Chapter 32 #2
We join the crowds of families, couples, and groups, wearing denim and cowboy hats the same way the Stormhawks fans wear their red jerseys.
The small arena sits just beyond a wide-open gravel lot, where trucks and horse trailers are lined up and men and women are hurrying as they carry saddles and equipment back and forth.
Floodlights light the wooden bleachers and country music hums through the speakers, barely cutting through the lively chatter of the crowd.
We grab popcorn and sodas before finding a couple of seats about halfway up the stands.
The wooden planks creak as we take our seats just in time for the tinny-voiced announcer to introduce the first event.
Izzy tosses a handful of popcorn into her mouth and nods toward the program in her lap.
“I prefer this to the bigger shows. You get to see the younger kids starting out. It’s great to spot the talent in the riders and the horses. ”
Her face lights up as she scans the lineup and taps her finger against one of the entries in the breakaway roping event. “Kevin Anders on Hunter—that was one of the first foals I birthed. I still remember how good it felt to see him sold to the Anders family.”
Her pride is infectious and makes me think of the ranch and the future of the horses.
Before I can reply, the gates below us burst open, and a bronc explodes into the arena, his powerful muscles kicking up clouds of dust as the rider fights to stay on.
There’s no saddle—just eight seconds of raw power and chaos where the cowboy tries to cling on, his body jerking with every violent buck.
I feel Izzy tense beside me, her whole body leaning forward like she’s in the arena with the cowboy. Holding her breath.
Three seconds.
Four.
Five.
The crowd roars as the rider holds, but then—
BAM.
He’s thrown clear, hitting the dirt hard, rolling to his feet as the rodeo clowns distract the bronc.
Izzy lets out a breath. “Damn. Thought he had it.”
The evening passes in a blur of heart-stopping action, cheering, and talking. I don’t bother fighting the smile as two huge blue barrels are hauled into place on the dirt for the barrel races.
“This was my dad’s favorite,” I say as a rider in a bright pink shirt flies out of the gates on a white stallion, hooves pounding hard against the dirt.
She’s good. Striking the perfect balance of speed and tight turns, the horse cutting close to the barrels, kicking up a cloud of dust as it thunders toward the finish line.
“It’s mine too, if I’m honest,” I add, watching the horse cross the line in a time I can’t see anyone else beating tonight.
My mind pulls straight to Fury. The strength in those muscles. He was built for this life. One day, I tell myself. One day he’ll be back in an arena like this and I’ll be in the stands cheering him on. Izzy glances at me like she knows exactly where my thoughts have gone.
“Fury’s making progress,” she says, her voice soft. “You were right to buy him. He’s got something.”
I turn my head, raising an eyebrow. “Izzy Brooks, you did not just admit I was right and you were wrong.”
She pretends to look around like she’s searching for someone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I laugh, taking her hand in mine. She lets me hold it for a moment before she pulls away, reaching for her soda.
“I don’t know how much you remember…” Izzy starts, hesitating a little as she drags her eyes to the program. “But your dad had a horse called Dusty Star.”
I glance at her, surprised at the name. “A gorgeous chestnut mare,” I reply. “The white star on her nose. I remember.”
She nods, chewing her lip like she’s debating whether to say more.
“When Bill bought those horses, Dusty Star was my favorite. A few years after she joined us, Bill bred her with a champion stallion.” She gestures toward the arena, where a new rider is lining up at the gates.
“The next horse about to take the arena? That’s Dusty Star’s foal. ”
“No way.” I smile, but there’s an ache stretching across my chest, too. A grief and a guilt I thought I’d come to terms with a long time ago.
We fall silent before Izzy speaks. “Should I not have said anything?”
“I’m glad you did,” I say, meaning it. “My dad got a real kick out of seeing the horses he bred in action.”
I feel Izzy watching me. “Must’ve been hard to say goodbye to them.”
I take a long time to nod. “No one has ever said that before. With Dad dying, it was like I couldn’t grieve the horses and that life on top of him. I’d have given anything to have my dad back, but the ranch was a huge part of my life, too.”
“Do you wish Mama had hired ranch hands and tried to keep it going?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Selling was the right thing to do.” I pause, my thoughts pulling back to the eleven-year-old boy who didn’t know how to comfort his crying mama.
“Jake and Chase think Mama sold the horses to focus on us, and that’s true in part.
But it was about money too. We might be set for life now with our NFL careers, but back then, the ranch had its share of good years and bad.
She needed the money from the sale to keep us afloat.
And the hardest part is…” I pause. Swallow.
Not sure if I can go on but wanting to explain.
To tell Izzy the one thing I’ve never told another living soul.
Beside me, Izzy doesn’t fill the silence and her quiet patience is enough for me to carry on.
“None of it would’ve happened—Dad’s death, selling the horses—if it wasn’t for me. ”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Izzy says carefully.
I keep my gaze focused ahead, staring into the empty arena.
The noise of the crowd dies away as I think back to the night my dad died.
“There was a rainstorm and the horses were still in the paddocks,” I say.
“Jake and I went out to help Dad get them into the barn. Jake got to the paddock first and made a move to get Dad’s horse.
He was a huge gelding—the biggest horse we had—and I almost stopped Jake, almost told him to get a different horse.
But I let him go while I went for two other horses. ”
I swallow back the pain threatening to consume me.
“Dad’s horse got spooked by the thunder and reared up at Jake.
He slipped and would’ve been trampled if Dad hadn’t pulled him out the way, getting knocked on the head in the process.
Dad lost his life saving Jake. If I’d called Jake back that night, told him to get a different horse like I’d thought about…
” My words trail off. The what-if is a burden I’ve carried for so long. It’s a part of me.
“You were only a little boy, Dylan,” she says quietly. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“I know, but it still hurts.”
Before we can say any more, the gates are opening again and a chestnut stallion streaks into the arena.
He’s fierce and wild, like Fury. I smile at the thought, about to say something to Izzy, when her hand slips into mine and stays there.
Izzy leans closer, our arms touching, and I’m no longer thinking of the race or the past. I’m thinking about us.
There’s still a part of me that wants to hold back because whatever this is between us, it’s new and I’m scared of how fast it’s happening.
But with Izzy’s hand in mine, I know this thing between us is real.
It’s not just the pull of desire, the want I feel when she’s near.
It’s something deeper. A connection I’ve never felt before.