Chapter 9 Weston
Weston
Stabbing pain in my left shoulder nearly stole my breath as I pulled the resistance band away from my physical therapist, Matt. He was fresh out of school and too damn happy. And while I was normally upbeat like him, today, it was pissing me off.
“You’re doing great, Weston.”
“I’m doing shit,” I grunted through the pain. Why was this so fucking hard? I used to hold on to bucking bulls with this hand, and now I couldn’t even yank on a giant rubber band. And this was just the assessment. “Why am I so weak?”
“You just had surgery three weeks ago, and your body is still healing. Give it time. Your strength will come back. I promise.”
I let go of the resistance band, making Matt stagger back a little. “I don’t have time,” I told him. “I need to get back to work.”
Matt let out a long breath and sat beside me on the bench.
He looked over his paperwork. “Based on where you’re at with these exercises, that’s not gonna happen for at least another three months,” he said.
“That could change depending on how you progress. But right now, you’re at three months of downtime. ”
I hung my head and bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t rip apart this entire gym with my bare hands.
All of this from a bull named Bodacious. Why couldn’t he have been named Terminator or Widowmaker or something ominous? I just kept thinking of that Nelly song about getting naked with the opening line, “Good gracious ass bodacious.” Something Beau had so kindly pointed out to me.
“What about the sling?” I asked, my voice low and doing a poor job of hiding my disappointment.
“The sling, you can stop wearing 24/7, but—and that’s a large but—that’s only if you swear to wear it at least eighteen hours a day.”
I suppose that was one silver lining, but it still wasn’t the news I had expected. I thought I’d walk in here, do some silly little exercises, and they’d tell me I was good as new and that I could be back on a bull by the end of summer.
I’d never been that lucky. It seemed like any time I wanted something, it was just out of reach. Except bull riding. Now that I worked my ass off for. But it was getting yanked away, too, and I wasn’t ever sure I’d have it again.
And if I didn’t have bull riding, I might as well have had nothing.
“And still limited activity. No driving, lifting, pushing, or overhead movements. That joint is still healing, Weston.” So I could go toe to toe with a rubber band, but not put on my own t-shirt. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Yeah. Scouts honor, boss,” I mumbled and crossed my heart.
“I know that’s not the answer you wanted. I want you back on my TV just as much as I know you want to be back in that arena, but you can’t rush these things.”
I grunted in acknowledgment.
“Hang in there.” He patted my good shoulder. “I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“Got it.” I stood, ready to get the hell out of this place.
“Nice to meet you, Weston,” Matt said, smiling as if he hadn’t taken a wrecking ball to my life.
“You too,” I replied, shaking his hand to be polite since he was clearly a fan.
I walked out of the rehab building and sent Colt a text to let him know I was done, and sat on a nearby bench while I waited for him. I felt like a preschooler waiting in the carpool line for my mommy.
I stared at the sling in my hand and sighed. “This fucking blows,” I grumbled as I put it back on. I’d rather wear it now so I could sleep with it off and finally get some decent sleep after three weeks of hell.
“Need help with that?” a voice asked, smooth and sweet.
I looked up to find a woman staring at me with an eager smile, dressed in one of those workout sets I’d seen Savannah wear around the ranch.
She had a brace on her knee, so she must’ve been a patient here.
She was blonde, but it was the wrong kind of blonde.
Her hair didn’t look like hand-spun gold like Savannah’s.
It just looked like a shitty bleach job.
“I’m good. Thanks, though,” I replied, not in the mood to get chatty. Especially not with her.
She sat down next to me, her leg straightened out. “I’m Leah.”
“Weston.” Where the hell was Colton?
“Oh, I know who you are,” she said, and then she gave me an appreciative sweep like I was an object, and not a person. “I saw your Lucchese ad.”
That damn thing. Austin had insisted that I do it.
He said it’d increase women’s viewership for Professional Bull Riders events, and it worked a little.
But I had a feeling they weren’t watching because I was a great bull rider, but because I was the hot guy from the boot ad.
And it didn’t exactly help my reputation as the womanizer of Pbr, either.
A reputation that was falsely thrown at me until it stuck, just because I was a little flirty.
I hadn’t had a woman in my bed in ages, and even when I did, there was only one face I saw. And she hadn’t spoken to me in the two days since we left the hospital after Anna had her baby girl, Hattie.
When I had seen her name pop up on my phone when we were at the bar, my heart had nearly stopped. I knew she had either come to her senses and realized we were meant to be together, or, more likely, something was very, very wrong.
“I’m taken,” I blurted before Leah could say anything else. I didn’t want the poor girl to think she had a chance and embarrass herself.
She blinked quickly, briefly stunned. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t see a ring.”
I looked down at my hand, where there would’ve been a ring if things had gone how I’d hoped. “No ring. Just taken. Have been for a long time.”
She gave me a look as if she were trying to figure out if I was lying or not. I didn’t clarify, and she eventually gave up and went back inside, leaving me to wonder what it would’ve been like to be married to Savannah.
Pure magic, that’s what it would’ve been. But I stopped while I was ahead, not wanting to make an already bad day a shitty one.
Moments later, Colt rolled up in his squad car, cranking that fucking Nelly song. He knocked his sunglasses down his nose, peering at me over the dark lenses with a smug grin. He must’ve seen how over it I was, because he turned the music down quickly. “You look like hell.”
“And you look like one of those cheap porno actors who’s impersonating a cop,” I said as I got into the car with a sigh.
He let out an amused huff. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” I replied, my voice hollow. I stared out the window, watching the streets of Wild Creek pass as we rode out to the house. “Only have to wear the sling eighteen hours now instead of all day. Yippee.”
“That’s good,” he said, forcing cheerfulness into his voice.
I grunted. We drove the rest of the way in silence, which was why I asked Colt to get me instead of Beau.
Beau would’ve pushed, given me some kind of motivational speech, or something equally annoying.
Colt knew when to offer advice and when to keep his mouth shut.
And now was one of those times I needed to sit in my feelings and try to figure out what the hell they were beyond just plain bad.
Colt dropped me off at the house with plans to get dinner later, and I trudged up to my room, flopping down on the bed, exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally, too. I looked around at all the trophies, medals, and buckles I’d won over the years on display, my heart heavy.
My life’s work was in this room since it was my landing spot between stints on the road.
Everything I’d ever worked for since the age of twelve, and now it could all be crumbling down.
I didn’t doubt that I’d get back on a bull someday.
I knew I would, but I didn’t know if it’d be professionally.
Pbr didn’t wait for you to heal, and fans wouldn’t either.
They’d move on to the next big thing, the money generator.
I hated it. It took the joy out of riding.
It was more than money for me, and for a lot of other guys, too.
I ran a hand through my hair and pulled out my phone. Ripping off the band-aid, I sent a text to Austin with an update.
Me: Just had a PT assessment. Won’t be back for at least 3 months.
Austin: Damn. That’s longer than we hoped. Let me know when we can get you back in the arena and we’ll line something up.
That was it. No “How are you feeling?” No “Hang in there, we’re rooting for you.” Not even a stupid thumbs-up emoji. Just straight business. It made me feel like a commodity instead of a person with value. But maybe that was all I was to them.
My chest tightened. They were already moving on. Yet another precious thing I had was slipping through my fingers like sand. I ripped the sling off, tossing it to the floor with a grunt. “Goddamnit,” I rasped, breathing hard, my head in my hands.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I hold on to anything? First my parents, then Sav, and now this? Did I love things too hard? Suffocate them? Had that been why everything got ruined?
I fell back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I looked over at my nightstand, at the picture of Beau, Colt, Anna, and me from when we were teenagers.
I’d held onto them, held on so tight they became my family.
They were the only things I knew with certainty I’d never lose, no matter how hard I clung on.
My eyes fell to the drawer, and I opened it slowly, pulling out the framed picture I kept face down in the back.
My throat grew tight as Savannah’s face came into view.
She was supposed to have been something I’d never lose either, but it was just proof that you never knew how long something would last.
I remembered taking the picture; we were two towns over at a little rundown diner on our first date. Her lips were wrapped around the straw of her cookies and cream milkshake, her dark eyes wide and loving, radiating joy.
She had just told me she wanted to be with me, and I knew in that moment I loved her. Knew I’d do anything to keep her.