Eleven
Cooper
Bea hugged Tag then grabbed his face and kissed him. A tear escaped down his cheek. I guessed “tears of joy” were what happened when you worked your ass off for something then finally got it. I wouldn’t know.
Frank said Las Vegas. Damn.
Sure, it occurred to me many times that Tag might stumble his way into the national finals but hearing a head honcho say it like a done deal hit me hard.
My brother had taken his shit life and made something pretty amazing with it.
He had a woman, a kid, land, and a future.
He even had money now. Never thought I’d be saying that.
It wasn’t so long ago he could barely rub two pennies together.
Harlan and Cody shook Tag’s hand. Everyone was laughing, hugging, crying.
And just like always, I played the part. By this point in my life, I was pretty good at that—pretending to be happy when I wasn’t. Pretending to be sober when I wasn’t. Pretending to be satisfied when I wasn’t. Pretending to be a good guy when I wasn’t.
Pretending to be proud when I was really…jealous.
But I hated that streak in myself. I had no grounds for jealousy—the only thing I’d ever worked hard for was my next high. It was stupid to bellyache anyway. Tag’s ranch was the singular reason I was upright and not dead in a ditch somewhere.
My relationship with Tag was better than it used to be.
Funny, it took me almost dying to make peace with him.
When I woke up after my attempt, Tag had a lot of questions.
And I had a lot of answers. Turns out, if you tell a person every ugly thing stirring in your soul, it fixes a thing or two on the inside.
It brought me some peace—opening the parts of me I’d locked away for so long.
But I still struggled watching him succeed while I floundered. I wondered if I always would. Tag had more contentment in his pinky finger than I did in my whole body three times over. And, the longer I watched him, the more I knew that contentment had zero to do with a phone call.
I made my way back to the porch, offering my big brother a smile as I held up my arms. Tag smiled back and moved to hug me. I gave him a hearty clap on the back and he did the same. “Proud of you, Tag.”
Stripped of my own insecurities, I meant that. What he had accomplished was pretty badass.
“Thank you, Coop.” He pushed away, squeezing my shoulder a little. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” He said those words a lot. Like he didn’t want me to forget.
I said, “Same.” And I meant that, too.
When it was time to head out, Peter and Sarah loaded into Tag’s truck, Rudy and Cody rode with Harlan, and I went straight to the front seat of Hollie’s Volvo.
Izzy and Nora were already in the backseat, squirming and giggling.
“Uncle Cooper!” Nora launched the top half of her body over the console.
“What?”
“Is Uncle Tag going to be on TV?”
I shrugged. “His horses will. Lots of rodeos stream on local channels.”
“I mean in the big rodeo in Nevada.” Nora clarified.
“Tag made it to the pro league, not the finals yet. You’re thinking about the finals.”
Hollie slipped into the front seat, her phone pressed to her ear. A smile toyed at her lips as someone on the line talked—had to be Jesse. She only looked that happy talking to him. She started the car as she said, “If Tag is calling, pick up.”
I faintly heard him say, “But I want to talk to you.”
“I just got in the car with Cooper and the girls. Talk to Tag.”
“Alright. I love you.”
After disconnecting, she laughed. “He called me at the worst possible time! Not telling him was torture.”
I breathed a quiet laugh. “You’re letting Tag do the honors?”
“Of course.” She adjusted her rearview mirror and put the car in reverse. A few seconds later, we bumped down the gravel driveway, a stale air freshener twirling with the continuous blast of AC.
I sat quietly, thankful for the chance to do so.
Hollie was my only real friend, and I never felt like I had to talk or smile constantly for her.
When we first met, I thought she was nice because she pitied me.
But her life was pretty messed up too, and when she told me about her terrible ex, we bonded.
Felt good to be someone else’s listening ear and not just the charity case for once.
Fifteen minutes into our drive, she said, “You’re quiet.”
I ran my thumb across the pages of the book in my lap.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a few days. How was therapy?”
My weekly appointment on Thursday afternoon sucked. “It was like every other session.”
“Tough?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No thanks.”
She grabbed the book off my lap and turned the cover around. “To Kill a Mockingbird? I’ve never read this one.”
“Yeah, I picked it because of the title.”
“Is it good?”
“I don’t know. I’m only a few chapters in.
” Recently, I’d found myself browsing Comfort’s public library or Hollie’s bookshelves for lack of anything better to do with my time off.
All my old hobbies were off limits, and because Hollie was a reader, she kind of forced me to be one, too.
She expected me to treat her recommendations as prescriptive not suggestive.
And, of course, we would have to discuss them after I finished, too.
I loved it.
Reading was one tiny slice of my life that didn’t amplify the terrible decisions I’d made, my awful parents, or the memories I tried to forget. I’d taken up her habit—having a book with me at all times. And it had served me well.
“Does this restaurant have a bar?” I asked. She knew why.
“Yeah, I think it does. I’m surprised Tag didn’t warn you.”
Honestly, I was surprised too.
I wasn’t the only one at Meadowbrook that struggled with demons. Jesse and Tag knew a thing or two about numbing the pain, so as a rule, Meadowbrook was alcohol free. Harlan, Cody, and Rudy got into trouble on their weekends off or at rodeos sometimes, but overall, everyone respected the policy.
That was one reason I’d never run rodeos for Tag—even the amateur ones. There was no way I could be in that scene and not make decisions I regretted.