Beckett
***
Fifteen years old
“Heels down, cowboy.” Holden tells me while I sit on the back of a mechanical bull in the old barn on Scars Creek Ranch.
I nod. “Let’s do this.”
He switches the bull on, easing me into the first spin and when I stay on, he bumps up the heat.
“Ride that bull, King!” Carson claps with excitement.
The adrenaline runs through me, the excitement of putting all my anger from the day into practicing for our upcoming rodeo is just what I needed after a hard day. The water was cut off at our trailer this morning. I had to come to the Taylors’ to shower and change after school.
The timer buzzes, Holden slows the bull to a stop, and I jump off. He slaps me on the shoulder, “Well done, son. You are a natural.” He turns to Carson. “Alright boy, you’re up.”
A car door shutting in the distance gets our attention, my heart rate racing when we step out of the barn and see my father, high as a kite, staggering towards us.
“Beckett!” he yells at me. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Practicing for the rodeo this weekend,” I tell him.
“Well, your mother wants you home. There’s chores for you to do and we need groceries.”
Holden steps in front of me. “Jerry, why don’t you get back in your car and get off my land.”
“Not until he goes with me.”
“He is not getting in that car with you like this.”
“What are you trying to say, Taylor?”
“Get in your car and go home.”
My father stands nose to nose with Holden before moving to the side, grabbing me by my hair and pulling me into him. “Ahhh,” I scream out. “Dad let go of me.”
“Jerry, let go of the boy.” Holden’s nostrils flare.
“He is my son, Taylor. Not yours. We need him home.” He pulls me back to the car shoving me into the passenger seat, hitting my head on the top of the car—I am sure not by accident—beatings are the least of my worries with him.
I should be scared getting in the car with him like this, but I’m not. At least if we get in an accident or worse, I won’t have to deal with him anymore.
“Jerry. Let him out of the fucking car,” Holden yells, coming to the window on my side.
“Fuck off, Taylor. You think you’re better than us. Leave my son alone.”
“Beckett.” Carson’s face saddens.
“I’ll be okay”, I assure my best friend and glance at his father. “I’ll be okay.”
We drive off, and I fight back the tears creasing at my eyes.
Adrenaline pumping through me, much worse than when I am on a bull, because I know when I get home, he will beat me black and blue for being at the Taylors’ tonight and not home taking care of them, when they should be the ones taking care of me.
At least I get a little break from hell when I am at the Taylors’. I am grateful for that.