My body moves on autopilot, leaving my mind to spin out. I know I should be helping with the ranch, but it’s Saturday and Izzy is spending the day working with the horses with Madison. I’ve made myself scarce, telling myself it’s to give them some mother–daughter time. The truth is, I’m hiding. Jake and Chase arrived back from training camp first thing this morning, their energy electric, and being around them is like pressing on a bruise. But when Chase asks for help, I’m always gonna say yes, no matter how much football feels like a wound that won’t heal.
I hear footsteps behind me and call out without turning around.“First pre-season game next weekend. You ready?”
“First game playing as one of the Stormhawks.”Chase jogs up, scooping the ball into his hands. “Yeah, I’m ready, but I’m nervous. I don’t want to let the fans down. They’re expecting more Sullivan magic.”
“You know you’re the best out of the three of us, right?” I shoot him a look, meaning every word and feeling nothing but pride. “Always have been.”
He shrugs, but his smile is wide. We fall into the rhythm of the routine. Chase lines up as quarterback and I run out routes—short, sharp sprints where I break hard to the sideline, reaching out as Chase sends the ball spiraling perfectly into my hands.
We do it again. And again. Until sweat is dripping down my back and I feel more alive than I have done in weeks. When we break for water, Iglance over at Chase. I haven’t exactly been around for him much lately, I think with a tug of guilt. “You thought any more about contacting your mom?”
Chase doesn’t answer right away. I’m the only one he’s told about this and I tread carefully. He mentioned a few months back he was thinking of tracking her down. He said it as a throwaway comment and I was careful not to react, just accept. Support.
We line up again, tossing the ball back and forth before Chase answers. “Still thinking.”
“You know Mama and Jake would be fine with it, right? It’s not us holding you back.”
He nods, looking off toward the tree line. “It’s not that. I just don’t know if it’s what I want. Life’s good. Really good. It’s only that sports psychologist I saw last year—she said I’m carrying too much from my past. Says I’m holding back. I don’t know if it’s true, but sometimes it feels like I have more to give.”
He pauses before adding, “And after what happened with my dad…” Chase shrugs, like it’s nothing, but the tension in his jaw says otherwise.
Everyone knows the story by now. Jamel Bishop played one season with the Stormhawks when he met Chase’s mom, Leanna. A one-night stand. Nine months later, Chase was born. Jamel gave her a wad of cash and vanished. His career nosedived soon after, and he stayed out of the picture—until Chase lit up the league with the Trailblazers.
Then Jamel reappeared all over socials, bragging about how proud he was of “his boy,” and angling for a reunion. He pushed for their first meeting to happen on a morning talk show. When Chase refused and said he’d only do it if it stayed private, it quickly became clear it wasn’t Chase that Jamel wanted—it wasairtime and a shot at a commentating career. The whole thing fell apart and Jamel disappeared again, but it rattled Chase for a while.
“What if it’s the same thing again?” he says quietly. “What if I reach out to my mom and she only wants a relationship with me because of who I am?”
“She hasn’t reached out, though, has she?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He shakes his head. “No. And that’s what I keep thinking. Jamel never wanted me. That part was clear. But my mom… she did.She just couldn’t cope. And a part of me wants to find her. To tell her that leaving me here—on Mama’s doorstep—was the best thing she could’ve done. And that I’m OK. Better than OK. That I’m grateful.”
I nod but keep quiet. Moments when Chase drops the jokes are rare. He’s like a horse I don’t want to spook. I almost groan at the thought. Using horse analogies when I’m still too much of a coward to go near them on my own ranch. Dad always said horses can sense emotions. What if they see through the bullshit, see me for what I really am?
Chase drops back, lining up for another drill, telling me he’s done talking. I know he’ll open up again when he’s ready. I promise myself I’ll make more time for him. I’ve been way too focused on my own problems lately and it hasn’t exactly done me any good.
He’s about to throw me the ball when there’s a shout from the far end of the field. We turn to see a little hand in the air, dark blonde curls, and Madison’s skipping run. “Will you teach me to play, Dylan? Please.If I keep eating my vegetables, I’ll be as big as you,” she says, lifting her stick-thin arms and flexing. “And then I’ll be a great football player too.”
I can’t stop the laugh bubbling up. Like when the fence post landed on me and Izzy and our fight suddenly felt ridiculous. The moment—a pinprick of light in a pitch-black night.
I drop to a crouch so we’re face to face. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Chase jogs over and high-fives Mad. “Here you go,” he says, placing the ball in her hands. “I’d better get back to the city. You coming to watch the game next week, Dyl?”
I hesitate, insides tightening. For most of my recovery, I avoided watching the Stormhawks games. It was too damn painful watching from the skybox, knowing I should’ve been on the field. But this is Chase’s first game with the team, and there’s no way I’d miss it. “You know it,” I reply, catching the way his smile widens and knowing it’s the right thing to do.
When it’s just me and Mad, I set up some simple drills like I’ve done with the kids in the Stormhawks outreach program. Run to the cone, spin, throw. She fumbles the ball a few times, but she’s a quick study and she keeps practicing, talking the whole time, asking questions, sharing details of her life—campfires and roasting marshmallowsand friends.
“Did you used to play every day?” Madison asks as I’m helping her readjust her grip on the ball.
“Pretty much,” I say. “Mama used to say we only came inside to eat and sleep.”
Madison grins. “Like me and Mom with the horses.”
“Exactly.”
“Mom said we might not find another ranch when our time here is up,” Madison says. “I don’t want to live with Grandma and Granddad in the city and be away from ranching, but Mom says we might have to.”
For the first time, reality hits. I’ve been seeing the ranch as my problem. My mistake. There’s four weeks left on the six-week clock Bill set when I agreed to hire Izzy, and I haven’t lifted afinger to find a buyer or figure out what I’m gonna do. I’ve buried my head in the sand like a coward. But this ranch isn’t just about me. It’s not just the symbol of my failures or whatever future I’m supposed to be figuring out. It’s about the horses. It’s about Izzy, and about Mad, too. I think back to the look in Izzy’s eyes when I didn’t answer her questions this week. Didn’t want to think about the answers.
