … and marriage proposals, for when you get out of intensive care, so take heart, you are very much loved.

His smile started slowly and kept going until it finally fit. Thanks for that, doc. When can I get out of intensive care at least? I’m awake now.

It won’t be long before you can be moved to the Step Down Unit, then into the general population.

Into a private room?

If that’s what you prefer. You want to be alone with all that fan mail?

He thought for a moment. Fan mail was great, but he’d always found it a formidable task to go through it. Nancy Murphy, a friend of his travelling partner, had volunteered to take care of anything like that for him a few years ago and he had gratefully accepted, seeing that she was well compensated for the work. How much is there anyway?

A lot, excluding I would imagine what’s online. I’ll be wanting your autograph for my grandson when you’re up to it. That would make him very happy.

He smiled again and it was beginning to feel good. Sure thing, doc. What’s your grandson’s name?

She laughed.

What’s so funny?

Bubba. His real name is Franklin, but he wants to be called Bubba.

He laughed too, although that did hurt his ribs, a lot. Now that’s a great rodeo name. Is he into it? How old is he?

He’s seven and yes, he’s really into it. He has one of your posters on his wall. He’s been calling me, asking me to bring him in to see you.

This little guy sounded like something else, and Tate could well remember how he had felt at that age. That’s all he’d thought about, horses, and maybe someday competing in a rodeo. He’d put in the hard slogging once he’d moved to his uncle’s ranch, aware that he was coming from behind, because such opportunities were not as readily available in the east as they were in the west. He’d attended bull-riding clinics and caught up fast. Everyone said he was a natural in the sport.

Can he come in here? You said just family, but….

She shook her head. No, only family, I’m afraid. No fans, even seven-year-old grandsons of your attending orthopaedic surgeon. But after you’re out of here, would you like to meet him?

You sure he’d be up to seeing me like this? I don’t want to scare him.

"I’ll manage his expectations. He’ll be okay. He’s a tough little kid, amazing really, and acts much older than his age. You’ll like him, I do."

He grinned as he continued to feel more like himself. The doctor too seemed to be enjoying the exchange, her earlier brusqueness having softened considerably.

You have to like him, you’re his grandmother. Isn’t that how it works?

She smiled. "Not necessarily. I love my grandchildren dearly, but I don’t always like how they act. But that’s neither here nor there, you’re the big deal rodeo star. His grandfather and I are just doctors."

He was serious for a moment. You don’t think I’d be a bad influence on him, me being a cowboy and all?

Why would you say that? That child has stars in his eyes when he talks about you. Believe me, you’re his hero.

What if he wanted to do what I do someday? I’ll bet the bloom would be off the rose then.

"I’m an orthopaedic surgeon. I’ve put too many rodeo people back together to be thrilled that my grandson could one day be one of them, lying in an operating room, or worse, but if that’s what he chose to do I’d support him all the way. Of course, I would. However, I would lobby like never