Slamming his door behind me, I make my way quickly to my trailer and shut myself inside, cursing myself for parking only a few spaces from him. In my rush to leave, I didn’t realize I’d grabbed the hat he bought for me. It’s too pretty to ruin, so I hang it gently on the door of my small closet. My phone buzzes in my hand.
Just let me explain, please.
Tipping my head back I attempt to hold off the fresh wave of tears threatening to break free, but fail when I drop my head down to read the next text.
I love you, Hannah.
Shutting my phone off I toss it on my bed, then strip out of my clothes that still smell like rain, and fields, andhim.Then Istep into my bathroom and start the shower, desperate to hide away from the world. I let my tears mix with the water, until my skin prunes and I hear the national anthem sounding from the arena.
Determined to not let Dean see what effect he has on me, I put on my fake smile, cringing at how I notice it now when I’m so used to a real smile when I’m around him. I nod to the other girls, but don’t join in the circle to small talk before our event is up. Thankfully, no one approaches me, even the staff worker who can’t be more than a few years younger than me avoids looking at me. Not that I’d ever do anything inappropriate, but I usually catch a few side eyes from the boys who work the rodeos. When my turn is up next, I take my place in the alleyway. Despite my best effort, I glance over to the chutes and see a familiar outline, standing in the shadows of the low lights. I can feel the weight of his grey eyes boring into me even from this far away. When my name is called, I settle in and push Dean from my mind, letting the familiarity of the ride overtake all my thoughts.
Queen rounds the barrels in record time, and we cross the line to a wild applause. Looking back at the screen, I jump up and down in the saddle.
“A new PR for our Utah girl, Hannah Harlow,” the announcer says over the crowd. My eyes find the chutes again. Dean looks directly at me with a hint of a smile on his perfect face. And I fucking hate him for it. I try to stay away from the arena after putting Queen away, but knowing I need to collect my check after the events are over, I make my way back into the stadium, stopping at one of the side gates and swing my leg over the top. The rodeo clown went over his time, which means he pushed the bare back rides until right now. Dropping my head with a sigh, I keep my eyes glued to the screen, not wanting to look directly at Dean in chute number four.
“Y’all are in for a treat tonight. Our very own homegrown Dean Wilder, show him some love!” The crowd goes absolutely ballistic when the camera pans to his black vest and hat, bent over the bronc. “He needs to hear it for the next eight seconds, y'all. Our boys got a doozy tonight, BlackJack has a record for tossing his rider within the first five seconds.” His voice fades out as I stare at the video screen. Regardless of how I feel about him, I can’t stomach watching him get hurt. The buzzer sounds, and from the moment the gate opens, I know something is wrong.
BlackJack spins tighter than I’ve ever seen a horse capable of. He throws Dean from side to side, and I can see glimpses of Dean’s face every time he’s angled my way. Usually, he wears a mask of indifference, but tonight his face is twisted with pain. I want to call it off, yell to the pickup men to get him off. Eight seconds goes by in a blink any other moment than in a rodeo. The timer nears four seconds, and I watch anxiously as Dean’s hat flies off his head, his messy brown hair whipping around him. Five seconds.
“Come on,” I whisper, slapping a hand on the metal railing.
Six seconds.
“Yes!” I jump up, straddling the fence as I hold my hands against my chest. Then in a split second, the world slows to a standstill. Dean hovers mid-air, the black fringe of his chaps floating around his legs as his arms spin, and then he’s flying. A collective gasp sounds from the audience as his black outline meets dirt, a cloud of dust flying up around his motionless body.
I look on in shock as the pickup men corral the bronc into the shoot, clearing the way for a paramedic to run to Dean’s side. My body is frozen for the few minutes he leans over Dean, and I swear I don’t breathe until I see him roll onto his back and slowly sit up, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Alright, folks,” the announcer says kindly, “let’s show this hometown boy some love, that was a tough ride. But hey, Dean,” he calls, waiting for Dean to glance up to the announcer’s booth, “you made it more than five seconds on BlackJack, and we’ll consider that a win.” Dean gives a weak nod before climbing to his feet and limping over to his hat. My shoulders sag with relief knowing that he’s alright, but it doesn’t stop the ache in my chest from my bruised and broken heart.
I stand across from some rider I’ve never met that night, collect my check, and quickly walk back to my trailer. When I can’t take the temptation any longer, I risk a look at Dean’s trailer through my drawn curtains. It’s dark, and that makes me irrationally angry. Where the hell does he think he can go after blowing up everything I thought we had together? Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I turn it on and ignore the stream of messages from him. A new message from Mallory pops up, and I open it.
Another amazing ride, I’m so proud of you! Get out and celebrate tonight!
Earlier, I overheard some of the other riders saying that they were going to go to a western bar called Calico later tonight. Running a hand along the curve of my stomach, I know drinking and getting drunk isn’t an option, but a distraction sounds like the perfect solution for my shitty day.
dean
The only thingwe as bronc riders try not to do when we get on the back of a horse is think. We train constantly to be able to shut our mind off from all distractions outside the chute. Nothing exists for those eight seconds except us and that horse, connected and ready to give a flawless ride. I knew from the moment Hannah stormed out of my trailer after my parents showed up that this whole night was completely and totally fucked. Watching Hannah give her best ride of the summer should have been cause for celebration, instead I watched from a distance as her face lit up with pride. Then those brown eyes found mine across the dirt and turned cold, reminding me how badly I’d messed everything up.
I felt her eyes on me when I got ready for my ride. Usually that ignites a competitive spark in me to give her a show, win for my woman. But tonight, it flooded me with guilt. And no matter how hard I tried to shut my mind off, I couldn’t get the image of her getting dressed in a rush when I stepped back in my trailer out of my mind. She tried to put on a mask of indifference, but I saw through it to the betrayal that I’d caused.I told you I lovedyou.Her words bounced around in my mind even before the gate opened. And when it did, I couldn’t focus on anything; not the calm that usually settles in my bones when the timer starts counting, not the sound of the horse breathing heavily with each jerk and turn, not even the sound of my heart pounding in my ears could distract me from that one word.Loved.The last thought that ran through my mind before my face collided with the ground was,does that mean she doesn’t anymore?
That thought still eats at me while I sit across from my family at a quiet diner down the street from the rodeo grounds. I’ve pictured this moment numerous times over the years that I’ve been away, what it would feel like to sit down for dinner with my family again. I always felt like it would be awkward, that they would hold some kind of hostility towards me for the way I treated Owen and then disappeared. But I can’t stop stealing glances at them as they chat about the other rides and how good it felt to watch me ride again. They don’t linger on the fact that tonight was my worst ride, ever. My dad keeps blaming it on some bullshit excuse we both know is a lie. I pictured so many outcomes from this moment, what I didn’t picture was how normal it would feel. How my heart would ache for the time that I let get in the way of countless dinners just like this one.
“Not hungry, son?” My dad tosses his napkin on his plate, pushing it away before settling his elbows on the edge of the table. He laces his hands together just like he did when Owen and I were teenagers and he’d have something important to say to us. I look down at my plate that I’ve hardly touched before setting my fork down and resting against the back of my chair. I take a minute eyeing my family that sits around me. My mom has that permanent smile on her face. She’s always been a ray of sunshine, like she just can’t find a reason to be unhappy. I feel my neck break out in a sweat, disappointed in myself for evergiving her a reason to be. Owen looks at me over the brim of his glass, washing down the last of his dinner.
“What is all this?” I say with a tip of my head. I sound like an asshole, but it’s easier than allowing myself to think that this dinner will end up with any kind of happy ending.They just wanted to see me. I’ll walk out of here and go back to my life on the road,I think to myself, watching as they look back at me with eyebrows pinched together in confusion.
“Dean, man. We missed you,” Owen says, dropping his shoulders like it’s no big deal.
“Yes, honey. It’s been a while and…” my mom drops her eyes to the table, “I just love you, and wanted to see you.” When she looks back at me, her smile is back in place, but it doesn’t light up her eyes like it usually does. My dad stays silent, his eyes never leaving mine, and I want to shift in my chair under their weight.
“Cut the shit,” I say, slapping the table in frustration. Peeking over my shoulder at the surrounding tables, I turn back to my family, running a hand through my hair and blowing out a breath. “It’s been five years since I’ve so much as said hello to any of you.” I try to keep the emotion out of my voice as I look between the three of them. “I ruined Owen’s future, disappointed Mom, and Dad…” Tears well in my eyes now. “Fuck,” I say hastily, wiping my hands over my face.
“Let me stop you right there.” Dad’s deep and tender voice vibrates through me. “You aren’t, and could never be, a disappointment to me or your mom.” Through blurry eyes, my mom nods back at me. “Nothing you could ever do or say would stop us from loving you, Dean. You are my flesh and blood. Which means you won’t always be perfect.” This earns a laugh from my mom, her hand resting on his shoulder. “But one day when you have children, you’ll understand that a few years is nothing but a blink when we have a whole lifetime tobe together.” I’ve only seen my dad cry a handful of times, and tonight is one of those times. Tears spill down his cheeks, but he doesn’t wipe them away, just lets them fall as if to show me that I don’t need to hide my emotions any longer. “What happened between you and Owen is between you both. But Dean?” His long arm stretches across the table, his palm open and facing up, waiting for me to grab it back. “You’re my son, and I love you.” Tears fall freely down my face, and the moment I lay my hand on my dad’s, he wraps his fingers around me. They feel just as I remember, calloused and rough from days spent working the ranch. I feel a weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying for the past five years wash off my soul.
“I’m so sorry.” I sob into my sleeve. I don’t feel Owen stand from the table, not until he’s behind me, one arm thrown around my neck, his chin resting on my shoulder.
With a forgiving squeeze, he speaks softly, “We’re good, big bro.” Years of memories flood through my mind, making my tears fall faster. We stay like this, one of my hands gripped tightly in my dad’s, the other taken by my mom, while Owen holds my shoulders, shielding me from view while I let the pain and guilt of all those missed moments fall away. After a while, my tears slow, my eyes red and swollen. My body aches and my mind is emotionally exhausted. Owen and Dad sit back in their chairs, but my mom flips my hand over and runs her fingers along the tattoo on the back of my hand. The last time they saw me, I’d had a bit more skin free of ink. Most of these I’d gotten while on the road, desperate to feel something,anything.
