Four years younger and somehow three steps ahead when it comes to charm and talent. Chase got drafted to the Kansas City Trailblazers straight out of college and made it look effortless. But I’ve seen behind the jokes. I’ve seen the hours he puts in, the way he plays like he’s got something to prove.
Technically, Chase is our cousin—Mama’s sister couldn’t cope as a single mom, and our parents took Chase in when he was two and I was six. I still remember the shy little boy with the big Afro who barely spoke. It didn’t take long for him to find his confidence on the ranch, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s never been anything but my little brother.
Buck barks, leaping out the back door at the rumble of a truck engine, followed by two car doors slamming. A second later, as though my thoughts have summoned him, Chase bursts into the kitchen like a hurricane, Buck dancing around him. My youngest brother is a fireball of energy, as usual, tall and athletic, with a smile that screams he’s one second away from causing trouble. There’s a new confidence to him since he came home to Denver in the spring. Like he’s right where he’s meant to be. And I was supposed to be right there with him.
My head spins. Too many thoughts. Too much pain. I need time to process the last twenty-four hours, but with this family, it ain’t gonna happen.
“You bought horses, Dyl?” Chase’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “This is awesome!”
I drop my head into my hands. “Not now, Chase.”
“Come on, man.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “This is incredible. You going full cowboy?”
I bite back another groan.
“Dylan Sullivan.” Mama’s voice carries from the open doorway, cutting through the air like a referee’s whistle. At home, she’s all oversized Stormhawks jerseys and overalls, pinning her gray-blonde bob out of her face. But right now, she steps into the kitchen in loose, smart slacks, a navy blouse, and a matching blazer, looking every inch the unstoppable sports agent she is. She’s never said, but I’m certain she has plans for all of us when we hang up our cleats, and drunk-buying horses isn’t part of it. “What have you done?”
Her expression is a mixture of exasperation and disbelief, her steel-blue eyes narrowing as she looks from me to the paddocks and the grazing horses beyond. For a second, it’s like she’s seen a ghost. The last time horses stood on this land, she was newly widowed, doing everything she could to hold it together for three boys who had no idea how much she was hurting. Mama’s feelings about making this place a working ranch again never crossed my mind last night. A lot of things didn’t.
Suddenly, I feel like a kid again, fumbling over my words. “I… well… last night… Bill Brooks came into the bar and well… I didn’t mean to?—”
Mama cuts me off, her tone stern but not cruel. “You own eighteen horses. A ranch hand is arriving any minute. And you have no clue what you’re doing. Does that about sum it up?”
I nod, unable to argue and not a bit surprised she knows as much as I do. Probably more.
She lets out a long, measured sigh. She never could stay mad with any of us for long. It’s just usually Jake or Chase incurring that sharp look. She steps toward me and I feel her worry wash over me. Mama has been by my side every day of the last twenty-two months, making sure I’ve had every available resource for my recovery, even talking her way into an ACL specialist clinic in LA with a three-year waiting list. And yet, I feel myself bristle. I know what’s coming.
“Coach called me yesterday after the meeting. I’m sorry, Dylan. I know it wasn’t what you wanted.”
I dip my head, unwilling to see the pity I know is written across her face—or worse, my brothers’ faces. “You don’t sound surprised,” I reply.
Mama’s arms wrap around me, pulling me into a hug. She’s petite, her arms barely reaching around my shoulders, but her hold is strong. “I hoped I was wrong,” she says quietly.
“As if that ever happens.”
“There’s a lot to discuss,” she says, moving to the counter and reaching for the coffee pot. “This doesn’t have to be the end of your life in football.”
My head shoots up, the words rushing out, still edged with a bitterness I don’t think will ever leave me. “If I’m not playing football for the Stormhawks, I want nothing to do with the game. Don’t set me up with commentating gigs or whatever else you’re thinking. I don’t need it and I don’t want it.” I stand then. The weight of my disappointment and the silence from Jake and Chase are too much.
If Mama’s surprised by my outburst, she doesn’t show it. “Right now, it looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway,” she says.
Jake and I used to talk about picking up where Dad left off someday, but it was just a pipe dream. Something we said after a few beers to feel close to him. I never really thought we would, and right now it’s the last thing I want.
Mama’s voice softens like she can see where my thoughts have taken me. “You might’ve signed the deal drunk, but you’re sober now, so figure it out.”
“We’ll help,” Chase says. “Won’t we, Jake?”
I glance gratefully at Chase, even if his brand of “help” won’t stretch far. Where Chase goes, chaos follows. On the football field, he shakes up plays and throws the opposing team into confusion. But off the field is a different story.
Mama shakes her head before Jake can reply. “You, Chase, are only here when you run out of food in your apartment and want feeding. Jake and Harper come and go, too. And you’ve both got the high-altitude training camp in Arizona coming up. Not to mention pre-season games starting in August.”
The reminder is a kick to the balls.
“This is Dylan’s mess,” Mama says. “He needs to be the one to clear it up. And this ranch isn’t going to run itself.”
Clear it up. She means find a buyer, and fast. She’s right, but I have no idea where to start.
Mama’s words are still ringing in my ears when something outside catches my eye. A woman is standing in one of the paddocks, her jeans and white tank top dusty, a dark blonde braid swinging down her back as she rubs the nose of one of the horses.
