Chapter 37 Heston
HESTON
The Bunkhouse hasn’t been this quiet since Lucky went missing the other day.
I expected to hear smack talk coming from down the hall, or even the familiar hum of music, when I got out of the shower.
But everyone is either passed out on the couch or in their old rooms, all the lights are off, and other than the crackle of the fireplace in the living room, it’s entirely silent.
I brace a shoulder against the door frame to my room and let my eyes adjust to the darkness.
Hattie is lying on her side, asleep in my bed, with one hand tucked under her pillow.
Lucky’s curled up in her dog bed, sleeping deeper than usual.
She didn’t even flick an ear up when I stopped in the doorway.
My shoulder digs into the wood as I cross my arms and soak it in. These walls have heard it all. Our fights, our laughs, and everything in between. I’m partial to the current sound, though—the same quiet I hope to hear for the rest of my nights. Peace.
I allow myself one last glance before shrugging on a sweatshirt and leaving the room to slip out the back door.
The night air isn’t as cold as I wish it were.
A breeze with a bite would feel more fitting, considering what I’m about to do.
I pull the hood over my head of slightly damp hair and blow out a breath.
Rafe’s contact stares up at me from the screen in my hand. Maybe a phone call is a chickenshit way to break ground with Hattie’s dad, but there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t try to murder me if I met up with him in person. I may be feeling brave, but I’m not an idiot.
I fix my eyes on the ground after pressing the phone to my ear. Part of me expected the call to fail, assuming he’d blocked me long ago. Instead, it rings four, almost five, times before he answers. The line is silent for a beat.
“Heston.”
I clear my throat. “Sir.”
“Took you long enough.”
If his voice were laced with loathing like I remember it, I’d at least feel somewhat prepared to defend myself. This strange, non-combative tone of his is throwing me for a loop. I scrunch my brows together and tighten my grip on the phone.
“So,” he goes on with a grunt, as if he’s sinking into a seat on the couch. “You wanna dance around it for a bit, or should we cut right to the chase?”
“I don’t dance.”
“So, I’ve heard.” He chuckles, and it disarms me even more than the amicable edge to his words. “In that case, I’ll go ahead and say that I owe you an apology.”
I brace myself for a twist. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do. Probably owe you a little more than that, but it’s a start. I know I ran you off and that I was a selfish prick. Man to man, I’m sorry for that.”
Is this a trick?
Pacing the back porch is all I can do to keep my head from spinning.
Getting Hattie back was always the goal.
Beyond that, I knew I’d never be able to give her the life she deserves unless I fixed things with her dad.
I just didn’t expect him to jump right in and extend the olive branch without a few years of threats and dirty looks first.
I almost reply with something brash or manly to preserve the upper hand while I still have it. Instead, I push outside of that mindset and lean more into vulnerable, upfront honesty. “I don’t have kids yet, but I hope I do someday. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Protect them.”
He thinks for a moment before answering. “Sure. You can try. I’ll be the first to tell you that you can’t, though. You can do everything within your power to keep them safe and close. Sometimes it’s just not possible.”
Fuck.
My mind instantly goes to Hattie’s brother, Jay, and I understand where Rafe gained this perspective.
He would have done anything to protect his son.
He’d have saved his young wife from an aneurysm, too.
In the end, the universe, in all of its cruelty, had other plans that were unchangeable—even for a grieving family that would have given anything to rewrite their fate.
Having to accept that seems unimaginable. Getting on Rafe’s good side is suddenly falling lower on my list of priorities at the moment, and I ask his advice instead.
“So, what do you do, then?”
“You just love them. Never take them for granted. Trust them—especially when they’re starting to make a life of their own. Lay off the cigarettes and whiskey, and admit when you’re wrong. Get help when you need it, so you can be the kind of man they can depend on when they need you.”
I let out a deep breath. No one tells you that wanting to be a good partner or father, or just a good man in general, comes with a lot of anxiety and pressure. Guys aren’t supposed to feel fear, which is insane, honestly. I’m constantly scared of fucking up the things that matter most to me.
“I’m not trying to act like I know all the secrets to life,” he goes on. “Trust me, I don’t. I didn’t even learn most of that stuff until recently. Not long after, I realized I’d made a mistake trying to control Hattie’s future. Point is, you learn as you go, and never make the same mistake twice.”
“Easier said than done on that last part,” I admit with a huff.
“Nah. It’s not as difficult as you think. How do you feel about her?”
“About—Hattie?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I—well, I love her. I’ve loved her all along.”
He quickly scoffs. “Everybody knows that. You tell me how you feel about her as if I’m not some random guy on the street.”
“Right.” If I were talking to anyone other than her literal dad, now would be a perfect time to throw out an excuse about not being very good with words. I pace toward the other end of the porch and scrub a hand over my jaw. “I’ve never cared about anyone more than I do your daughter.”
Even though there’s a small lump in my throat, and nerves settle in as I question how inadequate I may sound, I pretend I’m simply talking to myself out loud.
No one knows the truth better than I do.
I’ve thought about her long enough to understand exactly why she’s it for me. I just have to say it.
“She’s been through a lot. It kills me, but somehow, she still gets her hopes up.
She never gives in, and she never stops believing in herself.
It’s incredible, really. And she—she believes in me, too.
More than anyone ever has. More than I deserve.
” I glance over my shoulder to the bunkhouse, despite knowing that he can’t see where I’m looking.
“That’s the love of my life in there. No one is good enough for her, least of all me, but I can’t live without her. I’ve tried. I just can’t.”
“That’ll do,” he says quietly. “I’m assuming you’ve told her that yourself by now, huh?”
“A version of it.”
“Good. Her mom and I had Hattie when we were in high school.” He chuckles lightly before trailing off into a minute of thick silence. “I thought, man, we’re so young, and all we’ve got is time. I’m sure you can guess what my advice on that would be.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“I’d tell you to quit calling me sir, but it’s a hell of a lot better than pops. Just call me Rafe from now on.”
“I can do that,” I say, shaking my head with a disbelieving smirk. “This—is not how I thought this conversation was going to go. Not this easy.”
“I can make it a lot fucking harder for you, if that’s what you want.”
I look down and rub my forehead. “It’s what I’d expect.”
“Well, that may be,” he says. “But I think things have been hard enough for the both of us, huh? And you can’t be that surprised that I want this thing squashed between us. You got my messages, didn’t you?”
“Messages?” I squint, trying to remember if I’ve heard from him at all in the last two years. I come up short. “No, sir. I mean—no, I didn’t get any messages from you.”
“Huh,” he breathes out. “Thought they were pretty obvious. The invitation? The kid, the horse . . . the land.”
“Oh.” It all clicks together in my head. One thing that he mentioned sticks out more than the others. “Mr. Parker didn’t sell me that plot at Solana Bluffs last year, did he?”
“No,” he admits. “He helped me out and took it off my hands while we waited for you to find the listing. I knew you wouldn’t buy it straight from me or take it as a gift.”
“How’d you know I’d buy it at all?”
“A hunch.” He chuckles again, and I don’t flinch back at the unfamiliar sound this time.
“I figured if you didn’t, it would be a sign that I was right about you all along.
And if you did . . . Well, then I fucked up and ruined the best thing that ever happened to my daughter—someone who knows and loves her enough not to let an opportunity like that pass him by. ”
I guess I did one thing right while she was gone. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why send Granger here to me? I mean . . . You could have sent a horse for him anywhere.”
“Because I owed his uncle a favor, and I didn’t want to send him somewhere to pick up bad habits. I figured you needed a little push with more than just speaking to my daughter again anyway.”
“A push? To get me back in the arena and compete again?” I ask, confused.
“No, I doubt that would ever happen.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I’m too old and washed up. The PRAO would never forgive me, anyway.”
“Probably not, but that’s okay.”
I don’t want to go back and compete. But part of me wants to reintegrate into that world eventually. Maybe as a coach. “Is it?”
“Sure. You know I’m not much of a pro rodeo guy. Never cared for the pointless events and flashy entertainment bits. No offense.”
“None taken,” I say with a chuckle.
“Regardless,” he continues, “fuck the PRAO. It only matters that you forgive yourself. That’s what I hoped the kid would help you do.”
Hearing him suggest that I forgive myself feels like walking behind my truck and accidentally hitting my shin on the drop hitch. My parents have already told me the same thing on multiple occasions, so I know it’s a healthy and somewhat necessary step to take.