Chapter 23
HESTON
Sleep good?
Hattie
Yes but my head feels like someone dipped my brain in acid
What about you?
I slept alright
Hattie
Sorry for going a little overboard on the tequila last night. Thanks for giving me a ride home though.
Thanking me for taking care of her shouldn’t feel formal and awkward, but it does.
I want her to expect those types of things from me without a second thought like she used to.
I want to believe she would have kissed me back like she did without liquid courage, too.
But after not texting each other for so long until now, it’d probably be awkward to jump right out and ask her about it.
I stare down at the phone in my hand while Granger stretches his hamstrings with one leg propped up on the fence.
It annoys him that I make him do it for twice the length of time that he’s used to, but the more I work with him, and the more he improves, the less he pushes back on little stuff like this.
We’ve finally found a somewhat workable routine together this week.
I thought about leaving him to his own devices today so that I could go talk to Hattie. But yesterday was . . . a lot. Giving her space this morning and then texting her this afternoon instead of showing up at her door at the crack of dawn seemed like the safest route.
I just wish there was a natural way to bring up wanting to see her and talk to her again as soon as possible without making her feel smothered.
You don’t have to thank me for that.
Are you working at the clinic today?
Hattie
I was there for a little while this morning but I’m about to head out on a few farm calls now
One of them is to drain an abscess so cross your fingers I don’t blow chunks. I’m never drinking again.
How does your boss feel about calling out for a hangover?
Hattie
lol idk but I might find out if this Gatorade and pain killer combo doesn’t kick in soon…
A greasy burger from the diner is a better hack honestly.
lmk when you’re home. I’ll bring you one.
“Did you just smile?” Granger asks with a disbelieving huff.
“No,” I deadpan.
He narrows his eyes skeptically while lowering his leg from the fence rail. I shake my head when he bounces in a squat and pops back up, then slaps both of his thighs like they’re made of steel.
I make a mental note to set him up with a sports trainer.
I refused to work with one when I was his age because I thought I was ten feet tall and bulletproof.
Too hard-nosed to break. Competing at a high level on the pro rodeo circuit isn’t about being the most rough and tough cowboy, though.
In fact, it has very little to do with “cowboy” shit at all, unless you’re in ranch rodeo events.
In the PRAO, you’re a professional athlete, just like the acronym suggests.
If you don’t train like one, your body will make sure you pay for it later.
“Dr. Mike is getting a run in today,” the kid states, hoping to catch me in a good mood and finally agree.
“Maybe,” I reply, surprising myself for even considering it. “You still need more groundwork first. You’ve been on her a lot this week doing mock starts in the box, though.”
“Keep your horse healthy, no matter what,” he says, repeating the line I’ve fed him countless times already.
I glare in his direction at the change in his voice.
I do not sound like that. “Nothing is more important than taking care of your horse,” he adds, somehow with an even worse impression of me than before.
“You’re a shithead, you know that?”
He throws his head back in a deep belly laugh.
“I know. But you can’t say I’m not a good listener.
” He walks over to where his horse is dipping her muzzle into the automatic water tank and smooths a hand down her front leg.
“She’s not sore. Maybe your cute vet should come double-check, though. Just to be sure.”
“What?” My face twists, even as I glance at my phone screen to see if I received a text back from Hattie yet.
“Hattie. She’s your vet, right?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, she’s my vet.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “She’s a ten, am I right? Is it just me, or was she giving cougar vibes when she was here? She gave me her number.”
“She gave you her number because of the horse, you idiot,” I point out bluntly. “You don’t stand a chance with her.”
This isn’t the first time he’s brought her up. I think he’s fishing for information because he’s heard little tidbits from Gage or Tripp. I haven’t given him a slice of detail, so now he’s resorted to rage-baiting me. I’m beyond pathetic for falling right into it.
“We’ll see about that.”
“We fucking won’t, actually,” I mutter under my breath.
“Are y’all divorced or something? You’re sure territorial when she comes up.”
“Divorced?” I try not to laugh. No man in their right mind would sign their name on a dotted line to get out of a marriage with Hattie Jo. I shake my head. “No.”
He unties the reins and leads his horse toward me. “So, no history there?”
I roll my eyes. There’s no way he thinks I’m dumb enough to assume he doesn’t know the answer to that.
“What is this? Gossip hour? Worry about your damn self and not getting your scrawny ass kicked at your first event of the season.”
He smirks. “Oh, I see. She broke up with you. Probably for being mean, if I had to take a wild guess.”
I sigh, knowing he isn’t going to let it be unless I give him a few crumbs. “She wanted to move here and drop out of vet school after we’d been together for a few months. Her dad wanted to kill me for it, and I didn’t handle it well. It ended, and she left. Happy?”
Reducing it like that feels wrong coming out of my mouth.
In general, it’s an honest recap, but the layers are impossible to describe without spending hours explaining them.
I wouldn’t even know where to begin if I were to dive into a monologue of details about her prolonged grief, my guilt over struggling to communicate, or how terrifying it was to fall for each other as hard and as fast as we did.
Those specifics are private and impossible for anyone but Hattie and me to understand, anyway.
“Rafe?” Granger looks baffled. “That’s gotta be a stretch. He’s, like, the chillest guy ever.”
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t back then. Wait ‘til you have a daughter who starts shacking up with a guy eight years older than her and she tells you she’s giving up on her dreams just to stay close to him. Doubt you’d be chill about it either.”
He winces. “Ouch. Yeah, that’s rough. Especially with the PRAO stuff.”
Was her dad thrilled about the old video clips of me cussing up a storm in post-run interviews or constantly losing my temper at publicized events? Not so much. I wouldn’t have been either if I were him. It wasn’t a time of my life that I’m proud of, and I still harbor a lot of regret over it.
I was barely nineteen when I got my pro card, though.
I was all fight, no flight, and even after my last title at twenty-four, my abrasiveness hadn’t lessened much at all.
If anything, being pinned as rodeo’s biggest asshole with no shot at a hall of fame bid someday because of that fact made me worse.
I liked that no one took me for an easy target as the dopey kid with a mean stutter anymore.
I didn’t care if it cost me a good reputation until I came face-to-face with Hattie’s dad, who judged me to no end for my mistakes.
Getting that treatment from the rest of the world was fine.
With him, it bothered me. I was physically ill over him seeing me as nothing more than an arrogant cowboy who earned himself a circuit ban for taking a dirty punch at a hazer.
No one came to my defense or was willing to admit that the guy had it coming. He set me up that day, and I think I deserved a pass for decking him, but that little display of vengeance was the final straw that ruined my entire career.
“He wasn’t a big fan of that, either,” I confirm.
“But you were still a legend.” He smirks. “You won a lot of shit.”
“I lost more,” I say with an edge to my voice that’s begging him to pay more attention to the consequences of his choices than I did.
Nothing I’ve ever won, money or buckles or titles, was ever worth what I lost. He should know that.
“Probably why you shouldn’t be taking too many cues from me. Just watch yourself, kid.”
He hardens his expression and takes a step closer to me.
“Shouldn’t take many cues from you? What the hell are you talking about?
There’s literally no one else I’d be better off taking cues from.
If you hadn’t stopped so early, you’d have five more world titles by now, at the very least, and you know it.
Don’t act like you weren’t better than anyone you’ve ever gone up against.”
I take my hand off the rail and put it in my pocket, feeling a rare sense of clarity wash over me.
“None of that matters. Climb your way to the top of the standings, if you can. Just make better choices than I did while doing it. Model yourself after someone else.”
I’m not sure when, but at some point, we’d spent enough time together for him to be annoyed with me and not give a damn about showing it. He pushes his hat back and shakes his head with a chuckle that’s void of amusement.
“Quit saying that. I promise to avoid being a hot head like you were at my age if you quit acting like you’re the world’s biggest piece of shit.
Anyone who actually knows you respects you.
Hattie looks at you like you’re the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
Your friends would go to war for you. So, are you suggesting they’re all bad judges of character? ”
My jaw shifts, and I puff air out of my nose. The kid’s exaggerating. But he’s smarter than I give him credit for. Pulling Hattie and my friends into question is a good way to force a slight change in my perspective.
“I get your point.”
He raises his eyebrows and juts his head back in shock. “You do?”
“Yeah, but don’t push it. And don’t get into the habit of giving me advice, either.”
With a smug grin, he pulls his phone from his pocket and taps on the screen. I squint when he holds it out toward me. It’s a tip menu with options of $10, $20, or $50. I lift my eyes to shoot him a look.
“Didn’t say it was good advice,” I tell him before swiping the phone from his hands.
I click the custom amount button, type in one cent, and add a middle-finger emoji to the transaction notes.
Truth is, his advice wasn’t bad. I wouldn’t tell him that, though.
His head’s big enough as it is. “I’ll get my horse and haze a few for you. ”
His face lights up. “Really?”
“Three runs. Tops.”
Dr. Mike follows behind as he spins away and walks toward the chutes. On my way to the barn, I glance down at my phone again.
Hattie
My dad just called and asked if I wanted to meet up for dinner
I didn’t know he was going to be around Westridge tonight. I can tell him I’m busy and give him a rain check though?
Nah it’s alright
You should eat with your dad.
Hattie
Okay. Sorry.
If you aren’t busy later this weekend maybe we could hang out then?
I mean talk. Or eat greasy diner takeout or whatever.
Ok. Just call me. I’ll be around.