“And Logan? You’re not a player—or whatever the kids say these days. Not really. Not deep down. That was never who you were. I’m not sure what happened the few years after you left, but I imagine it had something to do with a woman. Maybe you got scared?”
My gaze was stuck, zoned in on the handle of the jockey box, even as I felt his eyes on me. I couldn’t blink, couldn’t move. I could only stare at the handle while trying to keep the heat burning the back of my eyes from turning into liquid.
“I know I give you a hard time, son. It’s always been our way. The teasing.” He paused and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “But truthfully, I love you so much. You know that? You’re the best son I could have asked for. If your mom and I need you for something, you come at the drop of a hat. You’ve got an army of friends who’d do anything for you. You work hard, and it shows. You’re good to your sisters. I’m so proud of the man you are. Of you. Nobody’s perfect, alright? Everyone makes mistakes, and that includes you. But that doesn’t mean you are any less deserving of a happy life. Own up to your mistakes. Do better. Be better. You’re worthy of happiness, Logan. And if that includes a woman you love, go get her.”
Somewhere in the middle of the speech I would remember for the rest of my life, I released the pain from my eyes. It got too hard trying to hold it all in.
It got too hard trying to hold it allback.
There were holes and cracks in my armor that filled immediately at his words, like a brick load on my soul had been lightened. I hadn’t realized that so much of what I needed was going to come from my dad. Hadn’t seen that coming. That even after going down a path that was never something he would have wanted for me, he was still proud of me. Still loved me. He had never stopped. When were you too old to need your dad?
Suddenly, we were two grown men, wiping tears in a dirty old truck on our way to check cattle. What was it about these farm trucks? And for the record, I did see my dad brush back a few tears, though if I brought it up, he would surely tell me he was swatting at a fly.
“You got all that, son?”
I gave him a weak salute. “Yes, sir.”
He opened the door to exit but turned back to me. “And just so we’re clear. I still like her a lot better than you, and if you hurt that little girl, there are a thousand places on my ranch I can bury a body that not a soul will ever know about.”
I nodded slowly, a small smile returning to my face. “I think that’s pretty clear.”
“Good. Enough of this. Let’s go check those cows.”
* * *
Once,on a family trip when I was a kid, we stopped at this hot spring in eastern Idaho. They had made an Olympic-size swimming pool out of the spring and, with it, added an enticing high dive. Naturally, as a cocky fifteen-year-old boy in a family of girls, I signed the waiver, got my wristband, and ran the steps all the way to the top. I strode across the large platform, chest puffed out, to peer over the edge.
Panic assailed me.
My hand clung to the railing. I felt dizzy as my eyes adjusted to the height. My family members were tiny specks in the pool, waving at me and calling excitedly for me to jump. To let go. I got ahold of myself, parroted around, and cried wolf several times. Each time thinking I would jump. Each time stopping just before I let myself. My high-dive career eventually ended before it began, and I was asked to either, ‘Jump for the love of all that was holy,’ or kindly see myself back down so that the braver among the crowd could take their turn. I walked down, my breath coming in easier with each step that brought me closer to the ground.
I’d been stuck on the high dive for years, prancing about, showing off how high I was, enjoying the view, putting on a good show, but, in the end, too afraid to jump. The longer I stayed up there, the more comfortable I became. After a while, the people on the ground knew I was never going to jump, and so they stopped expecting me to. They stopped watching. They went on with their lives. I stopped having expectations for myself, and everybody else followed suit.
Now, somebody else had joined me at the high dive, holding my hand, willing to jump with me.
If only I could let myself go.
I’d once opened up the most vulnerable part of myself to somebody I thought I had loved and had been rejected. So I had resigned myself to a life of bachelorhood. I would be the fun uncle who takes his nieces and nephews on trips and hangs out with them. Maybe when I hit forty or forty-five, I’d marry a divorcee with a few kids mostly grown. Hopefully, I’d look pretty good as a second choice. And maybe they’d be fine to settle for me. Less risk that way.
Except, now I found myself wanting to take a risk all over again. To jump. This time, the reward was exponentially higher. Settling with someone years later down the road wasn’t enough for me anymore. I was tired of playing a low-risk game. I’d been happily playing cards with a deck of only ten and under. But now, I found myself wanting a queen.
And there was one person to blame for it all.
Freaking Jake.
28
Tessa
Dear Diary,
I’m going on a camping trip with Logan Marten. LOGAN MARTEN. ALONE. That is all.
XOXO
It was onlyseven in the morning, and I had already run three miles and been packed since 6 a.m. I couldn’t help it. I was a morning person. I’d woken up earlier than usual and had extra energy to burn off. Sitting on the porch, my large backpack was next to me, stuffed with food for a day and a half, my tiny pop-up tent big enough for one, a sleeping bag, a blanket, first-aid kit, swimming suit, and…okay…a tube of mascara. My foot moved to the rhythm of the sprinklers on the next field over, and the morning smelled like fresh dew and grass. What a lovely time to be alive.
A beat-up truck pulled into the driveway, but to my surprise, it was Jake, not Logan. He had never seen us off on a date before, but since our summer was rapidly winding down, and this was the last big date before the end of the bet, it was only natural he would attempt some manipulation before we left.
