Her accident had almost derailed both of our careers. Not because I was hurt physically along with her, but mentally. I didn’t want to play soccer without her. But she’d sat me down after I’d lost my baby and urged me to keep going for the both of us.
I had, though it’d never been the same.
I had more fun on the field going over drills during her coaching practices than I did playing professionally anymore.
I played because she wanted me to. Not because I still loved the game.
I hated being away from her. I hated being away from Boone. And I really hated the idea of having to go back after having the baby I was currently carrying.
I resisted the urge to cup my belly, hesitant to let anyone know that I was pregnant just in case.
“Y’all are like famous,” she drawled, sounding more Texan than Montanan. “I grew up on a horse ranch outside of Bear Pass. I’ve lived here my entire life and barely left the ranch. But y’all’s breakup was so widely publicized that the ranch hands were even talking about you.”
That I knew.
Famous sixteen-year-old no-longer-pregnant soccer player breaking up with her rich as fuck boyfriend who’d supported her through everything was big news in our small area. Especially since Gail had made it even bigger news when she’d spread the news far and wide, practically giddy that she no longer had to deal with the “gold-digging sixteen-year-old looking for a leg up in the world.”
As if she didn’t know that I was on the fast track to having my own money.
I may not have had a job the four years before I graduated, but that didn’t matter. I’d made my fair share in endorsements and athletic scholarships.
University of Wyoming had been great.
They’d even sponsored my sister as well, allowing her to get her teaching degree, to keep me happy.
I loved them, and I would forever be grateful for how they’d treated me and my sister at one of the lowest points in our lives.
“So why’d you decide to become a vet?” I asked curiously, stroking the little dog’s head.
I’d secretly named him Froto, just in case Boone let me keep him.
He was a staunch “no dogs unless you can take care of them” kind of man.
Truthfully, he was right.
I was never home.
He was never home.
Having a dog would be selfish behavior.
However, we’d soon be bringing a kid into this world, and someone would at some point have to be home to take care of our child. Why not add a dog to the mix?
“Do you want the practiced answer, or the answer that is true, that I never tell anyone?”
I blinked. “Obviously, I want the honest answer. I like you, Holly.”
And I did.
She may be frustrating to Boone with her ‘barrel racing baddie’ and ‘girl bossing too hard’ adjectives that she added to everything when explaining her patients to Boone, but I freakin’ loved it. I loved that she was keeping him on his toes. I also loved that she was holding him accountable for everything that he said.
She expected him to follow through with his expressed intentions and called him out for his shit.
No one ever called him out for anything—except me—and it was a girl ten years younger than him? I was all for it.
“The nice and polished answer is that I wanted to help animals. Which I do.” She shrugged. “The non-polished answer is that we were broke AF and we were hanging on by the skin of our teeth to a ranch that’s been in our family line for generations. All it would take is one vet visit for an abscessed hoof and it would sink us. So I started watching YouTube videos and doing research out the ass, so I could start treating our own animals. I learned how to treat colic in our horses when I was twelve. I’d read every vet medical journal there was at the library by the time I was fourteen. By the time I was fifteen, I was a farrier and I was making just enough money to subsidize the farm. I put myself through college with a fuck ton of grants from the government and every scholarship I could qualify for, taking every single online class that I could so I could help on the farm. I graduated and immediately looked for a job that would allow me to work part-time that was mostly full-time, keep odd hours, and still be able to help at the farm.”
“You sound angry about that.”
