Chapter Twenty-Nine
Caine
It is officially Fall. The winds have definitely picked up, and the temperature has dropped.
But I still have work to do. We have a few more months until rodeo season, and I can’t lie, I’m kinda excited to see Mikayla’s reaction.
She missed the season in Oklahoma, and none of the guys made it to The Wrangler this year.
It will be interesting to see how she handles everything.
“Caine?” Sawyer asks as I walk into the barn after training a new young recruit. I walk the horse to her stall and shut the gate.
“What can I do for you?” I ask, turning around to look at the kid. He’s nervous. I’m not sure why, but it’s obvious as he hobbles from foot to foot. “Sawyer,” I say, losing my patience.
“It’s Jason,” he blurts, his voice low, his head down, looking at his boots.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
I’ve heard that the kid has been having issues, but I’m not AA. Bronc riding is too dangerous. And I gave the kid several chances.
“I’m not asking you to let him back, but he’s a mess, sir. I don’t know what to do,” he says, raising his arms out beside him in resignation.
“Where’s your mom? Dad?”
Jason’s twenty-one or twenty-two, and I’ve never met his parents. But I’m pretty sure he was living at home when he first started training with me when he was in high school.
“They can’t help,” Sawyer says, shaking his head. “I live with him now.”
I see the fear in the boy’s eyes, the pleading. I nod and make a decision. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I quickly send a text to Mikayla, letting her know I’ll be late for dinner. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and if I’m not mistaken, we opted for a light dinner tonight, anyway.
I hop in my truck and follow Sawyer to his apartment. I’m no stranger to bachelor pads, and in my youth, I was never the cleanest of my siblings, but the mess I’m greeted with shocks even me!
Plates with food on the counters, empty pizza boxes with cheese stuck to the top litter the floor, beer cans strewn on the floor, and dirty clothes lay about completing the mess.
Sawyer looks at me, his cheeks red and his lips down-turned. I stop short when Jason comes out of what I assume is his room, a beer can in his hand, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.
“What do you want?” he asks gruffly.
“To talk to you,” I say, walking into the living room.
I’m not gonna sit down or touch anything.
Jason drops his arm and lifts his chin. The guy’s not a small dude, but I’m still bigger than him and I’m not drunk.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I’m fine!” he grumbles as he stumbles into the room.
He places his empty can on the counter. I can tell from the clink of the aluminum can that it’s empty.
“You’re not fine! We owe rent, and you can’t pay! I just want to graduate!” Sawyer yells.
“Well, I got fired from my job!” Jason yells back.
“Because you were drunk! Just like Mom and Dad! You’re just like them! I thought living with you would be better! At least Dad can hold a job!” Sawyer spits out.
I watch as he grabs an empty can and throws it at his brother. Then another and another. Jason just holds up his arms to protect his head.
“Look at this place!” Sawyer yells. “It’s disgusting!” He hurls another can. “I can’t do this!” He hurls another can. “You need help! I need help!” he screams. His face bright red.
Jason lowers his arms and Sawyer lobs one last beer, but this time it’s a bottle.
I don’t have time to get to Sawyer before he throws it at his brother.
It hits Jason right on the forehead, and he stumbles back.
He tries to grab the counter, but he misses and falls to the ground.
He just sits there, stunned, a large welt forming on his head.
I don’t know why I do what I do, but I look at Sawyer and tell him, “Get your belongings. I’ll set you up on the ranch.”
Without a word, Sawyer runs down the hall, leaving me with Jason.
“Is this what you want?” I ask him.
The man on the floor before me is not the person I recall from the past. This man is broken, pitiful. Jason surprises me by shaking his head. And then his face begins to turn red and his nose crinkles, and I watch the young man begin to cry. Large hands cover his face as his shoulders shake.
I walk over to him and kneel beside him. “Do you want my help?” I ask him. I keep my voice low and even. It’s as though he’s a feral cat, distrustful and skittish.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers roughly. “I’m disgusting.”
“Do you want help? Do you want to get better?” I ask.
I don’t address his statements. To me, where he is doesn’t matter if he wants to get better. If he puts in the work, I’ll be there. If he can get sober, if he wants to be healthy, I’ll help him.
“Yes,” he says gruffly. He bows his head and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Pack a bag, no booze.”
I stand and extend my hand to him. Jason’s eyes are bloodshot, and I can see his vision isn’t clear, but he takes what’s offered, my hand.