Chapter 26
My Best Friend’s Girl
Duke
Pushing my black hat on my head, I fix my shirt, making sure it’s even.
I adjust my buckle; it’s a dress piece with DW engraved on it, with a little silver version of Lola, that Cash got me a few years ago for Christmas.
Reaching down, I rearrange my pants until they are sitting right on my boots.
Spraying on a little of my sandalwood cologne, I walk into the main part of the house, reaching down to rub Dolly between her ears, and I whistle for Hank.
I fill their bowls with their food, grab my keys, and walk to my truck. I take my hat off, ruffling my hair and set it on the seat next to me. I look over at the empty passenger seat and imagine a green-eyed girl gazing back, strawberries and vanilla filling the cab with her warmth, her sun.
I haven’t been to the rodeo in a while, but I need the break tonight.
I want to fix things with her, but I want her to have space too.
Take a pause, let both of us breathe, and decide if this is the right thing.
Riding past the Welcome to Inspiration sign, I head west toward Lewistown.
I can’t wait to see Cash on the bull. He’s a showman, incredibly talented, and always captures the attention of whoever watches.
He wants me to meet Callie tonight, and I know how much it means to him.
He’s genuinely serious about this girl, with an intensity and focus usually reserved for me.
We have always balanced each other well.
Him, bright and sunny, easy going, roll-with-it and me, dark and stormy, intense, stubborn. We work well this way.
In twenty years, we’ve never needed to fight over women.
He always attracted a different sort of woman than me.
Now I’m so happy he is finally finding someone who is feeding his needs; his need for honest affection and understanding of who he really is, even if it’s happening at the same time I try to stop falling for Caroline.
Pulling in the lot for the arena, I park my truck in a spot in a long row of pickup trucks.
Climbing out, I place my hat on my head, adjust my shirt, and walk toward the check-in tent.
Cash always puts me on the VIP list when I tell him I’m coming—better seats and usually access to the riders’ tent.
Checked in, lanyard around my neck, I set off in search of a drink and a place to sit.
I got here late. I didn’t care much for the other events, though I see on the leaderboard Cash placed second in calf roping.
Riding is next so I head to my seat and wait.
Cash is riding third, just behind Miles Wilkes.
By the time his scores are up, he’ll know whether he beat him or not.
The energy in the arena is reaching a fever pitch, boots stomping and hats waving as people try to get the bulls excited.
The first rider pulls an eighty-seven, not a great showing.
Miles and Steeler emerge from the chute and it’s a rodeo ballet the way they move together.
He’s masterful at his craft and it’s easy to see why he’s dethroning Cash in city after city.
Not every show, not every time, but enough that the crowd is on their feet.
When he dismounts and the score shows ninety-three, a huge cheer erupts from the crowd.
“Shit.” That’s a damn hard score to beat.
Cash is in the chute now, the beast under him doing his best to unseat his rider even behind the gate.
The announcer does his spiel, calling out ‘Ashley Colter,’ and the crowd roars louder.
I watch Cash; he dips his chin and adjusts the tail, rubbing the rope to warm the rosin. The gate swings open.
Bombardier shoots through the gate, repeatedly kicking his rear legs out.
Cash flies forward over and over again, his arm flung in the air, his helmet making him look a bit bobble head-like.
Bombardier takes three or four leaps, completely off the ground, tossing Cash around like a ragdoll.
Cash, for his part, leans forward and back in time almost perfectly with the bull.
I can see how tightly his thighs grip as he tries to keep his seat the full eight seconds.
A horn finally blares through the arena, and the pickup men run forward, dragging Cash down and away as the barrelmen dance and run to distract the bull.
Cash climbs over the gate and he’s free.
Standing, I head to the riders’ tent behind the chutes.
I saw what I came to see so I want to meet Cash and Callie.
“You dirty little buckle bunny. You think Ashley would ever seriously want some overweight, hanger-on, pretender who isn’t even from around here? You don’t know shit about him! I’ve been around here for years.”
I hear a woman yelling as I move toward the flap covering the tent opening.
“I don’t think anything. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Caroline? That’s definitely Caroline.
“Whatever, fat slut. Why does he call you Hurricane, anyway? Because you swallow everything down including the dinner table?”
I can see Caroline from behind, her head hanging down.
She’s got on tight jeans and her brown boots.
Double braids trail down her back, and there’s a cute white hat on her head.
She’s wearing a t-shirt, but I can’t see if it says anything from this angle.
She looks more beautiful, and appropriate, than the woman yelling at her who wears white short shorts, white boots, and a white hat covered in jewels, a pink shirt tied up at her waist. She has an equally sour-faced comrade beside her, sneering at Caroline.
Coming up and standing just behind her shoulder, I give both women a dirty look. “What’s going on, ladies? Isn’t this the riders’ tent? Where are your lanyards?” I hold mine up for them to see. Caroline spins around, her jaw dropped.
“Who the hell are you? You’re not security,” the one in white snaps at me. They both look at me, stubbornly but also unsure.
“I’m here to make sure you’re not harassing people who are supposed to be here. Security!” I call out, and they rush over. “Please escort these—what did they call you, sweetheart?”
She mumbles, “Buckle bunny.”
“Yeah, these buckle bunnies out of here.” Once they’ve been removed, I stare at Caroline. The realization of what just happened, and what is happening, hits me like a lead ball through the gut.
“Hurricane?” I ask her and she nods her head, slowly. A little frightened but I don’t think of me. More, of the situation she has found herself in. “Are you Callie?” Again, she nods.
“Caroline, you’ve got, maybe, thirty seconds before Cash comes through that door. Start talking, please.”
“Callie is my nickname. I’m sorry, Duke. I didn’t—”
“Hurricane!” I hear Cash’s exclamation as he bursts through the door.
Rushing to her, he sweeps her up in his arms and pulls her in for a kiss.
A comfortable, sweet, I-could-do-this-for-the-rest-of-my-life type of kiss.
A familiar kiss. “Oh, Duke, what’s up man?
” He holds out his hand which I accept, never taking my eyes off Caroline, or Callie.
Or whoever-the-fuck she is. “You met Callie?”
“Yep. Sure did,” I say, my eyes locked with hers. The fear is there again.
“Cool. Come on, darlin’, I gotta accept my buckle and I wanted you to stand with me. I’ll be back, Duke,” he tells me, beginning to pull her to the tent opening.
“See ya, Caroline.” I wave, a little half-heartedly.
Cash stops in his tracks and turns his head, looking at me curiously, before looking at Caroline. He volleys back and forth a few times before he continues to pull her out, a little less enthusiastically.
I turn on a heel and march out of the tent, directly out of the gates, and to my truck. Getting in, I slam the door behind me and slam my hand, hard, down onto the console, creating a large crack.
“Fuck!” I scream before ripping out of my parking space and heading back toward town.
Tears stain my cheeks as I drive, fury filling my chest. I can’t tell where the destruction to my heart ends and the anger begins.
I have never been so thoroughly consumed before.
I told Sadie to expect me after the show, but I can’t tonight, I just can’t.
Slamming my truck into park in front of the house, I storm through the door and out into the gym I built in a shed. I strip off my hat and shirt as I walk.
Roaring through the door, I slam my fists into the heavy bag hanging in the corner.
And I slam and slam and slam until I feel blood dripping onto the floor.
Bending over, I put my bleeding hands on my knees, sucking in labored breaths.
I thought I knew what a broken heart felt like, but I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
I head back in the house, towels wrapped around both hands and stick them in the sink, turning on the water.
I hiss at the pain and it’s still nothing compared to the giant hole that has appeared in my chest. I grab a bottle of whiskey from my liquor cabinet, throwing the unopened bottle of Walton’s I bought for her into the fireplace—it explodes in a shower of glass and alcohol.
The dogs both yelp and retreat to another part of the house to hide from my rage.
I feel bad, but not enough to calm down.
Opening the Jack, I pour it directly into my mouth, and swallow huge gulps. Shaking, I set the bottle down. I stare at it, breathing heavily, trying to wrap my head around the last hour and what has gone so horribly wrong.
Did he know? Cash wouldn’t do this to me. He knew how much I was starting to care about Caroline; he wouldn’t have done this on purpose.
She knew though. She knew Cash was my best friend, my oldest friend. She knew because I told her myself. She played me, she played both of us for lovesick fools.
I was falling in love with her and the person I was falling for, I’m not even sure she exists. I can’t even lie to myself. I wasn’t falling in love with my best friend’s girl. I am wholly and completely so in love with her to the point that right now, I can’t breathe around the pain.
Feeling the whiskey starting to warm my veins and blur my thoughts, I lay down on the couch and let the storm take me away.
Hurricane, indeed.