Chapter 4
Fuck. I should have left for work twenty minutes ago.
Jumping out of my bed, I grab yesterday’s pants, leaving on last night’s shirt, and run out the door past Ma.
“Honey—” she yells.
“Runnin’ late, I’ll call ya when I get there, Ma.”
Slamming my truck door, I speed down the road. Richy is always pissed at me for something, but arriving late for work is sure to land me in hot water. I drive on auto-pilot the entire way, passing as many cars as I can, hoping like hell I don’t pass a cop too.
Three hours goes by, and I pull into the parking lot of the site.
Flipping my cell open, I call Ma once I shut the engine off.
The phone rings and I think about my last ride, or I guess my accident, as everyone keeps insisting on calling it.
Waking up days after hitting the ground wasn’t on my bingo card.
Ever. But neither was a major concussion or my family’s ranch being on the line.
So here I am at a nine to five, putting in the time for a steady check.
This isn’t me quitting bull riding, it’s just a detour.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
I lean my head back on my seat and close my eyes as the phone rings another time and let out a disappointed breath when I open them, finding myself still here living a nightmare instead of living my dream.
This has to be the right thing to do. Isn’t it?
Funny how I, of all people, could go from a star to a nobody overnight. The only person I’ve ever known not to give up even once, now a blue-collared worker, tired as fuck, trying to save my family’s ranch. And I can’t do that if I die, though the simplicity of this shit may kill me anyway.
The line catches. “Hey, Sweetie, did you make it on time?”
“Ten minutes to spare, Ma.” The false cheerfulness in my voice makes me cringe.
“There isn’t a clock you can’t beat.” Her laugh is soft before she sighs, most likely regretting the phrase she chose.
“Rhett, we can figure this all out on our own. The riding association said they would cover all of your medical bills from your accident, and now we just have to focus on the ranch. It will all work out…” Ma’s worry is unmistakable, even through the phone.
“Dad has a few meetings today with some friends who might lend us land cheap this year to regain our footing.” She sounds defeated, and I know she wants to convince me everything is okay, but she’s an awful liar.
I stifle a yawn, forcing a smile like she can see me through the phone. “It’ll be alright, Ma. I actually love construction work, and after what happened I don’t really want to ride a bull for a while, anyways. I just want to help fix things.”
Love it? Good God, why did I tell her I love this shit? I should have just said I needed a change or some time to heal. Anything actually believable would have done. Clearly the blow to my head made my decision making worse, not better.
Love it… Right. The only thing I love is torture, apparently.
A soft sigh escapes her.
I hope she believes me, but I have a feeling she doesn’t.
“I don’t want you to give up on your dreams just because you want to help us. We don’t need that from you, honey. We love you no matter what you do. This is our mess, not yours.”
Letting out a huff, I muster the most convincing tone I can.
“I know ya both would never ask or expect me to handle anythin’ for ya, but y’all have given me the world, and I don’t think I could sleep at night if I didn’t do the same in return.
” I can hear a sniffle come from her and I know that means she’s crying.
“We’ll fix this,” I whisper softly. “I gotta get to work, but I’ll talk to ya later. I love ya, Ma.”
“I love you too, son.”
I snap my phone shut and rub my eyes, hoping it’ll relieve the pressure that hides behind them. It breaks my heart to hear her cry, but I mean every word I say about trying to fix this, and that’s the very reason I plan to bust my ass to do so. I’ll ride again, I just don’t know when.
I get out of my truck and grab my hard hat. In bold letters it reads: Richard Boyd Construction.
I let out another deep breath I must have been holding in.
The rumble of work trucks sound from all around me, sharp bursts from drills and clangs from hammers hitting nails fill the air.
I toss the hat on and walk toward the crew break room, tired and not feeling like myself today.
B-lining straight for the coffee, I pour a cup and chug it.
Then pour another and do the same, followed by a third, but the stares from my co-workers, Sawyer and Judd, remind me to slow down.
“Why don’t you just grab a Monster?” Judd, the taller of the two, questions as if chugging coffee is illegal and he’s the witness.
“Well, Juddy, if your sister hadn’t kept me up all night I wouldn’t need to pump myself with this stuff, but a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.” I chuckle as he shakes his head, readying myself for his comeback.
“On second thought,” he replies, “Maybe you should get a Full Throttle, since I plan to beat your ass that fast too.”
We all laugh and I can’t help but send back one more jest. “The only one getting throttled is your mom, and I ain’t heard a single complaint about it.” I grin ear-to-ear.
Sawyer looks back and forth between the two of us with a knowing grin on his lips.
Like he can’t figure out where the hell the two of us come up with half the shit we say.
It’s funny, he’s my complete opposite—quiet, reserved, doesn’t speak unless he’s really got something meaningful to say, but somehow our friendship just works.
In the few short months I’ve been working this job, him and I have become fast friends.
Maybe even the realest one I’ve ever had, because he sees me as more than a star or a piggybank. We just mesh.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, dipship.” Judd laughs.
I chuckle, but my laughter dies quickly as my mind drifts back to the woes I arrived with today.
The gravity of everything going on resurfaces, and by the looks on both of their faces they can tell something is up.
I hate pity more than I hate this job and at the end of the day I’m doing what I’ve got to do, but I don’t really feel like sharing any of that shit with them.
I fake a smile. “For real though, if I’m draggin’ ass, let me know so Richy doesn’t chew me out again.
” Reaching over, I grab the pot of coffee one last time, topping off my cup.
I drone on with excuses that seem to settle their suspicions.
And it isn’t all a farce. I really am tired as fuck trying to juggle everything.
Driving back and forth for work while helping my parents with the ranch is a lot.
A whole fucking lot. The only part I leave out is why I’m doing it in the first place.
This is all temporary. It’s only been two months since my fall, and after the bills are settled I’m free to do what I want, I just hope by then I’m not too scared to.
It’s crazy how much life changes when the limelight goes out.
How friends become strangers and what you once loved only feels like a distant memory.
What I wouldn’t give to go back, what I wouldn’t do to change the past few months.
Had I just gotten out of my head that day and rode with my heart, everything would be different.
Ma always says that time changes everything. Sometimes for the good, sometimes for the bad, and sometimes the two get so damn mixed together you can’t tell the difference.
I think right now is one of those times.
I spent all morning in a rush, trying to make it to something I could give a fuck less about, but I’m doing it for the people I love, and its funny how during that struggle I land among friends.
Genuine ones, who ride the wave right along with me.
Who see that struggle and offer a solution, no questions asked.
I check my phone as Sawyer sings along with the radio. Not surprised to find zero messages or calls from anyone. I can’t help but zone into the lyrics he sings, clacking it shut to enjoy the music as we make our way down another road toward his house.
I’ll be damned. He sings the song as though he’s telling a story, as if he believes every line that passes his lips.
The lyrics feel like they’re his, despite the fact that I know they’re not.
His tone is gentle and kind, like when you hear someone reminisce about something that brought them joy, moments that made their heart feel whole.
It makes me miss things I’ve never even had, like a girl who loves me for me, not for my titles.
But also for things I had and lost, like that feeling I got anytime I won.
And for a second, it makes me forget everything around me.
It feels like a literal bell goes off in my head.
I don’t really know why it’s taken me this long to realize his talent, but now that I have, and I’m not busy riding, I’ve got more than enough time to help him, if he wants it.
Maybe it’s always been a dream of his, or maybe I just can’t help myself when I sense talent and don’t want to see it wasted.
Either way, I’m happy to make a dream or two come true while I’ve put mine on hold.
“We’re goin’ to make ya famous.” I spit out what I’m thinking without considering the fact that not everyone dives head first into something just because they are good at it like I did.
Given Sawyer’s quiet nature, he probably hasn’t ever considered singing as a career, let alone it being his dream.
By the look in his eyes, he must think I’ve lost my mind.
The tires of his Bronco shift from a black-top to gravel, pushing me to table our conversation before it really begins. A large wooden sign that reads Rawlings Ranch hangs over a rusty red gate, and, for some reason, it feels like returning home even though I’m so far from mine.