Izzy, though—she expects so damn much from me. She doesn’t care I was a pro athlete at the top of my game two years ago, or how much I’m hurting right now. All she cares about is the horses and keeping my ass in check, and that infuriates me.So why is it so hard to stop thinking about her?
I groan and turn onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the sun is already creeping up over the foothills, promising another scorching day. I still don’t know what I’m doing or whatI want. Only that it isn’t this. But hell… I might as well do something while the team is in Arizona.
Then what?
The question needles. Am I going to spend the rest of my life lurking on the sidelines, watching a life that isn’t mine? I shove the question aside, throw back the covers, and head for the shower, bracing myself for another day of trying not to screw everything up. Even working with Izzy is easier than trying to answer questions about my future.
Ten minutes later, I’m heading downstairs, catching the scent of fresh coffee and Mama’s lavender laundry detergent. The stairs creak beneath my weight, old wood and familiarity. The white walls are lined with framed photos of our childhoods. I’ve passed them so many times they barely register, but something makes me look today. I stare at a photo of me and Dad, standing side by side with a new black foal, born that morning and legs like sticks. I’m wearing Dad’s old cowboy hat and looking on top of the world. Mama used to call me Dad’s shadow around the ranch. I loved watching him work the horses, making every task look effortless.
I take another step, and two photos along, it’s me, Jake, and Chase—all three of us wearing our football jerseys and padding. Dad no longer in any of the photos. I see the way our smiles don’t quite reach our eyes, and even though it’s been nearly two decades without Dad, a strange lump of emotion lodges in my throat. I swallow it down and keep moving. I wonder if he’d think ranching was a mistake, too.
Downstairs, I pass the living room. Plump cushions on the old leather couches slouch like they’ve seen one too many family movie nights. The stone fireplace stands cold and empty, but I can still picture Chase sitting in front of it last Christmas, tossing popcorn into Buck’s eager mouth with Jake beside him, lovesickand pining for Harper when they hadn’t figured out what they were yet.
Buck greets me in the hall, eyes bright and tail wagging.
“Ready for another day of annoying the hell out of me?” I say, running a hand over Buck’s back and not meaning it for a second. Buck has taken to staying by my side on the ranch, following me from the barn to the paddocks while I do the repairs Izzy asks for. Both of us keep our distance from the horses.
Mama is pouring coffee when I step into the kitchen. The air smells like baking bread and I don’t need to open the oven to know Mama is making my favorite sourdough. A flood of emotions hits. It’s love for this woman, who is always one step ahead, who has always had our backs and shown us love in more ways than most people would think possible. But even this is laced with resentment and the knowledge that I’m not where I’m supposed to be in my life. I know Mama’s love is unconditional, but there’s still a small part of me that feels like I’ve let her down.
“Morning, baby,” Mama says, handing me a cup of steaming black coffee.
I mumble a thanks, pretending not to notice those blue eyes assessing me.
“You OK?” she asks.
“Yep,” I reply, hiding behind my mug and taking a sip that’s way too hot. I recognize the set of Mama’s face. She’s got something to say and I’m not gonna like it.
Mama leans against the counter. “What’s your plan, Dylan?”
I shrug and stay quiet. She knows I don’t have one.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but there’s plenty of other ways for you to keep doing what you love with football.”
“Mama,” I warn, already knowing where this is going.
“Let me say my piece, please,” she says. “It’s OK to admit you made a mistake buying these horses. Find a buyer and moveon. You always loved coaching kids in the outreach program. If that’s what you love, any high school in Denver would kill to have you as their coach. There’s still a future for you in football. I’ve been getting calls all week from TV and radio asking if you’ll become a guest expert.”
I shake my head. “No.” It’s an effort to keep the frustration from my voice. No matter what, I won’t lash out at Mama. “I love you, Mama,” I say, “and I know you’re trying to help, but if I can’t be part of the Stormhawks, then I want nothing to do with football. And I don’t need you trying to fix this.”
Her eyes narrow, her voice firm. “Stop being so stubborn and take some time to think about this?—”
“Are you sure it’s me being stubborn?” I cut in. “No offense, Mama, but I don’t need an agent anymore. You need to focus on Jake and Chase. I’m fine.”
“But, Dylan?—”
“No.” I cut her off again. “You’re fired.” My words land in the silence. I hadn’t meant to say it like that, but now it’s out, it feels right. I swallow down the sting of failure threatening to take over, and I soften my voice. “Just be Mama now. OK?”
I take her hand in mine. It’s tiny and warm. For the first time I see the exhaustion in her face, the lines that weren’t there a few years ago.
“You’ve been the best sports agent I could’ve asked for. I played for my dream team. I earned a lot of money doing what I love for a long time, and the only reason I’m not going to spend the rest of my life walking with a limp is because of everything you did to help me recover from my ACL tear. I know you’re going to try and fight this, but please don’t. My life in football is over. I’m struggling to accept it, but you need to do the same.”
Mama straightens, lifting her chin, and for a second I think she’s going to argue. But then she lets out a slow breath. “OK,”she says softly. “If that’s what you want. Just as long as you know I’ll always be here for you.”
“I do,” I say. “Now quit hanging around the ranch. Haven’t you got meetings with the management staff and with sponsors to be having?”
She hesitates.
“Go. I’ll be fine,” I say, not sure if I mean it, but knowing it’s the only way to get Mama to accept I don’t need her as an agent anymore.
