Chapter 8
Vice - Miranda Lambert
Wyatt
T he next morning, I decided a vet needed to check out Drifter to be sure he was okay. I didn’t want him to suffer any more than he already had, so I made the call to one of the rodeo vets on-site.
Dr. Lawson looked Drifter over and said all his vitals were normal. He felt around his legs for heat and swelling and took him through a series of exercises. After a thorough examination, the vet told me that Drifter was getting older and might be developing a mild arthritis. I could still ride him, and light exercise would be good for him, but I would probably need to step back from competing because he wouldn’t be able to go as hard as he used to.
The news didn’t come as a surprise but hearing it out loud still stung a bit. It was the end of an era. My life with Drifter as my rodeo partner was ending.
The vet handed me the bill for the exam, and I shoved it in my pocket without looking at it. It would be more than I had in my bank account. I would deal with it later.
I thanked the vet for his time and gave Drifter one last pat on the neck before heading back to the camp with a heavy heart.
“What did the vet say?” Finn asked when I got back.
“Exactly what we thought—old age and arthritis.” I sat down on a chair in front of the embers that remained from the fire we had at breakfast.
I saw the disappointment on Finn’s face. As my partner, this affected him too. “So, what are we going to do?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “I’m going to have to pull out of the rodeo.” With that, our dream of making a comeback was dead.
Finn nodded slowly, processing what that meant. He couldn’t compete alone. I felt awful for letting him down.
“You could find a new partner,” I pointed out.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But what’s the point? I was going to be done at the end of the season.” He slumped down into the chair next to me. “Wow. I didn’t think we were going out like this.”
“No kidding,” I said. “It would’ve been nice to have a last hurrah or whatever.”
“Go out a little nearer to the top.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
I grinned. “Yeah, maybe a little.”
“What’s happening? Who died?” Grady emerged from his tent, rubbing his eyes. His normally straight, slicked-back hair was standing up. Not having a horse to take care of, he’d slept in later than the rest of us. He dragged his sleeping bag out of the tent, wrapped it around himself so only his face was visible, and sat down across from us.
“Our careers,” I responded.
“Bad news from the vet?”
“Not good news.”
“Incoming,” Grady warned from his blanket cocoon, wrapping himself tighter and avoiding my eyes.
I turned my head to see Kinsley approaching the camp. I dragged my hand down my face. It was too early for this too.
Finn stood up. “Well, we better go … check the horses.” He looked down at Grady, who sat there, poking his boot out from under the blanket and nudging at the ashes from the fire. Finn rolled his eyes then tipped Grady’s chair over, sending him sprawling to the dirt.
“Hey!” Grady cried. “What was that for? I don’t have a horse!”
“You’re a cowboy. Get one.” Finn walked away.
Grady grumbled something under his breath, shoved his sleeping bag in the tent, then emerged wearing nothing but his tattered briefs. He pulled on his jeans without a care, oblivious to his state of undress.
Kinsley bit back a laugh at the shameless display while I glanced at Grady with a raised brow. Unfazed, Grady winked at Kinsley and followed Finn out of the camp.
Once they were gone, she sat down next to me. “Nice setup.” She looked around the camp.
“Not everyone has a daddy who gives them fancy trailers.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I picked up a stick and pushed around the ashes. I tried not to look at her. Looking led to missing and wanting and bad decisions. “You really shouldn’t be here. We just decided that we should stay a—"
“I know. That’s not why I— I ran into Dr. Lawson in the barn,” she went on. “I know it’s none of my business, but I asked him— I’m sorry it wasn’t better news.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you still competing today?”
“No, I’m done. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
She nodded but continued to sit there. She was biting her cheek, clearly wanting to say something else.
I sighed. “What is it?”
She hesitated, and something flashed in her eyes. “I paid your vet bill.”
I snapped my head towards her, my eyes wide with disbelief. “You what?” The words burst out of me louder than intended.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around what she had said. She’d paid my vet bill? I searched her face, trying to understand, but my shock and confusion made it hard to focus. It was a betrayal.
“Well, what was your plan, Wyatt?”
“That’s none of your damn business, Kinsley! I’m not your charity case!” I stood up. I needed to move, to shake off the anger building up in me.
“I know that!” She rose from her chair. She could never just back off.
“No, you don’t! I don’t need your money or your family’s sponsorships. Nothing! How many times do we have to fight about this? You don’t get it!” My voice was getting louder, but I didn’t care who heard.
“What I don’t get is why you can’t accept the fact that you need help! There are people who care about you that want to help you!” Her eyes shone with tears.
“I don’t need help!” I yelled.
“Yes, you do!”
I was trapped in this never-ending loop with Kinsley, going around and around in circles with the same damn fight. She always had to push me, never content to let things be. It was like she couldn’t help herself, constantly needling and prodding at me to get me to see things her way.
I shoved my hands through my hair roughly, pacing back and forth. The anger and frustration were building, expanding in my chest until I felt like I might explode. The more she pushed, the more I pulled away, digging my heels in. It was exhausting, but I didn’t know how to break the cycle.
I wheeled around to face her, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. Those blue eyes I knew so well shimmered with unshed tears, and her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. It should’ve been my arms around her, protecting her. Instead, I was hurting her.
I cared about her more than I wanted to admit, but her relentless pressure made me feel cornered, like a caged animal. I just wanted her to back off, to let me breathe, but it seemed like every time we found some kind of balance, we ended up right back here, trapped in this endless argument neither of us could win.
Her hand reached out and touched my forearm—a soft plea—but I yanked my arm away, the flood of rage and pain within me needing some kind of release. My boots scraped against the dirt as I turned on my heel, putting distance between us. At that moment, what I felt was so ugly and wrong next to her.
Kinsley was a force of nature—vibrant, glowing, larger than life. And I was me, with all my flaws and shortcomings. She deserved better. I wished with my whole being that I was enough for her, that I could give her the life she wanted.
Sinking down into my chair, I dropped my head into my hands, fingers digging into my hair.
I would only disappoint her in the end. The fear of failing her, of letting her see how broken I still was inside, filled me with more anger and bitterness. It wasn’t fair to take it out on her, but I didn’t know any other way to protect us from the heartbreak I was sure would come if she stayed.
So, I pushed her away, despite the ache it caused me. I told myself it was for her own good, that this was the only way. Seeing the hurt in her eyes ripped right through me, making me hate myself even more.
Leaping back to my feet, I began pacing again, my restless energy thrumming. I had to break this cycle before I destroyed her real shot at happiness.
Voice hoarse, I said, “I can’t do this with you anymore, Kinsley. I can’t.”
With that, I walked away.