Page 6 of Colt

I don’t know why, but it’s always a fight to the death to get Dean ready for school. I hope it gets better as he gets older. He’s only in kindergarten, so we’ve got a long-ass road ahead of us.

My phone lights up with an incoming call. Fuck me, is shit already going sideways? Wouldn’t be the first time one of my brothers or a ranch hand hit me up this early with a crisis: a sick horse, a busted irrigation pipe, missing cattle.

But I grin when I see that it’s my buddy Ryder Rivers. He’s my best friend outside of my siblings. He also owns Lucky River Ranch, a property that’s twenty or so miles away from our own.

“What’re you doing up so early?” I grin, knowing full well Ryder’s an early riser like me.

“Oh, you know. Just woke up to not one, not two, but three flat tires on my truck. I am so over all this fucking construction.”

He grunts, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks that it’s not me changing a tire in the pitch black right now. All the fucking construction happening on our ranches—both the Wallaces and the Riverses have been busy making improvements—means we’ve got lots of stray nails finding their way into tires. We recently wrapped up the new arena, and now we’re refurbishing some older outbuildings around the ranch. Good problem to have, because it means we got the money to make shit happen. Still a problem, though.

“Anyway. Wanted to thank you for coming over yesterday. Sorry if I wasn’t myself.”

I always make a point to spend the anniversary of his parents’ death with Ry every year. They died thirteen years ago in a car accident, and I think he misses them more as time goes on.

Part of me wishes I felt the same about Abby. I wish I missed her being around. Wish I missed our friendship.

Don’t get me wrong, part of me does miss her. She’s the mother of my son, for fuck’s sake. But I don’t miss our bullshit—the lies, the fighting. The loneliness.

Shoving that thought aside, I clear my throat. “No need to apologize. I’m just glad I was able to get you out for a bit.”

We hunted all afternoon. It was a good day. But yeah, Ryder was more agitated than usual, even considering the date.

A pause. The back of my neck prickles. Why do I get the sense that Ryder wants to tell me something?

“I’m glad too,” he says. “Any chance I could steal Dean from you this weekend? I miss my little buddy.”

Ryder showed up in a big way when Abby got sick, babysitting Dean, bringing over food, picking up the house.

He’s a good friend. A fun one too. He’s definitely a love ’em and leave ’em type—his wandering eye is the stuff of legend here in Hartsville—but dang, is he a good time.

I miss going out with him.

Hell, I miss going out, period.

“He’d love that, sure. Maybe the three of us can hunt or something.”

“Done.” Another pause.

“You all right, Ry?”

He grunts again. “Yeah. Just gonna be a long day.”

“Hang in there.”

“Thanks. See ya this weekend.”

Hanging up, I stand with my backside against the kitchen counter and savor the only peace I’ll enjoy all day.

Sometimes the grief—the anger—from losing my wife, my marriage basically falling apart before that, will creep in between sips. I’m sure it’s the same for Ryder when he thinks about his parents. But this morning, I cut that shit off at the pass and think about what needs to get done.

My soul seems to have left my body during kindergarten open house, and I volunteered to be room parent for Dean’s class. What can I say? I’m clearly trying to overcompensate for Abby being gone by being dad and mom. Which means I need to send out the October email to the class LISTSERV—shit, did we ever get the sign-up link for Trunk or Treat?—but first, I have to remember to email his teachers to make sure there’s nothing else they want to include. I also need to update my payment information for the occupational therapist who’s helping Dean with his handwriting.

Inhale through nose. Exhale through mouth.

I hope we’re not late for drop-off again. We tried the bus when school started back in August, but because of the way the route worked, Dean ended up being on the bus for over an hour each way—one of the few drawbacks of living on a ranch as large as ours.

I decided I’d drive him, which works out well…until it doesn’t. Not only am I late for work sometimes, but Dean is sometimes late to school too.