2. Colton
TWO
COLTON
TEN YEARS AGO.
With my favorite suede Cattleman atop my head, I place my alternate hat, my Gus, on the stack of junk, and slide the lid on.
“You’re wearing your good hat,” Carsyn notices aloud, slipping into my room like she’s done so many times before, taking a seat on the foot of my bed near the boxes.
I tip my head to the side, considering my little sister. Just looking at her comforts me, with her tawny, tangled hair thrown into a messy braid, worn square-toed boots, frayed jeans that are just a little too long, and her Beckett Farms hoodie. She’s a spark plug, a tough cookie, and a wild card—a trifecta that often drives my dad crazy. But she’s a free soul, and I admire that. I remember when she was barely up to my waist, five years old with bare feet and hay in her hair, begging me for another ride on Roxy, Dad’s crazy old horse. She never could get enough adventure.
I’m holding tight to that fact as I leave her today, praying her adventurous spirit will keep her heart from getting too sore.
“Yeah, well, I thought if I gotta pack a hat and have it all smashed, it ought to be my work hat, not my good one.” I scratch at my forehead under the fur felt, finding my brow sweaty. “Though I doubt I’ll have a reason to wear my nice one where I’m headed.”
Our eyes follow her boots as she swings her feet. I’ll miss hearing those things clatter against the worn hardwood in the hall as she zips toward my room, sleep still in her eyes but excitement spreading her smile wide. “C’mon, Colton,” she’d beg, shaking my shoulders beneath the cover of my blue heated blanket. “Let’s ride before school. C’mon, please! ”
She’s old enough to ride on her own now. Has been for a while.
With one hand I scoop boxes off the bed, hooking a hand over my shoulder to coax her out with me. After sliding the boxes into the back of the truck I rented—which cost me extra cash since I didn’t have a credit card to use—I turn to face her, finally seeing all the things we’ve both been pretending not to feel.
“I wish you weren’t leaving,” Carsyn says quietly, a small cloud of dust lingering around her ankles as she throws dirt off her boots, still swinging her feet. I lower the boxes to the truck as she steals her hand away, hiding them behind her back.
“I ain’t leaving you , Car. I’m leaving Buffalo Trails.” My hands and wrists vibrate as I slam the tailgate closed. I pull my kid sister into a hug right then, and fish my fingers through the back of her messy hair. “I ain’t leaving you but I do have to go.”
Her small hands find my chest and shove against me, causing me to topple a few steps back. “You are so leaving me, Colton!” she says, fresh tears stinging her eyes. She swipes one away, too much pride to let it fall. She stacks her arms over her chest, dark eyes narrowed on me. “ You’re leaving me ,” she repeats, and despite her commanding little stance, her words are full of pain.
“One day it’ll make more sense,” I tell her, knowing that until she falls in love, she can’t possibly understand. “I can’t be here if she?—”
Dad walks out of the house, the screen door slapping the doorframe as he does, making Carsyn jump. Standing next to her, he surveys the loaded rental truck, a tic in his jaw as he does. Finally, his eyes come to mine and he outstretches his hand, waiting for me to take the step and meet him. “Take care, son.”
I move toward him, slide my hand into his, and shake, his expression bearing all his unspoken feelings about my departure.
“You too.” I face Carsyn again as she uses the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away more tears. “I’ll keep in touch, Car. I promise. And I’ll get you my address just as soon as I have one.”
She nods, a hint of a smile dusting her lips. Levi Beckett, ever the unfeeling asshole, loops his arm through hers and forces her to the house with him. Carsyn glances back over her shoulder just once before the screen door smacks shut, and I’m left alone with all my earthly possessions in seven boxes.
I trek across the pasture to the pen and say goodbye to Roxy, stroking my hand down her mane the way she likes. I force myself not to think of all the times I picked her up on Roxy, felt her soft curves pressed against my back as we rode off toward the pond to pick dandelions and share secrets beneath the melting sun.
I do not think of those things. I do not think of her.
I give Roxy a final stroke, trek across the grass one more time, ignoring the uprising of dandelions disturbing the lawns, and hop into the driver’s seat. The engine roars and the truck rumbles with energy. I shift into drive, and keep my eyes away from the rearview as Beckett Farms grows smaller and smaller behind me.
Never thought I’d be leaving home at age seventeen to start a new life in Texas. But then again, I never thought I’d lose her . And now that I have, not much else matters.