Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
LANCE
Everything that could go wrong, is going wrong, and it’s really fucking up my day.
Hershey wasn’t looking too good this morning and that brought on a fuck ton of stress and trying to feed him a little more medicine than usual.
He’s nearing the age of you know , but I don’t know if I’ll be ready for that. I made sure to give him all the hay and kisses before I left for work. That’s when even more shit hit the fan.
The Jensens were out of town yesterday, the one day I of course wasn’t over there, and there was a freak accident that happened. All their animals were safe, except for one chicken. A coyote found its way onto their property and had the guts to go into the horse stables, spooking all of them pretty good before it moved on to the other areas of their ranch. They have watch dogs and all, but I guess they just didn’t account for that one chicken that was out of the coop.
So, I had to calm down the horses and make sure they were okay enough to leave their stables for some rides later that day. The Jensens primarily use their horses for trail rides and riding lessons. It’s a little different from the other ranchers that primarily board horses for rich families around the state.
It was already nearing 4 p.m. when I left their property and had a to-do list a mile long that I still had to conquer. The dance recital is at six-thirty and I am determined to make it.
Oh, yeah, that reminds me that I have to fix my phone. While checking on Hershey this morning, I didn’t even have time to check my notifications before he got spooked from a plastic bag that somehow got into his stall and pushed me with his hind leg. Because of that, my phone went straight into the water bucket. Turns out it was Snowflake, the barn kitten that I decided to keep for the time being and obviously name. I don’t know how she got a plastic bag, but it did some damage to my day.
Just. My. Luck.
With the Jensens being my only work for today, it was easy to get by without a phone, but now I don’t even know if I’ll have time to get it fixed before the recital. Hopefully by the time I make it, she’ll see me in the audience and know that I’m there.
After a short drive, I’m parking in the lot for the Christmas tree farm that’s set up in the middle of town. I scope out some of the trees quickly to see which one she’d like the best. It’s really busy today for some reason and it’s making my anxiety heighten as I check my watch and see that it’s already nearing 5 p.m. I still have to get her damn flowers from Rose’s shop.
After she told me the story about wanting a real tree this year, I made it my mission to get one for her. I can keep it in my truck while I’m at the recital and then help her set it up after.
If I can make it on time.
My heart is racing and my palms are starting to sweat as the time ticks away. I go and find the owner of the Christmas tree farm to tell him which one I want.
Once I get the tree tagged, he veers me into a line that’s basically a mile long so that I can pay. Where the hell did all these people come from? Shouldn’t half of them be at the recital? I get that Alpine is becoming a more well known town, but I need to pay for my damn tree, now .
I’m tapping my toes frantically as I wait in line and see from my peripheral the owner getting my tree ready for transport. At least he’s doing his best to be as efficient as possible with the trees.
As I near the register, I over hear the cashier talk about technical difficulties and having to write down credit card numbers on a notepad to manually charge people if they didn’t have cash.
Fuck, I don’t have cash. And that’s why it’s taking forever. I glance at my watch once more and my eyes widen. Shit, shit, shit. It’s 6:15p.m.
I don’t know how long dance recitals go, but I don’t think they’re three or four hours long, which I really need.
I’m late, I don’t take pride in being late.
The line finally dissipates and I get to the older woman manning the register. I whip out my card and hand it to her. That’s when I realize that she’s taking longer because she must have some joint issues. Her hands are slow to grab the pen and write down the numbers.
“I can do it,” I offer, leaning closer. She looks up and smiles, shaking her head.
“Oh, no, sweet boy. I can do it. Thank you though.” She returns to slowly writing down my numbers. She then flips the card over, her hands shaking and it drops to the floor.
Oh, God. As much as I feel for her and her joint problems, I have a recital to get to. I almost round the little table she’s stationed at to grab the card but she’s already turning and leaning down to get it.
“Clumsy old me,” she jokes before she grabs the other numbers needed and then hands me the card again. “Thank you for shopping with us. Expect the charge tomorrow morning!”
I thank her before hightailing it back to the owner where he’s ready to load my truck with the tree. We do it quickly and I’ve got spare ratchets to secure it to the truck. I thank him before I get in, ready to speed my way out of here, tree in tow, to the small theater Katherine rented out for the recital.
But when I turn the key, the engine stalls, and my eyes widen.
“No, no, no.” I turn the key again and it stalls again. I pull the key out, not wanting to damage the engine even further, and get out of the truck. My eyes scan the lot and I see a few other guys walking about with their partners or families.
One of them should have jumper cables.
I call out to one of them and thankfully, they do have a set. It takes about fifteen minutes to get my truck going and I thank him a million times. I would’ve offered a damn horse with how much I needed it.
The cabin lights flicker and I groan, not wanting to deal with one more fucking thing. That’s when I see the clock. Seven-fifteen.
I lean back and my head slightly slams into the headrest. Fuck. I feel defeated and my whole body deflates from the shit show that happened today. That’s still happening.
All I know is that I promised Katherine that I’d be there, and I’m not. Not by choice, and she doesn’t even know. She probably thinks that I purposely flaked and I fucking hate it.
I can’t even call my mom to rant about this. Or my brother.
“Fuck!” I slam my fists against the steering wheel and try to not lose my cool. And by cool, I mean crying. Because I’m not my father, an angry man. I know how to control my temper. But there are days where I can’t control my sadness and things get so hard that instead of anger, I get frustrated and I start to tear up.
Call it weak, but I’d like to think real men know when they need to cry and aren’t afraid to own it.
I take a few deep breaths and start to make a list in my head of what’s going right . So far, I’ve got a short list: the truck is working fine again, I’ve got a tree, and I was able to decorate my mom’s place a little yesterday. So for today, I only truly have two things going for me.
Okay, what can I do right now to make it up to her? I can’t just go and barge in midway into the recital. That would be real fucking rude. And what if it’s just an hour thing? That means it’s probably over and she’s seeing who showed up. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I hate disappointing people I care about. And I care a lot about Katherine Pearson. I gave her my word and didn’t show. Can’t even text her an apology, how pathetic.
A thought occurs to me just then. I have her tree. I have her tree .
I put my truck in drive and head out of the lot and toward my place to pick up a few things before I head to hers. If she’s there, then God, I deserve everything that’s coming to me. But if she’s not, I have some time to prep what I have planned.
I hope it’s enough, because she deserves more.