Chapter Thirty-Two
Eight Seconds
Jordan
I’m on cloud nine at camp on Monday, which is insane, because it’s officially a week until the big Cross Camp game, and we should be stressed to the point of hair loss.
But I admit it. To see how happy Tali – and Rod – were on Friday unlocked a part of my heart I didn’t realize I’d kept shut.
Then there was also how happy I felt, and that was a whole different can of worms. The happy was emanating from my every pore.
It still is, I think, and I had no idea that kind of happy was possible until now.
Part of me is sad when the kids head to the bleachers at the end of the camp day, chattering as they take off their cleats and zip their bags.
I’m going to miss it pretty badly. Then I start to think about what happens when I leave to this thing Rod and I are building, and I decide to stick a pin in those musings.
‘… I won’t sugar-coat it,’ Benny is telling us once everyone has left.
The three of us are sharing another bundle of leftover ice pops from the cooler, but the discussion is anything but summer fun.
‘Money isn’t looking great. Especially since the state chopped the sports grant we had in half.
This game might be our last chance to salvage some of that. ’
Rod shrugs matter-of-factly. ‘I mean, for what it’s worth, the kids are looking good. I have a meeting with Big Lacrosse tomorrow, and hopefully I’ll hear more about the money situation there.’
‘Big Lacrosse?’ I ask.
‘It’s a bunch of college sports bigwigs,’ Benny explains.
‘A board of guys who work for the public schools and allot us money for the camps with the intention of these kids eventually feeding back up to the colleges to play D1, D2. We’re in New England, obviously, which means these dudes have real sway. The sport’s a hot topic out here.’
College? I laugh incredulously. Nothing seems to come without a price when sports and corporate mix.
I remember adding up my points per game when I was at OKC – watching match film and doing illegible math on the backs of hotel napkins to figure out whether I’d made enough to hang onto my scholarship.
What a nightmare. ‘So not just all fun and games out here, huh.’
‘Unfortunately,’ says Benny with a sigh.
‘But we like to keep it all fun and games,’ Rod corrects with that pointed optimism of his. ‘For the kids’ sake, we don’t usually bring the money issues to camp.’
I hum in acknowledgement. ‘And why start now?’
The guys both nod. ‘We’ll get through this game,’ Benny proposes, ‘and then figure it out. Big Lacrosse can give us some clarity. Not to mention they love Rod, which is what’s kept us hanging on the last two summers.’
‘They don’t love me.’ Rod swats at the air, all humble-brag like he’s not the guy known far and wide as ‘Hot Rod’. ‘They tolerate me. I’ve pretty much been pushing them till they break. Hopefully tomorrow, they won’t have broken just yet.’
‘Sure,’ I snicker, swiping my bag from the bleachers. ‘Time to—’
My phone buzzes in my pocket before I can finish, and my watch dings on cue. I check the notification.
Seriously, Mom?
‘You all good there?’ Rod’s eyebrows knit together in concern, but I nod my head, trying to stay as nonchalant as a girl can when her mother’s going on a midlife-crisis-induced ranch spiral.
‘Oh, I’m peachy,’ I smile through gritted teeth. ‘I’m going to take off. I have something to attend to real soon.’
I practically blaze into the potholed parking lot, so aggressively I’m surprised I don’t burn holes through my Birkenstocks.
I find my sedan and throw myself into the driver’s seat.
I jab at the contacts on my phone and dial my mother.
No way, no way, no way. The barns were enough.
This bit, though, this can’t be happening.
With every dull drone of the dial tone, I fall down a couple steps from that pedestal of happiness.
Then the stupid voicemail prompt, and the beep.
I can’t blame her. I really can’t. Everything on that ranch has a different sort of tint in her eyes than it does mine. It’s probably full of promises my father made to her, promises he never kept. I wish I could put my pride aside and say, good for you.
But she’s still spending money on the ranch that sucked so much life from her, instead of travelling or going out or doing something that gives her back a semblance of that life.
And I could possibly have lived with it if she’d replaced any other part of the ranch. Except when I read her text again, an irreparable rawness fills my throat.
The stable where I kept my first horse. The ring outside of it is literally where I learned to ride.
The little covered practice arena to the left is where I held onto the bronc for my first eight seconds.
I can talk shit about growing up farming and ranching, but it built me.
I can’t stand to see it go. I just can’t.
I’m not really even sure what I thought I’d get out of keeping the stables around.
Forget that I remember my dad trying to put me on a horse and giving up when I started crying.
I have good memories, too. It’s duality.
It’s how that kind of thing works. What’d I think, though?
That I’d show my kids around? Teach them to ride there, the same way my mother taught me?
That thought is a little harder to cope with when I think about the fact that this was the summer I actually – actually – started opening my heart to that. A family. And naturally, now everything I grew up with is going to be gone.
‘Jordan?’
I don’t totally clock that I left the door to the car open until I hear how clear Rod’s voice sounds.
He’s probably a couple of cars away, eventually winding his way through until his tall, muscular frame comes into view.
My eyes lock in on his, and he rushes right over.
He doesn’t need to, but he does, and that makes all the difference.
I watch him get closer until he leans down to make sure I’m okay, his hand braced against the top of my car, his deep brown irises boring into mine, creased with concern. He dips his head forward, a curl of almost black hair falling across his brow, and says softly, ‘Hey. What’s up?’
The rawness, the feeling of swallowing glass, turns into something else. It crawls up my throat and emerges as a muffled sob. The tears I didn’t realize I was holding in fall silently.
I trained myself to put up a wall for so long.
You have to, you know. Everyone expects you to be strong and pull the ranch forward.
Pull my mom forward when she’s in her room and I have my ear pressed against the door, listening to her quiet cries.
When those bills pile up instead of groceries on the dining-room table.
I have refused to let it punch me in the gut for about seventeen years.
Until Rod holds me, and I finally, finally let it go.
I bury my face in my hands, and I feel Rod’s palms against my back, rubbing soothing circles. ‘I’m okay,’ I mumble even as I practically drink my own tears. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Take your time,’ he whispers. ‘It’s alright.’
‘My mom’s knocking down the stables,’ I manage anyway.
Some part of me feels like I owe him an explanation for this hot mess he didn’t sign up for.
‘Making new ones. My dad screwed up a lot of stuff when he left, Rod, but those stables … that was where my momma made it better. I had good memories, and I just …’ I sniff, training my eyes on the ceiling of my car for just a minute in hopes it will force the tears back in.
‘She hates the place because it’s what he left her with.
The burden. But for me … that ranch is all I ever had.
I don’t know how to understand that him leaving hurt us both in such different ways, and now, we have to live with the differences.
’ My next sob comes out as more of a laugh.
‘God, I gave my mom money to go take a trip for herself. She spent it on the cattle barns.’
‘That sounds like what a good parent does.’ Rod thumbs a stray hair away from my mouth with concentration in his eyes. ‘All she knows is you, right?’
I lean into his chest, and he wraps an arm around me.
The silent tears continue to fall despite my best efforts.
All my mother knows is me, but no one deserves that.
She deserves to have something to herself.
She doesn’t need to stay on this ranch and tear down every last remnant of the man who ruined both our lives beyond repair.
I remember my father leaving, of course, but I also remember the build-up. My mom’s voice breaking as my dad denied, over and over, the fact that he was cheating on her.
Then one day, I went outside to play, ride the horses, and I watched him load his pickup and pull it off the driveway, down the long dirt road. It never came back. That was the last time in a long time that I had gone outside with the sole purpose of playing.
In rodeo, you’re told everything can go sideways in just eight seconds.
That’s how long you need to hold onto the horse, or the bull, to get points.
It’s also the most dangerous eight seconds of a cowgirl’s life.
Lacrosse is the same way. When you make a play down the centre, every moment counts.
You can be set up for the perfect shot, the winning goal, one minute, and the next, the opponent is hurtling down the field in the other direction.
That was how my dad leaving felt. The change was sudden.
As much as there was build-up, it hit quickly, and all at once.
Ever since then, I’ve lived afraid. With the fear that my mother knows too much of me and not enough of herself. And with the fear that while she tried to rip him from our lives one wooden barn board after another, I would drown in mistrust and insecurity.
I close my eyes and feel Rod’s heartbeat against my cheek. Even, strong. There is no insecurity here. Just hope.
Genny sets a cold glass of iced tea in front of me, and gives my shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze before heading out the back doors. I’m usually the one who does this for my closest friends. It’s odd to have someone take up the responsibility for me.
Across from me, Rod sips at his own tea. I’m grateful he doesn’t look at me as if I could break in half any minute now. Instead, there’s a hint of upset there, as if he’s sharing in my anger.
‘Life’s a real shitshow, huh?’ I say, possibly just to cut the quiet.
Rod notices right away. A small smile tips one side of his mouth up.
‘You know what? My uncle Julius owns this ranch in Montana. Three hundred head of cattle. No one to tell me what I have to do. No having to be the grown-up all the time. It could be nice,’ I yap on, ‘life without any obligations. Maybe I’m looking for freedom. Or maybe I just want to see more cows.’
Rod scoots his chair closer so he can lean in, and he says, ‘Do you always try to fill silence like this, Jor?’
‘I hate the silence,’ I reply. My voice still sounds stuffy. I despise it. ‘Filling it is kind of my thing.’
He nods, rubbing his knuckles along one side of his stubbled jaw. ‘I get that. Just know you don’t have to fill it alone.’
‘What, you’re not a fan of the way I suck all the air out of a room?’
That gets a laugh out of him. Rod’s laugh is a deep rumble that’s the same sort of cosy as being nestled in his arms. ‘I hope you never stop sucking all the air out of the room. Just … let me help you do it. I know what it’s like to feel that void.
I’m here to do whatever you need me to so you can fill it. ’
‘I guess you’re right.’ I trace the rim of the glass with a finger, wiping away a faint layer of condensation.
Then I look up at the beautiful face that has become so familiar over the chaos of the summer.
Two months are a short time for most people, but most people aren’t Rod Wilson.
Most people don’t share the weight of scared and lonely the way we have.
‘But if I’m honest, I think you’re already starting to fill it. ’
I’m probably rocking the puffiest, most nervous smile out there.
It’s not my style. Rod doesn’t care. He scoots his chair over so he’s right opposite me, and tugs mine closer so our knees lock.
He takes my face in his strong hands, and he presses a kiss to my forehead first. ‘So are you,’ he says so quietly that it almost seems as if he mouths the words.
When he kisses me, a crack in my heart seals itself. He cups my jaw so gently, his lips so tender against mine. Every touch speaks volumes. His stubble just barely scratches my skin, and he smells like cologne and firewood.
Home.