‘It might.’ Jordan fiddles with the straw in her jar, still holding her therapist expression. ‘But it also sounds like we’re growing up. May, for God’s sake, he made you alacrosse field.He’s definitely trying to mend something. Not just the relationship between the two of you, but I think he’s also trying to mend his sense of self. As anadult.’
An adult. In my mind, I’ve always thought of him as someone who ran away and put more than a couple of kinks in my story. I forget to think of him ashimself.
‘Give yourself space to hate the guy,’ Jordan finishes. ‘Just don’t forget to give him space to grow.’
She leans back in her chair and finishes off her sweet tea, satisfied. I feel like I can barely touch mine any more. Not with the thoughts running around my brain screaming the way they are.
Yes, he’s the guy I hated for years. He’s the guy who had me staying up all night tossing and turning and thinking the way no other man ever did. He’s the guy who annoyed the hell out of me when he shot me that smarmy smile across the field at high school practices and then challenged me to go one-on-one.
But Jordan is right. He’s also the guy who always understood how much lacrosse meant to me and made me a new field when the old one got torn up out of the ground. He’s also the guy who gushed about my yearly rodeo appearances to anyone who’d listen at dinner. And he’s the guy who made sure his tie matched my pantsuit stitch for stitch. No one else has ever put my photo up in his locker, or walked me to class despite not actually having any classes, or honestly, just sat andlistened.
He has, in his own Colt way, been sealing the cracks he left behind. No blame, no excuses. Just actions.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rodeo
May
Colt looks absolutely atrocious. In his big cowboy hat and sunglasses, I don’t think anyone is going to be fooled by the attempt at a disguise.
My mom pulls out a pair of Pit Viper wraparound shades and holds them out in front of Colt. ‘Give these a shot. They’ll work even better. They’re ridiculous.’
‘What? Those aren’t ridiculous! They’re mine,’ Papa whines defensively. Mumma just sighs and taps his shoulder in a gesture of ‘shoo’. It’s clear where I get it from.
‘She’s right.’ Savannah plucks the other (more normal) pair right from Colt’s face and slides on the Pit Vipers. Colt just gives her a pissed little frown. ‘There ya go. Now hurry up. We need to find Ma and Pop.’
‘Whoa.’ Colt holds up a hand. ‘The whole thing is that Idon’tget recognized here, right? So why don’t we split up, and I’ll—’
‘CJ BRADLEY!’ a woman’s voice yelps. ‘Oh, my god!’
He drops his hand immediately, straight-faced. ‘Well. We tried.’
The woman, a middle-aged brunette with an OKC orange T-shirt, waves to her friends, pointing Colt’s way. It’s definitelysoover for him.
‘And with that,’ I laugh, ‘I’m gonna head out and get ready. Barrel race is in a half-hour. Find a good spot.’
‘I’m sure the Bradleys have beaten us to it.’ Mumma smiles, and she and Papa give me a shared hug.
‘Go get ’em,mija.’ Papa straightens my collar, ruffling my hair, unfortunately ruining the braids I’d just done about an hour ago.
‘Paaaa,’ I groan.
‘What? It’s forluck.’ My dad presses a kiss to the top of my head. ‘Be safe.’
‘I will, Papa.’
My parents let me go, and my ever-so-clever father gives me a little nudge Colt’s way, who clears his throat and removes his dumb Pit Vipers, cutting his gaze towards the crowd of quickly approaching women. ‘You’re gonna be great.’ He grins, if not slightly bashfully. ‘I’m not lying when I say I’m just glad I’ll get to see you race again. I’ve missed that.’
I choke back ahaha, and whose fault was that, with a keen eye on the aunties drawing near. ‘Good. It’s a sign you have a heart.’
Colt snorts. ‘Okay, Velasco. Knock ’em dead.’ He leans down and kisses my cheek, his cowboy hat brushing my forehead. I raise an eyebrow.
He just smirks. ‘My version of “good luck”.’
‘Rodeo, lacrosse, weather. You balance a heavy plate, May.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ I shoot a wry smile at the girl opposite me. Noemi Montes and I have been barrel racing together since we started riding. Noemi took things to the next level, circuit and all, and she’s raced in rodeos as far and wide as the Calgary Stampede by now. I’m pretty sure the only reason my horse still remembers the cloverleaf is because I take him for a slow trot around the barrels every day during chores, and he happily meanders through it, not the fastest, but quite obedient. Rocky has never been anything but reliable.
