The rawness, the feeling of swallowing glass, turns into something else. It crawls up my throat and emerges as a muffled sob. The tears I didn’t realize I was holding in fall silently.
I trained myself to put up a wall for so long. You have to, you know. Everyone expects you to be strong and pull the ranch forward. Pull my mom forward when she’s in her room and I have my ear pressed against the door, listening to her quiet cries. When those bills pile up instead of groceries on the dining-room table. I have refused to let it punch me in the gut for about seventeen years. Until Rod holds me, and I finally, finally let it go.
I bury my face in my hands, and I feel Rod’s palms against my back, rubbing soothing circles. ‘I’m okay,’ I mumble even as I practically drink my own tears. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Take your time,’ he whispers. ‘It’s alright.’
‘My mom’s knocking down the stables,’ I manage anyway. Some part of me feels like I owe him an explanation for this hot mess he didn’t sign up for. ‘Making new ones. My dad screwed up a lot of stuff when he left, Rod, but those stables … that was where my momma made it better. I had good memories, and I just …’ I sniff, training my eyes on the ceiling of my car for just a minute in hopes it will force the tears back in. ‘She hates the place because it’s what he left her with. The burden. But for me … that ranch is all I ever had. I don’t know how to understand that him leaving hurt us both in such different ways, and now, we have to live with the differences.’ My next sob comes out as more of a laugh. ‘God, I gave my mom money to go take a trip for herself. She spent it on the cattle barns.’
‘That sounds like what a good parent does.’ Rod thumbs a stray hair away from my mouth with concentration in his eyes. ‘All she knows is you, right?’
I lean into his chest, and he wraps an arm around me. The silent tears continue to fall despite my best efforts. All my mother knows is me, but no one deserves that. She deserves to have something to herself. She doesn’t need to stay on this ranch and tear down every last remnant of the man who ruined both our lives beyond repair.
I remember my father leaving, of course, but I also remember the build-up. My mom’s voice breaking as my dad denied, over and over, the fact that he was cheating on her.
Then one day, I went outside to play, ride the horses, and I watched him load his pickup and pull it off the driveway, down the long dirt road. It never came back. That was the last time in a long time that I had gone outside with the sole purpose of playing.
In rodeo, you’re told everything can go sideways in just eight seconds. That’s how long you need to hold onto the horse, or the bull, to get points. It’s also the most dangerous eight seconds of a cowgirl’s life. Lacrosse is the same way. When you make a play down the centre, every moment counts. You can be set up for the perfect shot, the winning goal, one minute, and the next, the opponent is hurtling down the field in the other direction. That was how my dad leaving felt. The change was sudden. As much as there was build-up, it hit quickly, and all at once.
Ever since then, I’ve lived afraid. With the fear that my mother knows too much of me and not enough of herself. And with the fear that while she tried to rip him from our lives onewooden barn board after another, I would drown in mistrust and insecurity.
I close my eyes and feel Rod’s heartbeat against my cheek. Even, strong. There is no insecurity here. Just hope.
Genny sets a cold glass of iced tea in front of me, and gives my shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze before heading out the back doors. I’m usually the one who does this for my closest friends. It’s odd to have someone take up the responsibility for me.
Across from me, Rod sips at his own tea. I’m grateful he doesn’t look at me as if I could break in half any minute now. Instead, there’s a hint of upset there, as if he’s sharing in my anger.
‘Life’s a real shitshow, huh?’ I say, possibly just to cut the quiet.
Rod notices right away. A small smile tips one side of his mouth up.
‘You know what? My uncle Julius owns this ranch in Montana. Three hundred head of cattle. No one to tell me what I have to do. No having to be the grown-up all the time. It could be nice,’ I yap on, ‘life without any obligations. Maybe I’m looking for freedom. Or maybe I just want to see more cows.’
Rod scoots his chair closer so he can lean in, and he says, ‘Do you always try to fill silence like this, Jor?’
‘I hate the silence,’ I reply. My voice still sounds stuffy. I despise it. ‘Filling it is kind of my thing.’
He nods, rubbing his knuckles along one side of his stubbled jaw. ‘I get that. Just know you don’t have to fill it alone.’
‘What, you’re not a fan of the way I suck all the air out of a room?’
That gets a laugh out of him. Rod’s laugh is a deep rumble that’s the same sort of cosy as being nestled in his arms. ‘I hope you never stop sucking all the air out of the room. Just … let me help you do it. I know what it’s like to feel that void. I’m here to do whatever you need me to so you can fill it.’
‘I guess you’re right.’ I trace the rim of the glass with a finger, wiping away a faint layer of condensation. Then I look up at the beautiful face that has become so familiar over the chaos of the summer. Two months are a short time for most people, but most people aren’t Rod Wilson. Most people don’t share the weight of scared and lonely the way we have. ‘But if I’m honest, I think you’re already starting to fill it.’
I’m probably rocking the puffiest, most nervous smile out there. It’s not my style. Rod doesn’t care. He scoots his chair over so he’s right opposite me, and tugs mine closer so our knees lock. He takes my face in his strong hands, and he presses a kiss to my forehead first. ‘So are you,’ he says so quietly that it almost seems as if he mouths the words.
When he kisses me, a crack in my heart seals itself. He cups my jaw so gently, his lips so tender against mine. Every touch speaks volumes. His stubble just barely scratches my skin, and he smells like cologne and firewood.
Home.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Big Lacrosse
Rod
Gusting winds rock the house just slightly that night as I watch Jordan’s eyelids flutter in her sleep. After my worst episodes of depression, usually building up to what my therapist called a ‘breakthrough’ – exhausting hours of numbness and, eventually, a cry I’d let myself have – I would be out like a light that night. I think Jordan is the same way. I was a little bit worried, because obviously not everyone is the same, but she’s like me. She was asleep within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow.
