Now, after a third consecutive eight-hour day of driving, as I sat in the parking lot of the community center, I still wasn’t ready to face the conversation.
I checked my texts and saw that one was a link to a YouTube video. I pressed it and saw a face that sucker punched me ten times harder than when I’d passed the town welcome sign. Grayson Locke filled the screen, which was easy to do since he had such a big head, both metaphorically and literally. His hat size was seven and three quarters and his ego was the size of Texas.
Grayson was the newest rock star on the rodeo scene, and reporters and fans had dubbed him “The next Holden Reed,” which neither of us appreciated. Even though I knew I wasn’t going to like what I saw, I pressed play.
“Grayson, is it true that you want Punisher’s next ride to be yours after Holden Reed’s career ending wreck?” A reporter asked from off screen.
“Hell yeah, I do! Reed was an old man that stayed in the saddle too long. He was washed up. I’m going to show—”
I closed out the screen. The last thing I needed right now was to hear that jackass’s opinion of me. I shouldn’t care what a kid that wasn’t even old enough to have a beer and had only gotten hair on his balls a few years ago had to say about me.
Still, as I sat in my truck listening to the crickets serenading me, I couldn’t help but face the facts. I’d found several grey hairs in my beard and my thirtieth birthday was just three months away. I’d never been a fan of birthdays, even when I was a kid.
When I was younger, I’d never liked the attention on me, and once I got older, I’d hated them because it had always felt like a countdown to the end of my career. There weren’t any cowboys competing at my level in their forties and fifties, and not many in their thirties.
I was contemplating the reality that I wasn’t going to be competing in my thirties when the screen on my phone lit up the darkened cabin of my truck and it vibrated with a new text message. I looked down and saw that it was from Luciana, the woman that I’d been seeing for the past two years. It wasn’t serious. We didn’t have any labels or commitment. She was a model, so she travelled a lot. I was on the road forty plus weeks a year. We enjoyed each other’s company when we saw each other and didn’t ask questions when we didn’t. It had basically been the perfect relationship. But just like my career, it was over.
She’d come to the hospital once to see me, but I’d asked her not to come back. She hadn’t. This was the first time I’d heard from her since then.
Luci: Call me. We need to talk.
That seemed to be a running theme in my life. Everyone wanted to talk. Unfortunately, talking was the last thing I wanted to do.
Which brought me back to wanting to drive out the way I came in. If I walked through the doors of the community center, I’d have to do the one thing I didn’t want to do. Talk.
I might be able to dodge people in Los Angeles. Doctors. Management. Friends. Luciana. But here, in Wishing Well, there was no avoiding anyone. Everyone knew everyone’s business.
My mind raced trying to figure out what my next move should be. I could go somewhere no one knew me. I had enough money that I didn’t need to worry about work for at least a couple of years, depending on how frugal I was.
I could find a cabin in the mountains somewhere. Away from everyone. I wouldn’t have to see the pitying looks on people’s faces. Or hear their words of encouragement. Sympathy and platitudes might help some people, but not me. I didn’t want to hear anything about riding not being who I was, or that this was going to open up a new chapter for me.
All my life, my identity had been the rodeo. From my first competition as a Little Wrangler at five years old, where I’d started off mutton busting, or riding sheep, it had been all I lived for. And now I’d never get on the back of a bull again. I may never get on the back of a horse again. The person I’d been was gone.
I wasn’t sure what all the stages of grief were, but I was pretty sure I’d been experiencing them. And I’d be damned if I wanted anyone to witness it. Coming home had been a bad idea. I needed to get out of here. I put my finger on the ignition button when something stopped me before I pushed it.
It was an angel. Or at least the closest thing to an angel on earth I’d ever seen.
Olivia Calhoun walked out of the double doors. Her long golden hair shimmered under the moonlight. She held one finger up to her ear as she talked on the phone. I watched her full lips move as she spoke animatedly into the phone. She was wearing a light blue dress that hugged her hourglass shape.
My heart pounded in my chest and I found it difficult to inhale or exhale. It happened a lot around that girl. For some reason, breathing became a difficulty.
I hadn’t seen her in years and hadn’t spoken to her in close to a decade. On the rare occasions that I did return home, I’d done my damnedest to avoid her. She was the only thing I’d ever loved as much as the rodeo. But I’d stayed the hell away from her because she was perfect, in every way, and she deserved a hell of a lot better than me.
I watched, mesmerized, as she disconnected the call and put her phone in her purse. Then she inhaled slowly as she tipped her chin up and waved her hands in front of her face. As soon as she did, I had a sense of déjà vu. I’d seen her do the same thing when she was eight and her dog, Brutus, got hit by a car.
I’d been at her house playing Street Fighter with Bentley when her mom got the call that Brutus had been hit by a car and was being rushed to the vet by a neighbor.
All the kids had wanted to go to the vet with Mrs. Calhoun, but only Brady, the eldest Calhoun, was allowed to. Bentley had to stay home to watch the girls, his twin sisters Molly and Olivia.
Molly had broken down in tears, but Olivia had just walked stoically out into their backyard. I’d followed her outside and found her doing the same thing that she was doing now. When I asked if she was okay, she’d sniffed back her emotion and told me she was fine.
I found out later that she had a thing about people seeing her cry. If I had to guess, her issue with it probably stemmed from her oldest brother Brady calling her and Molly crybabies. He was such an asshat.
My eyes were still glued to her as she lowered her chin, took in a deep breath, ran her hands down the sides of her dress, turned on her heels, and walked back inside.
Without thinking about it, I grabbed my wallet and phone from the console, and got out of the truck.
It looked like I was coming home after all.
Chapter 2
Olivia
“Always believe that somethin’ wonderful is about to happen.”
~ Maggie Calhoun
As I walked back into the auditorium, I put my head down and hoped that no one would be able to tell that I’d been tearing up. Thankfully the entire room of two hundred people or so was focused on the newly engaged couple, Jackson Briggs and Josie Clarke, and not on my red-rimmed eyes.
I’d never been comfortable with anyone seeing me cry. Some people had dreams where they would be naked at work or at school; I had nightmares where people would see me crying.
I walked past the crowd gathered around Jackson and Josie and beelined it back to my sister, who may not have even noticed that a proposal had just happened.
“I thought you were leaving for a hot date.” My identical twin Molly didn’t even look up from her phone as she made the observation.