Chapter 16
LUCAS
Not going to lie, I didn’t think I’d get this far.
Jenny and I haven’t managed anything close to a civil conversation since we got back from Bozeman, and I expected her to lay into me for so much as suggesting we go on a ride together.
And, well, I’m disgustingly crazy about her, so I’d have been happy to have her attention even if she was just yelling at me.
I figured we’d snipe at each other and I’d go back to my trailer and pointedly not jerk off.
I know she only agreed so she could watch me make a fool out of myself, but I’m willing to play along if that’s how she wants to do things. I’m willing to do a lot of things for a second of her time.
And so what if I’m a little smug that my half-cocked plan actually worked?
Sure, she doesn’t seem particularly happy to have me bumbling along beside her, but she didn’t tell me to fuck off.
She didn’t take off at a gallop and leave me in the dust, either.
No, she keeps Ernie at a lazy lope, matching Lyra’s shorter strides effortlessly.
I doubt she’s even paying attention to it, so comfortable in the saddle. She looks like she was born to ride.
I stop that train of thought before I can think about what she looks like riding me.
I probably look like an idiot beside her, still clutching at Lyra’s sides with my knees like I’m scared I’ll fall off and holding the reins too tight, but the important thing is that I’m beside her. That’s all I care about right now.
We plod along in silence as the sun slowly sets, nothing but the low hum of insects and the steady clop of hooves to fill the air between us. It stretches out until I can’t ignore it, and I open my mouth before I even know what I’m going to say.
“So what have you been up to?” I cringe immediately at my own awkwardness, clearing my throat and continuing, “Since high school, obviously. Not, like—I mean, I know you do the books around here, and Wayne said something about California when you got back. We haven’t really gotten a chance to catch up, but I’m curious about what you got up to after we graduated. ”
After we broke up, I very carefully don’t say.
I kind of expect her to completely cold shoulder me, especially since she hasn’t seemed receptive to any discussion about what happened when we went our separate ways. She throws a glance my way, the fading sunlight sliding over her golden skin in a way that makes me ache.
She was always too beautiful for me to look at for long.
“I went to school,” she says, resigned and tired, but not cold. “Got my bachelor’s, graduated top of my class. Thought about joining a firm in Billings or moving out of state, but Wayne had already run off by then, and Dad needed me here. Couldn’t just let the ranch fall apart, so I stuck around.”
I expected her to be bitter about that, but she sounds like she hardly cares.
She was always a math whiz, so I’m not surprised she did so well in school, but it still sparks pride in my chest to know she graduated top of her class.
I couldn’t manage grades like that even if I chained myself to a desk and did nothing but study.
“That makes sense,” I say, trying to choose my words carefully. “You always talked about wanting to get out of here, so I was surprised when Wayne said you still lived on the ranch.”
She was always closer to her family than I was to mine. She was closer to my family than I was to mine, considering Dad was all I had.
Still, she never made it a secret that she wanted to go do her own thing. I guess she was better at commitments than I was, too.
“Dad couldn’t handle it on his own,” she says with a shrug, like that’s all that matters. “I still get to go on business trips occasionally, and that’s enough of a break to keep me mostly sane.”
I chuckle along with her at that, even if she sounds more resigned than honest.
If I hadn’t torn my ACL, my life probably would’ve been nothing but travel, and I’d been relying on that.
All of my plans came back to her, aiming for teams that would bring me close enough to visit, whether she was here or in Tallahassee.
My dreams were filled with off seasons spent cozying up in the living room of a place we shared, maybe even getting Jenny a gig crunching numbers for the team I played on.
That all went out the window before I even had a chance to bring it up to Jenny. She wrote off any chance of a long distance relationship without even letting me ask, and I just rolled with the blows.
“Is it ever disappointing to come back here?” The question comes out almost hopeful, like I’m begging her to feel the same way I do—uncertain and itching to get out of here, to find something better. “It’s probably pretty boring compared to California.”
“Not… Not disappointing,” she says, a mournful tilt to her mouth as she stares blankly ahead at the slowly darkening trail. “Frustrating, sometimes, depending on Dad and Wayne. Exhausting. A little lonelier, now, without Al. I don’t think it’ll ever feel right without him here.”
I startle at the mention of my dad, accidentally pulling Lyra to a halt when I freeze up. Jenny pulls Ernie to a stop moments after I go still, glancing back with an apologetic wince.
“Fuck, sorry,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes. “I didn’t mean—he was your dad. I’m not trying to… He was like family to me, but I know I sounded like a dick.”
“I—no,” I choke out, shaking off my surprise and the flash of grief. “No, you didn’t. Sound like a dick, I mean. I know you miss him.”
Jenny spent more time with him when he was alive than I did.
He was a great dad, and he put me first no matter what, but he worked so hard that I barely got the chance to know him.
And then I left, and then he got sick, and then he died.
We didn’t get the kind of time together that we should have, and I’m more torn apart about missing out on what could have been than missing him.
She remembers the real person that he was, but all I have are the things I wish we could have shared.
She deserves to grieve just as much as I do.
“Are you holding up okay?” Her voice is soft and tender like it used to be when we were younger and I needed someone to hold me before I shook apart with all of the what-if’s and the anxiety that came along with becoming an adult.
“I know we… We don’t have to talk about ourselves.
We don’t have to be us. If you need to talk, I can listen. ”
I don’t quite tear up, but it’s a near fucking thing.
Even after all this time, she still knows exactly what I need to hear. She still knows how to get me to talk even when I don’t know what needs to come out. That hurts almost as much as the lump in my throat.
I ignore the urge to brush off the offer like I would with anyone else. Maybe it’s because the twilight makes it easier to hide the emotion on my face, or maybe it’s the privacy that comes with being on the trails so late. Maybe it’s just because it’s her.
It’s probably because it’s her.
“I’m okay,” I say, and it’s true even though the words come out thick with emotion. “Not good, but okay. Going through the motions. I feel like an idiot most of the time, and a failure all of the time.”
I nudge my heels gently into Lyra’s sides, and she starts up her steady walk again.
Jenny falls into step beside me, close enough that I could reach my foot out and knock it against hers, and the closeness makes it easier to keep talking.
She stays silent, not in agreement, just to let me get it out.
Like she said, we’re not us right now. At least, not the us that we are these days.
“I feel lost most days. Thought I had my life figured out, that I’d be able to pay off Dad’s debts and let him relax.
” I thought I’d be able to spoil Jenny rotten, too, but none of that worked out the way I planned.
“Instead I fucked everything up. Got myself a ton of student loans, couldn’t even play to keep my scholarships.
Did a bunch of odd jobs that never worked out because I was too stubborn to admit that I’d never play again. ”
Jenny makes a soft sound beside me, and I glance over, expecting to see her grinning scornfully at me. Instead, a frown twists her features, genuine sadness in those whiskey brown eyes.
“You don’t have to put yourself down for wanting to follow your dreams,” she says quietly. “It’s admirable that you stuck with it, even when you weren’t sure you’d be able to go back to it.”
It doesn’t sound like the grief in her tone is about my failed career, but I don’t know her well enough anymore to read between the lines.
I wish I could tell her that I’d have stuck with her, too, that I’d have picked her over football if she wanted me to, but I’m not stupid enough to ruin the peace between us like that.
“I just wish things had gone differently,” I admit, fixing my eyes on the slowly elongating shadows of the trees.
“I wish Rhonda hadn’t left Dad with a broken down house and a kid he could barely afford to take care of.
I wish I hadn’t gotten hurt in the first place, and that I could’ve taken care of—” you “—the people I loved. I wish Dad wasn’t gone, and that I still had something to be proud of. ”
I do tear up now, something about the slowly gathering darkness and the knowledge that Jenny is here with me making it easier to let go.
It’s one of those moments that feels like it should be accompanied by earth shattering sobs and life-changing realizations, but my tears are just as silent as my mind.
It feels kind of peaceful, actually.
“You can’t change the past,” Jenny says, tactfully ignoring the tears streaming down my cheeks.
“But you’ve still got a future, Lucas. I know how hard it can be to pick up the pieces when nothing goes right, but that doesn’t mean there’s no reason to try.
You can find new things to be proud of. And if it helps, Al was always proud of you. He would want you to keep trying.”
That finally tears a sob free from my lips, but it’s immediately followed by a choked laugh. What did I say? Jenny always knows what I need to hear.
This is the first time I’ve felt hopeful since I felt my ACL snap.
“I don’t know how to try anymore,” I whisper, only barely loud enough to be heard over the crickets starting up around us.
“I just feel… stuck. I feel like I have no options, like this is it, even though I don’t fit in here.
I don’t have anything that I want, but I don’t even know what I want out of life, much less how to get it. I just don’t know anymore.”
The only thing I do want is Jenny, but I’m not stupid enough to think I can have her again.
That weekend in Bozeman was the last time, and no amount of hoping or praying will change that. Miracles don’t happen to people like me.
“You’re allowed to take your time,” she says. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Give yourself a chance to breathe before you try to plan your whole life out.”
I wipe at my face as my tears dry up, the overwhelming wave of emotion slowly sliding back to something manageable.
The ache in my chest doesn’t throb with every breath anymore, but it doesn’t go away, either.
I don’t know if it ever will, or if I’ll feel like I’m missing pieces of myself for the rest of my life.
She’s right, though, there’s no point in torturing myself about it. I need to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, or I’m just going to fall flat on my face. It’ll be even harder to get back up a second time.
The silence that settles between us this time is comforting, the earlier tension having dissipated entirely.
It’ll probably come back by tomorrow, the sunlight too harsh to be so vulnerable under, but for now, I’ll relish it.
Things used to be easy like this when we were younger.
I was so carefree back then, sure of myself and everything around me.
Always had my eyes pointed forward, always thinking about the next big thing.
I’m not thinking about anything big these days. Maybe that’s good.
I can’t stay here forever—I’m already putting Everett out enough by accepting his generosity, and even if Jenny has proven tonight that she’s still the same gentle girl I knew so long ago, she doesn’t want me around either.
Life isn’t easy like it used to be, no matter how much I wish it was.
I’ll have to pick things up and live my life again, and it’ll be harder this time than it was when I was an optimistic kid, but I’ll survive.
At least, most of me will.
I don’t know about my heart. Losing Jenny the first time tore me into pieces, and walking away this time will be just as bad.
I have no doubt about that. We aren’t even together now, but that doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving her.
It doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t do anything to be with her again, if she wants it.
That’s not in the cards, though, and I won’t torment myself by wishing for it.
I can’t help it if spending time with her makes me feel right, though. It’s just a ride. Just a conversation. It may mean everything to me, but she won’t think about it when the morning comes around.
I can keep my feelings to myself.
Give myself a chance to breathe, with her beside me. Just for a little.