“Get out of my room.”
Tex hesitated for a moment, then got to his feet. “Let’s get to that fence.”
“Fuck off with your fence. And don’t think you’re going to punish me for bailing on it. You’re never touching this ass again.”
He glared at Tex until Tex understood that all the determination he’d developed during his time at The Bars and Stars was being applied to saying no. His time here was over. He was going home.
~~~
As he waited outside the gate to The Bars and Stars for the Lyft he’d summoned, he wished he hadn’t brought quite so much luggage. He’d barely used any of it. The jocks had turned out to be useful, but the dance clothes, the bathing suits, even his skin care supplies. None of it had so much as been unpacked. What he’d actually worn—t-shirts and the same pair of practical jeans, all of which was absolutely filthy now—could have fit in a single bag.
Well, at least the suitcase made a convenient place to sit. When you were half an hour from the nearest town, and the nearest town was a combination gas station/convenience store plus the shuttered remains of a Blockbuster, it took a while for a car service to show up, giving him plenty of time to ruminate over that scene with Tex.
He’d been such a dupe. A dreamer, like always, and, as usual, his dreams had amounted to nothing. Sure, he’d built some muscle, but he hadn’t built a life. You didn’t become a whole new person because you spent two weeks on a dude ranch playing at being a cowboy. And no one except an impractical loser fell in love with someone he was paying.
He regretted the money he’d spent on this place. Regretted the time too. He could have gone to San Marco, fucked a half dozen different guys. Laid in the sun and drunk fruity cocktails served by fruity waiters. Then he would be going back to work rested and tan instead of beat up and worn down. His muscles ached, his ass ached, and his heart ached. He just wanted to go home and forget the whole thing.
Finally, the picture of a car on his phone became an actual car in front of him. He heaved his bags into the trunk, vaguely noticing how much easier they were to manage today than they’d been the day he arrived. Being strong would feel good if he weren’t still so weak where it counted.
“The airport?” the driver confirmed as they pulled away from the gate.
Peyton nodded, then immediately got out his phone so the driver wouldn’t think they were going to talk all the way to the airport. He spent the drive maneuvering through the ticketing system until he managed to secure a standby seat on the last flight out of Dallas, then called Bettina. Might as well admit now how bad an idea this had been, save him from having to do it when he got back.
“Peyton, my God. I was about to send out a posse. You haven’t so much as texted in a week.”
“Been busy.”
“Roping horses and riding broncos?”
“Something like that. I’m on my way home now though.”
“You are?” Bettina paused for a moment like she was checking something, then said, “I don’t have you on my calendar until Saturday.”
“Yeah, well.”
He suddenly didn’t know if he could tell her. He always told her everything. She knew exactly how useless he was, how much of a quitter, how entirely hopeless. She knew his track record with men too. Easy come, easy go. If a guy got demanding, he cut them free. And he never demanded anything in return because what would be the point? Even if he asked, he wouldn’t get it. Bettina wouldn’t be surprised he’d had a fling or that the fling had ended or even that the fling had been inadvisable. She certainly wouldn’t be surprised he’d bailed early.
“Just tell me what time you land,” she said without waiting for him to explain.
He could imagine her planner open in front of her, how neatly printed all the appointments would be, everything square and managed down to fifteen-minute intervals. He imagined her running a tidy line through the entry she’d made for picking him up on Saturday. But no, she wouldn’t have to strike it out. She would simply erase it. She would have known better than to use pen on anything involving him.
“Peyton?” she asked, and he saw her pencil hovering, ready to write down his new arrival information. She would be outside the terminal, ready to rescue him, as always. She had never expected otherwise. And had he? Had hereally?
He gave her his flight details, just to get her off the phone. Tears threatened as he contemplated the futility of life stretching out in front of him. Back home, he would be himself again. Chores would go unfinished, ambitions unrealized. And he would never again know the white-hot pleasure of being punished for failing himself because failing himself would be par for the course.
Failing himself. Failing himself.
He tapped his fingers on his knee as the words ticked through his mind. That was what he’d doing all these years, wasn’t it? Not failing his parents or Bettina or Tex. Failinghimself. Bettina let him get away with it, like his parents had, like his boss did. Tex hadn’t let him get away with it, but either way, it came down to the same thing. The person he’d been failing was first and foremost himself.
He’d enjoyed being punished, having the regret burned out of him. But equally as much he’d enjoyed the days he hadn’t needed punishment, when he’d been doing what he was supposed to do and doing it well. Working next to Tex, pulling his own weight, seeing the job done—all of that had been as good as the spankings. And all of that had been the real point, which was what Tex had been trying to teach him, what he’d gone to The Bars and Stars to learn.
He could do it. He had mettle, determination, spirit, and though his efforts might not always meet with success, he felt better for having tried and owning up to where he’d fallen short. Giving up was easy but the hangover sucked. Working was hard, but you sure slept well after.
“Hey, can you turn around?”
“What?” The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
“I want to go back. To the ranch, not the airport.”
