Wednesday, December 22nd
Ronan
I’ve been in Montana for almost two months now. Two months of forcing myself to keep breathing, to keep my heart beating, to continue living.
My grandparents have been doing their absolute damnedest to get me—at least physically—out of the darkness I’ve been holing myself up in.
They’ve staunchly ensured that I attend every single one of my therapy sessions with Doctor Seivert. “No more skipping them, baby boy. No more sleeping away the daylight hours,” my grandmother told me only last week when I wanted nothing more than to squirrel away in my bedroom, shut the curtains, and pass out. All I craved was sleep. I still crave it. All the time. It’s the only thing that seems to fill the emptiness inside me. Sleep. I can never get enough.
But my grandma didn’t relent, just like my grandfather has made it his personal mission to keep my mind and body occupied with work.
Every morning for the past three weeks, my grandfather has woken me no later than 3:30 to start the day.
He’s been taking it slow with me, letting me rest when I can’t make myself put one foot in front of the other anymore, though my grandparents have pushed me a little bit longer every day. I guess that’s the good thing about my upbringing, if there even is such a thing: I don’t have it in me to argue with my grandparents or push back. If I’m told to do something, I’ll do it.
I mostly helped my grandparents and aunt with things that weren’t so damn physical, like cooking. I have to admit that my skills in the kitchen have definitely improved. I’ve also been helping my aunt Erin with the business end of things.
My aunt and her husband Martin run the touristy side of the ranch. Martin handles the bookkeeping and accounting while Erin is a pro at hospitality, meaning she deals with guests who come to visit year-round and occupy the small guest cabins on my grandparents’ 3,500-acre ranch.
But where my emotional recovery is… lagging, I guess, my physical injuries have improved by leaps and bounds. I’m doing a lot better than when I got here or even a few weeks ago. I’d say I’m mostly healed, the only residual issue being my knee, but that’s coming along. I’m able to get around without crutches okay and have been using my brace less and less, except when I get down and dirty with some of the harder labor.
About a week ago, my grandfather decided I was well enough to start working on the ranch with him again, even though I still limp around slowly. Most days I sincerely doubt my usefulness, but neither my grandfather nor his ranch hand, Thomas, give me any indication that what little work I’m able to do isn’t helping them. And I do my absolute best to be of assistance while my grandpa, Thomas, and Thomas’s son Elias—both of whom live in a small, two-bedroom cabin on my grandparents’ ranch—wrangle calves for branding, place new fence posts, or otherwise engage in heavy-duty work.
My cousins Colin and Riley also help out. They’re eight and fourteen respectively, though Riley has already made it blatantly clear that she has no intention of sticking around the ranch once she turns eighteen. My grandmother always frowns at her, then comments to Erin about how Riley reminds her of my dad at that age. My dad, of course, left Montana when he turned sixteen, only to get my mother knocked up during a one-night stand and, well, here we are.
Most days we’re done with the heavy labor around noon, eat lunch, and then I usually crash hard, sleeping for two hours before my grandmother wakes me so I can do a few hours of schoolwork before dinner.
And that’s usually my day. Where my grandpa, Thomas, and Elias always head back outside for more feedings and to check on things before everyone turns in for the night by 8:30, I’m already so wiped out by the time dinner rolls around that I have a hard time keeping my eyes open at the dinner table. I’ve never been so exhausted in my life.
***
It’s late morning when I radio my grandpa today. “Athair, would it be okay if I go back to the house?”
I just finished putting the last of the fresh pine shavings in the stalls, then found the nearest straw bales to sit on. If only I had something to elevate my knee with. And maybe a blanket and pillow so I can just pass out right here. It’s taken me way too long to muck out the stalls. I had to sit down a ton to rest and shut my eyes for a moment. And it wasn’t even because my body was tired. It was, but it’s mostly my mind now. I just can’t shake that feeling of not being enough, especially with how useless I am around the ranch. My mom’s voice is in my head—sometimes loud, sometimes less so—telling me what a fuck-up I am.
I have to rest like that several times a day—just sit my ass down somewhere quiet and close my eyes, doing what Doctor Seivert told me to do two months ago: “picture something that feels good to you. Focus on just that, nothing else. Hold that feeling inside you tightly, let it consume you.” Cat. It’s always Cat. She was that feeling two months ago; she is that feeling now.
The radio crackles for a second before my grandpa’s deep voice comes through. “Are you all done in the barn?”
I take a deep breath, then move the radio to my mouth again. “Yep, all done,” I say and sigh. Please let me go back to the house.
“Alright, then yes, you’re released for the day.”
Thank the heavens. I get up from my seat on the straw and take a tentative step. My knee aches, just like it does every time I’m on it for too long. I know exactly what I’m going to do once I get back to the house. I’m going to take a hot shower, then elevate my leg and ice the absolute living shit out of it. That should do the trick.
Before I can get too far, my grandpa comes back on the radio. “Ran, could you grab the ratchet wrench with the nine-sixteenths head and take it back to the house? See if you can’t tighten the bolts on the newel posts.”
“Yeah. Where is it?” I ask.
My grandpa chuckles. “Good question. I think I last used it to disassemble the articulated loader, so probably in the old workshop.”
Great. My grandpa’s old workshop is like tool purgatory. It’s where everything goes to die, even though he swears all the broken junk is still useful, either because he’ll eventually repair it or use it for spare parts. He never does, but that’s a different story.
“Okay, so you’re really expecting me to spend the next three days searching for the ratchet wrench and then maybe find my way back to the house, huh?” I grumble half-heartedly.
My grandpa’s workshop isn’t like the little sheds most people, including my dad, have in their backyards. My grandparents own thousands of acres of land and some real heavy-duty ranch equipment like tractors and loaders. His workshop is the size of a single-family home, and I’ve been in there often enough to know that trying to find something as small as a wrench will be akin to finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.
My grandpa just chuckles again. “I’ll make you a deal. If you’re not back by dinner, we’ll send search and rescue.”
“I see where my dad gets his sense of humor,” I mutter, and make my way to the workshop, dragging my heavy limbs through the snow. I push the barn door back, my deep breaths visible as icy white fog. Even in the daytime, temperatures are below freezing in Montana this late in December.
“Fucking great,” I groan as I stand on the threshold. This place is an unorganized mess of… everything. “Okay, look for the articulated loader and maybe you’ll find the wrench, Ran,” I tell myself, and commence my search.
It takes some digging around the unused junk my grandfather and Thomas store in the workshop, but I eventually find the wrench, then stand there for a few minutes marveling at the possibilities. This workshop, with its high ceiling, metal siding, and concrete flooring reminds me a lot of the gym I work out at back home, the gym I go to with Shane, and Steve, and… Cat.
Immediately, visions of Cat in her workout clothes appear before my mind’s eye, how her skin glistens with sweat, how utterly fucking sexy that girl is, always. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see her.
***
“You need a gym,” I say matter-of-factly, breaking out of my own head and interrupting the discussion that’s been going on around the lunch table. I wasn’t listening, have no clue what everyone was talking about. I’ve been obsessively thinking about that workshop and its potential.
Working out and throwing around weights has always been an incredible outlet for me. Aside from getting stronger it was also a great way for me to work through some of the heavy shit in my life, get out of my head, and enjoy some of those post-workout endorphins. I miss that almost as much as I miss Cat.
“No, we don’t,” Thomas disagrees dryly, answering in my grandfather’s stead.
I frown. “Yeah, you do,” I say, my gaze directed at my grandpa rather than Thomas, who obviously doesn’t get the hint.
“And why do you say that?” Thomas asks gruffly.
My grandfather’s eyes twinkle at this unfolding pissing match. My gaze moves to Thomas across the table from me. “Because it would make the ranch more competitive,” I say, matching his dry tone, then turn my attention squarely back toward my grandfather. “It’s another amenity you can offer. I mean, not everyone who tags along on a family vacation, for example, is going to be a pro at riding horses or wants to ‘rough it.’”
My grandfather puts his fork down, leaning back in his chair, studying me. The corners of his lips tug upward as if he’s pleased with my speaking up. I haven’t really participated in around-the-dinner-table chats since getting here. The first five weeks or so I didn’t even really eat, let alone leave my room to do so. Only lately have I been joining everyone for the twice-daily family meals, and even then I’m not especially talkative. My mind is still too heavy most of the time, but this gym idea suddenly needed to be expressed.
“Ran might be on to something,” my aunt Erin says. “Martin was actually just doing a price analysis because we were thinking about increasing the cost of the rentals, but he didn’t think we could, based on what we offer and compared to some of the other guest ranches.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Thomas asks. His gruffness is beginning to irk me.
“It means that vacationers expect a lot more amenities now, and that includes access to a gym,” Erin says.
“But don’t people come to the ranch to be outdoors and ride and all of that?” my grandmother asks.
“They do, but many still want access to the creature comforts they have at home,” Erin says. “And Ran’s right. For families, for example, it may be that you have members who are more comfortable hanging back rather than going on three-hour rides, or walks, or fly-fishing excursions.”
“Okay, that’s great, but we don’t have a gym or the space for it,” Thomas says, as if this discussion is over.
“Easy fix,” I say, earning a testy look from him.
“Oh yeah? What are you thinking?” my grandfather finally chimes in.
I shrug. “Convert the old shop you use for storing all the broken crap into a gym. It has good light and plenty of room for you to get some basic equipment.”
“What sort of ‘basic equipment’ are we talking about?” Martin asks. From his posture, I can tell he’s fully invested in this idea.
“Some cardio stuff, some weights, couple cable machines. You don’t have to go crazy by any means,” I say, and force myself to take another bite of my lunch.
My grandpa nods. “And what would we be looking at in terms of cost?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen, twenty grand maybe?” I say between chews.
Thomas howls a laugh. “Twenty grand? You’re kidding, right?”
“Not really. You can probably find some stuff used and in good condition, but machines can be kind of pricey.”
Thomas snorts another incredulous laugh as he looks around the table.
But Martin comes to my aid. “We could probably swing that,” he says with an encouraging nod.
Martin and Erin met when she was studying business marketing at the University of Montana. Martin used to be a college lacrosse player and is originally from Michigan. I’m not sure he ever envisioned moving to a ranch in Montana and spending the rest of his life running numbers related to cattle and vacation rentals, hardly ever leaving the wide-open range and experiencing city life again. I know he loves his family, but I bet he misses certain luxuries, like a movie theater that’s less than a two-hour drive away, eating at a nice restaurant, or going to a gym to throw around some weights.
“I mean, if you think it would be something we could offer our guests to make their stay more enjoyable and we can squeeze it into the budget,” my grandmother starts, and looks at my grandfather with what I imagine is her most charming expression.
I can’t help but grin at Thomas, exaggeratedly dropping my utensils on the table and crossing my arms in front of my chest. Victory.
“Are you seriously considering this?” Thomas asks, taken aback.
“Why are you so against this idea? A gym would benefit you, too,” I say, patting my stomach with my hand, referring to Thomas’s rather soft midsection with another sly grin.
“You always have been and forever will be a pain in my ass, Ran,” he grunts, actually making me laugh, which still feels so foreign.
Thomas has lived with my grandparents since he was eighteen. My dad was twelve when my grandparents took Thomas in. Thomas was battling drug addiction and had been homeless for six months by then. To say that my grandparents have a huge heart would be an understatement. They always open their hearts, arms, and even home to people, happily donating their time and resources to anyone in need. And so, when they found out a kid was regularly coming to my grandparents’ church to eat lunch and was apparently sleeping in the streets, my grandparents took him in. They got him treatment for his drug habit, gave him a place to live, and allowed him to earn his keep.
Thomas has never left. He’s my grandfather’s right hand on the ranch—especially after my dad left at just sixteen—and is basically part of the family.
He comes across as a complete grump, rarely ever cracking a smile. But despite his tough exterior, Thomas has always had my back, has always gone above and beyond for me, no questions asked. And when I finally managed to get out of bed and first started to help him and my grandpa around the ranch, he actually pulled me into a hug and held me tightly for a long moment—not saying a single word yet relaying so much—before he let me go, clapped me on my shoulder with a nod, then got back to work.
“Ran’s not wrong,” Erin says with a light laugh. “Dad, I think it’s a great idea.”
“I see, my opinion doesn’t count,” Thomas scoffs.
“It counts when it’s a good opinion,” I say dryly, earning yet another dismissive grunt from him.
“And you think this’ll be good for business, huh?” my grandfather says.
I detect a note of suspicion in his tone. He’s so observant, I wouldn’t be surprised if he saw straight through me. I mean, do I think a gym would be a great addition to my grandparents’ guest ranch? Absolutely. Is that the only or even the biggest reason I suggested it? Obviously not.
“Fine,” my grandfather relents with an amused chuckle. “This is your project, Ran. All yours. Get with Erin and Martin and figure it out. But this won’t interfere with your work, got it? Get Thomas to help you clean out the shop.”
Thomas’s head snaps up. “What? How do I always get roped into your crap, Ronan?”
I laugh. “Ah, don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
“You’re going to be the death of me one day. The shit I do for you, kid,” Thomas says, chuckling now.
“It’s because you love me,” I say with a grin, and Thomas just rumbles at me before he continues eating his lunch. “And speaking of people loving me.” I direct my attention to my grandma next to me. “When you talk to my dad, can you please ask him when I can go home?”
“You ain’t going nowhere until you complete your pet project,” Thomas grumbles. “Ain’t no way you start shit like a gym and then leave only for me to finish it.”
My grandpa, Martin, and Erin laugh, but my grandma studies me intently. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up just yet, baby boy.” She moves her hand across my cheek, stroking it softly. “I think you still have a long ways to go before it’s safe to send you back. The last thing we want is you barely breaking the surface of recovery only to have you plummet right back into darkness.”