“We broke up,” I burst out.
There’s no point in delaying. She’ll hear the tremor in my voice.
“Oh, honey,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
Deep down, I know she ain’t sorry. My dad is probably flipping off Shane in the background, elated that he’s gone. They never liked each other, and my father saw it as a fatal flaw that Shane rarely went out to the ranch to visit. He wasn’t much of a countryperson and found every excuse not to go. Nobody liked him anyway, so it was probably for the best.
God, what was I thinking, dating him in the first place?
I feel like I’m wearing clown shoes right now.
“I know you weren’t a fan,” I sniff, taking up my coffee and padding into the living area to sink down on the charcoal gray couch.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
“Well, I guess he didn’t,” I say, scowling at the empty wall where the TV used to hang. “We broke up over a bag of trash.”
“Well, it takes one to know one.”
“Mom.”
“Baby, he really wasn’t shit.” Her voice is gentle, maternal.
I set the phone down and hit the speaker button. “Too soon.”
“Alright, well, why don’t you come home for a bit?”
My eyes flutter shut. My parents are the managers of an enormous horse breeding and training operation in rural Montana, just a few hours from the city. My father runs the horsemanship part alongside the owner, Deacon Ryder, and my mother takes care of the household and manages the cooks who feed the wranglers. They’ve done that most of my life. I grew up in the wild, beneath the mountains hovering over the ranch. It’s my home, and the thought of going back is a balm to my sore heart.
It also feels like defeat.
I was so sure this life was what I wanted. I put hours of schooling, internships, and determination into it. Now that I’m here, living it, I keep having these moments where I doubt myself.
Breaking up with Shane isn’t helping.
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I say. “I just need a day or two to recover and clean up the apartment. It’s pretty empty. He took all hisstuff, chucked it in the back of his car in trash bags. There are nails hanging out of the wall where he took down the TV.”
“You want me to send your father up this weekend to move stuff around for you?”
“No, I’m really fine. I just need time.”
She doesn’t believe me, but she knows I won’t do anything until I’m good and ready. I stare down at my latte, foam already depleting. Maybe I’ll put this in the fridge and have it iced later. Right now, I just want to go back to bed.
So, I do. Bidding goodbye to Mom, I set the coffee aside and head to the bedroom. The sheets still kind of smell like Shane, a distinct bodywash scent, even though I washed them the day before yesterday. Luckily, we hadn’t had sex for at least a week, so the bedding still feels unsoiled.
Sniffling, I crawl under the covers.
It wasn’t like Shane was all that good in bed either. He was pretty okay, with little drive to improve. I’m open to trying all kinds of things, and I’m fine with doing it a little rough, but with the proper buildup. Shane just sort of went at it, jackhammering towards the inevitable result. That would have been fine if he had other qualities to recommend him, but in retrospect, he didn’t. Now that I’m looking back, he was the human equivalent of buying mini wheats and thinking they’re frosted, only to find out the entire box is just plain and tastes like a hay bale.
And here I was, like a fucking clown, pretending it was good.
I’ve got nobody to blame but myself for that.
CHAPTER THREE
BITTERN
The first month at Ryder Ranch is good. I don’t work much, but most of my time is taken up with follow-up appointments in town. Then, the facility clears me for real this time, saying I’m ready to get back to work. By the time the doctors release me from their grips without dozens of appointments in my schedule, it’s five weeks later, and I’m realizing my new life has started and I’m missing it.
