Six Months Later
TRIGGER
"Why don't you just call her? You said you guys were pen pals in high school. Send her a text and tell her you want to talk. It's been six months, and we both know you're not shy," my brother says as we ride back to the barn.
I've been showing him the ropes since he arrived, teaching him the basics of breaking and training a horse. Though, I haven't had to teach much. He may not have grown up on the land like me, but you can tell horses are in our blood.
"We had school-issued phones. I never had her personal number."
"What about her cousin? Ask him," he says as though it's the obvious solution, which it fucking is.
I've been so damn caught up in everything going on here and hyper-focused on just running into her again, I didn't even think to use our shared connection.
"I'm a fucking idiot," I say as I pull out my phone. I hold it up, and it feels like my lucky day because we're still miles from the house and I have a signal.
Trigger: Can you give me Asha's number?
Hollis and I have texted a few times since school ended.
His family lives in Ontario, not too far from New York, so visiting isn't ideal, but we talked about planning an annual ski trip with some of the guys on the team.
Perhaps I should have led with that. Asha has been a sore subject between us since school ended, not because he doesn't like the idea of me hooking up with his cousin—I'm pretty sure he saw right through our constant bickering in high school.
He knew I liked her, but that's not why he's upset.
I left him in the dark too many times when it came to her.
Hollis: I thought you were neighbors. Go knock on her door and ask her yourself.
Yep, still bitter. I can't say I blame him.
I should have been up front with him from the start, but I didn't expect him to become my best friend.
It's not easy to say, ‘Oh, hey, by the way, when I got wind that my father wanted to ship me off to boarding school because I wouldn't stop bull riding, I intentionally kept going out of my way to do it and get caught in hopes he'd send me to the same school your cousin was shipped off to.’
Trigger: We are. She hasn't been home in over a year.
I watch as bubbles appear and then disappear.
"Well, did he give it to you?" Dallas asks, trotting along beside me on his horse, Titan.
"No." I blow out a frustrated breath.
"Why not?"
"It's a long story."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Want to tell me why you showed up on my front porch in the back of a cop car?"
He stays silent. Dallas and I grow closer every day.
Some days, it feels like we've always been together, but then there are times, like now, when it feels like there's an ocean between us. He refuses to talk about what brought him here, and because I know what it’s like to live with demons, I don't push.
My phone dings with a text.
Hollis: If she hasn't called, she doesn't want you to have it.
Trigger: She can't call. I never gave her my number.
Hollis: I did.
I stop my horse to make sure I read that right. What? Does that mean she asked for it?
Trigger: Why?
I try to play it cool even though my heart is suddenly racing with this revelation. She's had my number all this time. That has to mean she knew it was me at prom.
Hollis: I gave it to her when we were in the hospital. We didn't know when Warrick would wake from his coma, and since the two of you are neighbors, I told her to ask you for help.
Warrick's accident made the local news. It was bad enough that everyone was talking about it, but no one mentioned the coma.
I didn't know. If I had, I would have found a way to be there, to do something.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, hating myself for not realizing how serious it was.
But I can't rewrite history. I was drowning in my own family's crisis, and by the time I came up for air, it was too late.
Hollis: You should have told me it was her.
Not the answer I was hoping for, but I get it.
Junior year, after the charity ride, I told Hollis about my past with Asha.
I told him everything that happened on the monkey bars, her fall, and our family's rivalry.
I didn't want to keep him in the dark anymore.
During our talk, two different narratives were casually mentioned about why Asha was sent away.
Asha's version is that Warrick did it to keep her safe, while Hollis's parents claim it was for her own good.
My mind immediately went down the rabbit hole.
Why make that distinction unless he thought there was more to it?
I pressed him, but he shrugged it off like it wasn't anything, and hell, maybe it's not.
But in my head, his parents' version suggests something more complex.
Sending someone away for their own good suggests you might be the harm they need protecting from.
Regardless, I could have divulged my suspicions that she was my secret pen pal, but I didn't. It felt like a lot to pile on in one conversation.
Besides, I promised Asha I wouldn't tell him about her visit to check on me after I was kicked by that bull.
Telling him any more felt like crossing a line she asked me not to.
And at the time, there was still a sliver of doubt, anyway.
I still thought I could have been reading into things that weren't there.
Trigger: I know.
Trigger: I'm sorry.
Hollis: If she tells you to fuck off, you listen.
Trigger: I'll fuck off.
Hollis: 364.666.1432
I quickly type out a text before I can think better of it and say too much or too little.
Trigger: We need to talk.
It's straightforward and to the point. It doesn't give anything away. There's nothing to be implied, just facts. But none of that matters because the text never goes through.
The status never updated to Delivered or Read because I was blocked. But why?
Was I blocked simply because I am the enemy, the boy next door she was told to stay away from because of the last name attached to mine, or is there more to it? Has she already written me off because I didn't call sooner?
Regardless, the way I see it, she blocked me before she could tell me to fuck off, which means I'm not breaking my word to Hollis. If anything, this is a loophole. She asked someone for my number, which counts for something. It means she thought about me.