Chapter 34
BEST DAY OF MY LIFE (OR SHOULD BE)
The chute gate rattles, the metallic vibrations grinding on my nerves.
My heart slams against my ribs, but my mind is ready, locked in, and focused on the ride.
Twister, the big, rank sorrel with a reputation for destroying even the most seasoned riders, is drawn up for me again tonight, and I can feel his tension vibrating through the rails.
My right hand is jammed deep into the rigging handle, my fingers painfully locked around the thick, rawhide-wrapped grip like it’s my only tether to Earth. My left arm is up, ready and out, free hand high where it belongs.
Settling my butt right down on the rigging, I scoot forward until I’m positioned comfortably on the bolts. I take a deep, steadying breath as I cock my spurs high, rowels grazing Twister’s shoulders, my toes rightfully turned out. My mark-out position is perfected and locked, and I’m ready.
As ready as I’ll ever be.
The man at the chute gate sets his focus on me, spitting out a lump of tobacco before swiping his mouth, eyeing Twister one last time. “Ready?”
One sharp nod. “Let’s go.”
The gate swings open with a bang and the world around me explodes, detonating into a flurry of chaos and pain, excitement and power.
The sorrel-coated horse launches like a rocket out of the chute, his front end sky-high on his first huge jump. His shoulders hit peak, and I’m already spurring, my heels driving forward, up and over his shoulders as his front feet lift off the ground.
Twister is fast and his jump is more intense than I’ve experienced, but I lift hard on the rigging, using every ounce of strength I can muster from my core. Shoulders back, my chin tucked, I keep my upper body square and centered over Twister’s withers, more focused than I’ve ever been.
The force of his thrash makes my head whip back, but my neck roll keeps me protected, and I fight, absorbing the harsh jolt through my locked arm.
Strain surges through my arm, down my back, right as we hit the ground.
Twister doesn't relent, and no sooner have his front feet hit the ground than his hind legs are kicking, sending my spine for a ride.
Twister kicks, going left, so I go with him, pulling my knees back as he bucks, my spurs raking smoothly along his shoulders toward the rigging in one stroke, up on the jump, down on the drop.
I keep my free hand high, waving like a flag, my body balanced on the animal as he thrashes me back and forth in explosive whips.
It’s been one second, and my body has already flexed and tested every goddamn muscle I have.
My grip burns already, my forearm and bicep screaming from the unrelenting pull, but I squeeze harder.
Twister is athletic and every bit the terror everyone claims he is, but I’m here to win.
To save my life and my daughter’s life as she knows it. I will defeat Twister, no problem.
I squeeze harder on the grip as Twister kicks, that classic bareback kick that makes my spine snap, sending off a short burst of pain down my back.
I match his timing, not forcing him to accept me but instead, flowing with him.
Every time his front end comes down, I straighten my legs and plant my spurs back over his shoulders, preparing for the next kick.
My legs piston as my knees and toes flare outward, spurs clean and visible for the row of judges watching me.
It’s been three seconds now, and my lungs are on fire with strain, my back pinched tight, neck fucking aching.
A millisecond of a glance tells me we’re smack center in the arena.
Twister hits a series of high, rolling bucks, trying to pull off the front.
I lean back just enough, keeping my core tight as a damn drum, lifting on the handle like I’m trying to yank the rig clear through his back.
The arena lights blur into streaks as sweat hampers my vision and dust lands in my face.
The roar of the crowd feels like thunder on a faraway plain, and I force the crowd and excitement out of my mind as I focus on the feel of the animal beneath me, reading every twitch of his muscles, every shift of his powerful hips.
Five seconds on the clock now. Twister spins hard to the right, twisting in a sunfish move, trying to peel me sideways.
My left arm juts out, muscle memory, countering the move, staying loose but fully in control.
My right shoulder feels like it’s a moment away from being torn from the socket, but I use the pain as fuel.
I am going to defeat Twister. I am going to fucking win.
I’m spurring harder now, matching Twister’s rhythm—up, roll, down, plant.
My body remembers this the same way my heart remembers being loved, and everything is fluid, natural, easy, even through the agony and pain.
I’m one with Twister now, my form and his completely fluid, my back arched on the peak, hips surging forward on the descent.
The crowd roars, and I know the judges are watching, and I know this is a goddamn beautiful ride.
Seven seconds. Twister is still giving everything he has, with big, explosive jumps, his hind feet coming up above his ears.
Doesn’t matter.
I’m locked in. Focused. Ready to win.
My vision tunnels. Sweat stings my eyes under the brim of my hat. Every muscle from my fingertips to my toes is actively engaged, burning, fighting for this, but moving in perfect synchronicity. I’m not riding Twister anymore, we’re one violent, twisted, angry, beautiful blur.
The whistle blows, sharp and momentous.
Eight seconds.
I made it. I did it. I completed the ride. It was a perfect fucking ride.
Instantly I relax my grip a bit, and with my free hand, reach down and give Twister’s neck a slap, showing him the respect he deserves.
Pickup men swing in beside me, one of them grabbing the rigging strap while the other helps to ease me off.
I slide onto the ground on my feet, my entire body numb and ringing, legs wobbly but secure.
Sable Sky, filling the bleachers, roars around me, a wall of sound that finally breaks through. I glance up at the scoreboard as I tread toward the fence, chest heaving, my right arm nearly dragging like dead weight. Despite the fatigue and pain, my entire body buzzes with adrenaline.
I blink, and breathe, and stay focused.
Ninety-seven points.
Twister was solid, and I had a great ride, with a clean mark-out, strong spurring. That’s the kind of ride and the kind of resulting score that wins a rodeo. I know it, because I’ve been here before. Five times, in fact.
I blink at those two red numbers, calibrating what I did. I set out to win, and I did it. I’m going to win that money, and it’s going to make all the stress, the long nights, the soreness, exposing my life to a film, everything worth it now that I’ve done it.
I tip my hat to the fans, then to Twister as he bucks his way out of the arena, still full of fire.
It was eight seconds of pure chaos, but also eight seconds of control. Eight seconds that changed my life.
I glance around the arena again as I exit the space, out the gate, then come around the back where the other riders are huddled. I take fist bumps, shoulder slaps, and cat calls, all still trying to catch my breath and shake out the pain in my arm.
Sadie pushes through the crowd, wearing a smile from ear to ear, tears in her eyes as she storms me and slams into me. “You did it, Daddy! You won! You got the highest score! You won! You won!”
I bury my nose in her hair and take a deep breath, looking to steady my soul. I did do it. I didn’t fail my girl.
And yet I’m realizing now that saving my land and saving the farm means nothing if Quinn isn’t there with me.
I lock eyes with Tate, my hands braced on Sadie’s shoulders.
“Watch her?” I ask, every part of me ready to go find Quinn.
I know she’s here because she’s filming.
This is her last required filming event for the documentary.
I haven’t caught my breath, and I haven’t even fully realized my win, but I’m knocking my hat back and scanning the crowd nonetheless.
Pink boots catch my eye, and I see Quinn packing up her tripod, camera bag already slung across her back. My chest aches something fierce when I spot her, because I’ve been dying to see her all week.
She kept her promise, and kept things normal for Sadie, coming to the house for lunch every single day.
I gave them privacy, and begged off, knowing full well that it would only hurt Quinn if I pressed her on their visits.
I don’t want to hurt her anymore. I never wanted to hurt her in the first place.
All I want to do is make it right. Explain myself the way I should have done last week at the house. That was the time, and yet I fucked it all up. Same way I fucked up my life in the past.
“Quinn!” I holler, hands cupped to my mouth. She turns, but our eyes don’t lock, and she doesn’t scan the crowd twice. Instead, I push through, losing sight of her when a group of teenagers stumble out in front of me, engulfed in laughter.
“Landry Vaughn! There he is!”
“The champ!”
“My dad knows him!”
I cut through, nodding, looking for her.
But when the crowd breaks, she’s gone, and so is her tripod.
I make my way to the parking lot and spend ten minutes walking up and down the rows, but her car isn’t there. Mabel’s truck isn’t there. They’re gone.
She kept her word. She made a wonderful film about me. She stayed true to Sadie.
And what did I do?
Lie. And for what?
“Daddy!” Sadie runs up, linking her arms around my legs, Tate and the Colliers in tow.
“You did great, Landry,” Love beams, wrapping her arms gently around my neck. Alice and Petunia give me a bouquet of wildflowers they picked, and Tate claps his hand on my back. “I knew you would, you knew you would. Hell, look at us. A bunch of rodeo geniuses.”
We laugh, but my laughter is hollow and forced, and not because Tate’s joke wasn’t funny. But because I don’t think anything will ever be happy or funny again. Not until I tell her the truth and get her back.
Sixty-three. That’s how many times I called Quinn over the week.
I switch on the twinkle lights in the editing nook I built for her and nudge the banister with my booted foot, making the swing sway.
Nightfall is on the horizon, littering the distance with golds and purples so gorgeous that I feel my chest go tight.
I want to be here with her.
I want her.
I need her.
I love her.
Instead of calling her again, I call the person I’ve called twenty times in the last week, bless her soul. “Hi, Mabel,” I greet when she answers with a sigh.
“Hiya, honey. She ain’t ready to talk just yet,” she informs me, but that’s no surprise.
“I know. Just… making sure y’all got back safe today.”
Mabel sighs. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry you’re going through this. You know we’re here. Everyone’s safe.” She pauses. “Congratulations today. You looked great out there. You did everything you set out to do.”
I did, and yet I feel worse than when I started this.
That big check with one hundred fifty thousand dollars made out to me, Landry Vaughn, is stuck to my fridge with a Popsicle stick magnet Sadie made last year.
I’ll pay off my debts. Pay Tate back for all he’s done for free. I’ll get the ranch back on its feet.
I’ll save Sadie’s only home she’s ever known, and let her live and grow on the land that’s meant to be hers one day.
I did it.
And yet as Sadie joins me on the swing quietly, I close my eyes and fight the urge to cry.
My phone rings, and because Mabel doesn’t call me, I’m assuming it’s Quinn, finally, and answer it eagerly, right away.
“Quinn?” I breathe, sitting up so quickly the swing rocks, making Sadie grip the armrest.
Marnie Montgomery responds. “Hello, Landry. This is Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Oh.” My heart free-falls from the disappointment. “Sorry, I… thought you were my wife. She’s on her way home.” I hate lying, but until this custody suit is behind us, I can’t give it up or else it would all have been for nothing.
“Ah.” A pause, then Mr. Montgomery is on the line. “Landry, congratulations on your victory today.”
I didn’t see them there, but then again, the day was a blur of beat Twister and don’t let your broken heart kill you. “Thank you.”
Charles clears his throat. “We’re dropping the custody suit.”
Those five words are music to my ears, the only five words I’ve wanted to hear since this began. “It’s the right thing to do. We see that now. And on behalf of myself and my wife, we’d like to extend our apologies.”
They can’t just say I’m sorry, can they?
“I tried to save Amelia,” I hear myself saying, because after all these years, it somehow foolishly feels like it needs to be said.
“We know,” Marnie says, rejoining the call. “We thought that if we had Sadie, we could keep Amelia’s spirit alive, but… you’re her father. And that’s more valuable.”
Sadie gets off the swing and slips out the door, running wildly into the long grass as moonlight tosses a glow over the lawn.
Mr. Montgomery speaks up. “And it’s what Amelia would have wanted.”
I agree wholeheartedly. “I’m angry with you two for putting me through this, but, at the same time, I don’t want this to ruin your ability to have a relationship with your granddaughter.”
The line fills with silence, but I’ve said my piece, and I wasn’t the one who put them through hell.
“We’re sorry Landry, for all of it. You lost her, too. Both of you did,” Charles finally says, causing the backs of my eyes to sting.
“Thank you.”
“We will call you next week and talk about setting up a 529 for Sadie, and maybe look into setting up visits. Once a month?”
“Sure.” I lean back and watch Sadie collect wildflowers from the yard.
“All right, you’ll hear from us soon. Goodbye, Landry and… congratulations.”
Today has been the best news of my life. I won the rodeo and saved my damn land. Saved my little girl from being stolen away from me. I did it.
But I didn’t do it alone, and I don’t deserve the outcome all for myself, either.
“C’mon, sugar,” I tell Sadie, taking the bouquet from her hands as we trudge back inside the house. “Let’s get you in the bath and get you to bed.”
She nods, but stops in her tracks at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m so glad you won today, Daddy. And now that the rodeo’s over, that means Miss Quinn’s movie’s comin’ out and then she can come back home!”
I can’t shut my mind off at bath and bedtime. I can’t stop thinking about Sadie’s words. Quinn’s home is here. She’s right.
Then I make the sixty-fourth call before crashing out on my bed.