Chapter 30
One minute I’m speeding down the road, the next I’m fucked.
This damn truck.
Climbing out of the cab, I yank open the hood. Smoke billows out, and with it, so does my chance of being to work on time.
This would be the day Sawyer decided to stay the night at Daisy’s.
I throw my head back, questioning how I can take two steps forward and ten steps back at nearly every turn.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I look down at my engine, smoke slowing since I released it from its confinement, and yet there’s no clear indication of what’s wrong beyond it just being a pile of shit.
Peering back toward Sawyer’s place, I consider my next move.
If I walk back it’s not like I’m walking toward anything but the horses and I can’t take one of them to work.
I look the other way, and besides some driveways that lead to who knows where, there’s nothing.
I groan as I get back in the cab, pulling out my phone to check the time. Thirty minutes until work. Not long enough for Sawyer to come get my ass. I toss my phone to the side, dropping my forehead to my steering wheel, setting off the horn.
Where did my luck go? I swear, up until my accident it felt like if there was a game of chance, I was the winner no matter what the cost. And now? I bet I couldn’t even find a penny on the street.
Leaning back on the headrest, I close my eyes.
Well, damn it all to hell, I guess I better quit being a sad sack and try to fix this shit instead sit here feeling hopeless.
I hop back out of the truck, slamming my door behind me, not out of my frustration, but more so because it’s the only way to make the door latch, and then I laugh.
The universe itself is telling me it’s time to quit the charade.
Working to work isn’t my calling, it’s never going to be.
The rumble of an engine approaching draws me from my thoughts. A familiar rusty red truck slows to a stop beside me.
Billy rolls down his window as I raise my hand to wave. “Engine trouble?” His tone is simple, never seeming to be jolly nor indifferent, just lacking in emotion all together. I wonder if he’s always been like this? Or if something made him this way?
“Yeah, not my forte,” I chuckle. “Ya know anythin’ about vehicles?”
He glances around, as if to assess my truck from his seat, then looks down at the clock on his dash. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. But aren’t you gonna be late for work?”
“Add it to the list of reasons I should be fired.” I laugh again, trying to make light of my misfortune.
“Get in. I’m going to town, anyway.” His tone remains smooth, emotionless.
“Yeah, let me get my phone real quick.” I swing my door back open, leaning across my seat, then notice a little green bag in the passenger door.
Kaylee’s prize? Why didn’t she mention leaving it?
I take a peek into the bag, finding a goofy looking bunny with angel wings, and below it a line that reads, nice…mostly, and I laugh.
She would.
I snag my phone, slamming my door once more before hopping into his cab.
“Better not slam my door like that too.” This time his voice is lighter, I may even sense a joke.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, kid. My door just doesn’t stay shut if I pussy foot around too much.
” I pause for a moment. “She likes an assertive man.” Turning toward him, I catch his smile and can’t help but continue.
“Well, until today. Now she prefers to blow off steam on the side of the road. I guess she’s just as unpredictable as they come. ”
“Whatever you say, Rhett.” He nods once, but his faint smile remains. “I’m sure it’s simple, probably a leak somewhere. I’ll fix it and put it back at Sawyer’s for you.”
“Thanks, Man, just let me know what I owe ya.”
“Not a problem at all. My uncle owned a shop, so I know a lot about cars. We’ve got all sorts of extra pieces and parts lying around from work trucks at the ranch, so don’t worry about it.”
My curiosity about him grows. He seems to be a jack of all trades, knows how to do just about anything, and yet he never shares enough about himself to be anything more than a stranger.
“Thanks, again.” I don’t linger on the subject as I look over the inside of his tidy cab and then toward the tattoos that cover his dark skin.
A rather large skeleton wearing a cowboy hat and holding a rifle takes up the majority of his forearm.
Within its mouth is a cigarette with smoke that billows up into the next tattoo—a scene of a slumped cowboy riding a horse toward a mountain, a bottle of booze hanging from his hand.
The details are phenomenal. It’s as if staring off into a scene, though I’m not sure if it’s toward redemption or destruction for the rider.
Billy clears his throat, and I snap back to reality, the trance of his tattoo floating away like smoke on the wind.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask why you don’t ride anymore.
” The question comes out as more of a statement, but in true Billy fashion, it’s blunt and emotionless.
“I don’t mean to be a dick,” he continues before I get the chance to even formulate a response.
“You just… You were real damn good. Entertaining. Determined. Didn’t really seem like you could be cut down that easily.
” His gaze flicks to me for a moment before settling back on the road. “Was it worse than they say?”
My fingers start to tap my thigh. I hardly know this guy, the last thing I want to do is unload my sob story on him. I lift my arm up and lean it on the window ledge. It doesn’t stop my tapping, but feels like more of a release than leaving it where it was.
Silence sits in the air as I think about what he asked, and whether or not it makes sense for me to share this information now or ever.
But nothing changes the reality of what happened, and only I can decide what moving forward looks like.
With each passing day, hiding feels less and less helpful to myself and my family, even if I blanket it with the excuse that we need money more than I need a thrill.
I sigh, giving into the idea that sharing with him won’t hurt. “I guess it depends on who’s sayin’ it. At the beginnin’, I know reporters were sayin’ I was touch and go. That I was a legend here and gone.” I chuckle softly to myself.
A legend? How could I be when there were so many greats before me?
So many men who devoted their life to the sport, just like me, and not for any other reason than their passion.
The moment I was on a bull just for the money was the very moment I should have lost any title as grand as that. And I did.
“I’m no legend. I lost focus that day over somethin’ else, and because of that, I rode like shit. Helfire knew it the moment I got on him. He deserved the win. I was an unequal opponent, a waste of his time. It pissed him off and he did a damn good job of showin’ it.”
He seems to contemplate my words, his gaze slightly narrowing as he looks ahead. A moment later, he nods, his voice a low rumble as he says, “That’s not really the answer I was expecting."
"What’d ya expect?" I question.
"I don’t know something along the lines of you blaming someone or something else.
A shitty pick. Faulty bullrope. Someone else opening the gate before you were ready.
Feels like for most guys it’s all about pride.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone take the loss and nearly apologize to the bull for it.
" His umber gaze flicks to mine. "Did the doctors say you shouldn’t go back?”
“I got cleared a few weeks after the incident. Pretty gnarly concussion, had to do some rehab, but the doctors gave me a clean bill of health. It’s gonna take more than that to keep me off a bull.
Ridin’s my drug. I’ve lived and breathed it for so long, it’s become somethin’ I can’t walk away from.
" My voice trails off, and I realize the contradiction in my words.
But it’s true. The plan is to go back. It always has been.
“Then why did you?”
Why? A question I’ve asked myself for so long it feels like it should come with instructions.
The basis of why from the beginning was because I wanted to help my family, especially after fucking up so bad, but also because I made a fool of myself.
I was used to showing up and killing it.
Instead, my season was slaughtered all because I couldn’t keep my shit together.
I can’t really share why in detail without messing with how my family is perceived.
Not that it’s anyone’s business. It’s just some things are best kept private, and my family’s struggle is one of them.
But I could’ve come back. I could’ve kept my trap shut and made everyone who doubted me eat their words.
Like Dad said, everyone has an off ride now and then.
Something else has stopped me in my tracks, and it’s just that I’m finally realizing what it is.
I just can’t decide if sharing any of it with a near stranger is a good or awful idea.
Billy decided to help me without asking anything in return and never once has he pried, so maybe an answer is the best way for me to repay him for his kindness.
“Honestly…” I release a steady sigh, trying my best to leave out parts of this situation I don’t want in public, while still getting it off my chest. “I don’t know.
Sometimes I think it’s because I’m scared.
Other times, I tell myself it’s because the money’s slow and not guaranteed.
” His expression doesn’t look convinced, and I don’t feel better stopping at that, so I continue, “Every day I’m not ridin’ is miserable, but between you and I, the longer I think about it, the more I feel like it’s because that day made me wonder if I don’t have ridin’, what the hell do I have without it? ”
His expression softens, not that he appeared angry to begin with, but almost as if he gets it. That on some level he relates to what I just said.