Chapter 23
Colton
We make it back to the estate in one piece, having spent most of the drive stuck behind a particularly slow-moving tractor. Sanya had pointed out a couple of sheep wandering along near a curve in the road and I’d smiled to myself before making a mental note of the spot. I park Rory’s tiny car and say my goodbyes to Ellie and Sanya as we hop out.
“If I don’t see you, let me know how tonight goes,” Ellie calls to me as she and Sanya jog towards the house—they received a text on the way home about an impromptu team tape analysis session. “I want to see pictures!”
I almost forget how to form words as I watch her leave, her dress flows behind her, sun glinting off her golden hair. I clear my throat, “I’ll keep you posted!” I call after them as she and Sanya reach the coach house. Ellie gives me a small wave before ducking inside the front door.
Edmund and George are waiting for me in the stables as I make my way towards Sweetie’s stall.
“Saddle up, boys,” I smile, “We’ve got some sheep to save.”
The brothers practically fall over each other in excitement, each of them scrambling to mount their steeds as quickly as possible before making sure their lassos are where they’re supposed to be .
It doesn’t take us too long to locate the loose sheep—and to be fair, they’ve only strayed a few yards from their grazing field.
“Round ‘em up, boys.” I sit back in Sweetie’s saddle and rest a hand on the pommel as Edmund and George spring into action. They take their time lassoing each of the five sheep and returning them to their pasture, whispering soft words of encouragement as they walk them back through the gate.
“Someone must’ve left this open by mistake,” George calls over to me as they usher the last sheep back into the field, “There are public walking paths all over the estate, it was probably a hiker.”
Edmund closes the gate and checks the latch three times before he and George make their way back over to me.
“Fantastic work, boys.” I nod in approval as they approach. “Couldn’t have done a better job myself. Do you have a trail ride left in you?”
“Always!” Edmund shouts as George nods enthusiastically.
“Let’s go then.”
We spend the rest of the day traipsing through some of the lush, wood-lined fields, keeping our eyes peeled for any more sheep who might be in need of assistance.
I try not to be too much of a bother to Wyatt and Meemaw, only sending a handful of texts throughout the afternoon.
The boys and I make it back to the stables a little later than usual. We each tend to our horses, untacking them before brushing them down and filling their feed buckets for the night. I walk the boys to the manor before heading for the coach house.
I’m turning my phone over anxiously in my pocket, waiting for any scrap of news on how the day is going back home—I find myself thanking my lucky stars for George and Edmund. If I hadn’t spent most of the afternoon and evening with them, I’d have been a wreck waiting for Wyatt’s big night.
I step inside the front door of the coach house.
“And what do we think about this transition?” A voice carries through the hallway from the common room.
Are they still analyzing tape in there?
I know the answer before I walk past the open doorframe, placing a hand on the stairway railing before chancing a look into the room.
Ellie and Sanya sit on a couch to the left of the TV. Ellie is hunched over a notebook, furiously scribbling away under the unblinking gaze of her mother while her coach talks animatedly about the routine they’re watching.
One of the straps on Ellie’s sundress loses its grip on her shoulder, falling gently to lay on her arm as she continues her notetaking.
I feel my throat work, my grip tightens on the railing before my feet finally begin to climb the stairs. It shouldn’t be this hard for me to tear my eyes away from her, should it?
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I’m drawn from my thoughts as I reach the top of the stairs.
Wyatt: Hey! Everyone is going to be arriving in the next few hours, Meemaw has me working on the backdrop for photos.
Wyatt: Will send photos and call and everything, sorry I’ve been so busy today.
Colton: Don’t be sorry, just remember to enjoy it, ok? I’m going to take a shower, call me whenever. Love you.
The little text bubble that tells me he’s typing pops up and then disappears, and it’s so easy for me to imagine Meemaw yelling at him to get off his damn phone—I can almost hear her as I close my bedroom door behind me.
I head towards my bed and sit down on the already-crumpled bedsheets. I slip my boots off, telling myself I’ll take a shower in five minutes, I just need a minute to relax—to breathe and realize that everything is, in fact, not falling apart at home without me. Ellie and I played a part in helping with everything, but Wyatt is plenty capable—what was I so stressed about?
I lay back in the sheets and smile to myself as my head hits the pillow and my body melts into the butter-soft mattress beneath me.
? ? ? ? ?
A tingling sensation in my hip rouses me from my impromptu nap. My room is pitch-black and I fumble through the sheets that have managed to snake their way around me. My phone is still buzzing as I pull it from my pocket.
“Hello!” I rush to press the accept button and hold my phone up to my face as I flick on the lamp on my bedside table, “Meemaw?” The phone is aimed at her feet—she’s wearing the pair of slippers I gifted her last Christmas—and it’s shaking as if she’s desperately trying to press buttons on the screen.
“Colton? Can you hear me?” She shouts.
“Yes, Meemaw, you don’t have to shout. I can hear you.” I rub at my tired face, “Can you tilt the phone up so I can see what you’re trying to show me?” I sit up in bed and rest my back against the wooden headboard. “That’s it, Meemaw, tilt it up just a little higher.” She lifts the phone up another few inches and Wyatt’s friends come into view.
They’re all milling around the kitchen, snacking and chatting, but they wave and smile when they see the phone aimed at them. They’re dressed to the nines, which is strange to see since they’re usually dressed in oversized tees and jeans.
“Wyatt’s just out front taking some photos with Christina, let me go show you.” The camera dips downwards again as she makes her way out the front door. I hear a camera shutter rattling off as Meemaw shuts the door behind her, and when she angles the phone back up, I see Wyatt and Christina standing together in front of the photographer Ellie and I booked.
The backdrop is simple, but so perfect. They must have raided Meemaw’s stash of Christmas lights because there are hundreds of little twinkling lights hanging all over the front porch. Small hay bales have been placed in some spots, electric candles flickering atop them.
“It looks amazing, Meemaw, you guys did such a great job.”
“You organized most of it!” She laughs, pointing the shaky camera towards the red bus that’s parked up on the driveway. When the camera returns to Wyatt and his date, he gives me a grin and a subtle thumbs up before snapping his attention back to the camera.
Meemaw keeps me on the phone for the next thirty minutes as the photographer snaps photos of everyone—she even gets her own photos with Wyatt before the teenagers ready themselves to leave for the night.
“There’s someone here who wants to say a little something to you Colton,” There’s such warmth in Meemaw’s voice as she passes the phone over to Wyatt.
“Hey!” He runs a hand through his hair as he walks around to the much quieter back porch. “Not too shabby, huh?” He lifts the phone up higher so I can see his tux and dress shoes.
“You clean up real nice, bud.” I laugh with a shake of my head. “You guys are about to head out?”
“Yeah, I think we’re stopping to pick up a couple of Christina’s friends on the way—since we have an entire bus, and all. Tell Ellie I said thanks, by the way, the photos we took in that thing are going to turn out so good. We’ve all shared the pics we took on our phones with Meemaw and she said she’ll send them to the family group chat—don’t hold your breath on that though...” He’s speaking quickly, a big, contagious grin on his face. “Thank you, Colton,” He pauses, smile faltering for a second. “I miss you, I wish—” Another pause before his smile becomes more strained. “Never mind, just... thank you. You’re the best brother I could’ve ever hoped for. I can’t wait until you come home.” His voice catches a little on his last words and my throat tightens.
“I’m always with you,” I force a smile of my own, “And I’m so proud of you, Wyatt. I’ll be home before you know it—now get going, before the bus takes off without you. And you text or call me if you need anything, I’m sure I can call you an Uber from here or send a couple of my friends out to get you.”
“I’ll text you, I promise. Love you, Colt.”
“Love you, boy.” The screen turns black as the calls ends, and my room in the coach house feels emptier than it ever has before. I sink further into my bed and try to convince myself that I made the right decision when I accepted this job.
I never struggled with self-doubt before my parents died, hell I never struggled with a lot of things before that awful day.
I was probably a pain in the ass to be around, quite honestly. I never doubted a single decision I made, never second guessed myself or spent hours obsessing over things I could have done differently.
My depression will manifest itself in different ways, but ultimately, its goal is to make me feel like I’m no longer worthy of this life. And one of the wonderful ways it does that is by replaying all the bends in the path I’ve taken, the decisions I’ve made that led me where I am.
Which just so happens to be in a dark, quiet room, half a world away from the people I love with my whole heart.
For the next four hours, my brain does its level best to make me feel like the worst person to ever walk the earth. I pace my room, contemplate calling my therapist, write out a few texts to Rory and Ellie before deleting them and triple checking the medication that I know I took at breakfast.
I’m turning the orange bottle over in my hand, desperately looking for any possible explanation for this overwhelming sense of doom when my phone dings.
I retrieve it from where I tossed it to the other side of the bed and read through the slew of texts from Wyatt.
He keeps his promise, updating me on his whereabouts as the prom ends and he and his friends head to an after party.
Wyatt: Hey! Prom’s pretty much over and we’re heading out to an after party at Christina’s friend’s place.
Wyatt: We had such a blast, I haven’t had any drinks or anything but I might have a beer at the party.
Wyatt: I volunteered to help clean up in the morning, so I won’t be staying out too late.
Colton: Have fun, and be safe. Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be here.
Just as I’m about to return my phone to the other side of the bed, I get another text notification. I open up the family group chat to find that Meemaw has shared a grand total of three-hundred-and-twenty-six photos from the night. They must have taken a couple of hours to send, because I know she’s not awake at this hour.
I flick through the pictures, hoping that a wave of happiness will come and wash away the sorrow that’s seeping into my bones, but I think I need a tsunami at this point.
It’s not that I don’t feel proud when I scroll through the photos of Wyatt and his friends, it’s fantastic to see them all having a great time and making memories for the future.
Is it selfish? The way I so badly want to be a part of those memories. I should be there, in case he needs me, in case he can’t make his way home in the early hours.
I don’t escape the helpless feeling, not even when another text rolls through as the birds start to chirp outside my window.
Wyatt: Home safe. Best night ever. I just wish you were here.
And just like that, the frayed, weather-worn tether holding me together snaps. Tears begin to stream down my face as I type out a quick text.
Colton: Glad to hear it. I wish I was there too, I miss you .
The words blur on the screen, but I manage to hit send before laying my head back and covering my face with a forearm.
My daddy always told me that real men ought to cry, that it was a good thing to feel your emotions. But these emotions don’t feel good, and I certainly don’t feel like a real man as I bury myself in my bed sheets and sob.