Thirty-one
Cooper
There weren’t many times in my life I could remember walking with a pep in my step, but tonight I bounced into the corral to fill water buckets.
Everything, and I meant everything, went off without a hitch.
True, there wasn’t much I could screw up, just bringing the sheep and all, but it still felt good.
I knew Tag would be busy until well past midnight with way more important things, but I shot him a text anyway, telling him everything went perfect.
I told myself to stop checking my phone for his text back, because it would probably be a while, but it didn’t stop me from tapping my phone screen every few minutes.
As I gave the sheep their hay and tucked them in for the night, a few contractors stopped me to chit chat about Meadowbrook’s broncs.
Tag had made a name for himself on the amateur circuit—everyone respected him.
A couple older gentlemen speculated about when Tag would be pro.
It took all the self-control I could muster not to break the news.
I figured some of these old timers had been watching Tag’s horses for years.
I’d only run rodeos with Tag a few times, so all the faces were brand new to me.
If I could go back and do it all different, I would’ve started working for Tag long ago.
My years of wandering got me exactly where you’d expect years of wandering to take you—nowhere.
As I got into the truck, my phone finally buzzed.
Tag
My heart plummeted into my stomach. A thumbs up? That’s it? I read back over my text wondering if something I’d said warranted such a basic response.
Me
Everything with the sheep went great. No problems or injuries. The kids had fun. The sheep are in the corrals for the night and Mike wanted me to tell you thanks for filling in last minute. On my way to the campsite now.
I turned the key in the ignition, surprised at the way irritation coursed through my veins.
This was my first-ever solo mission, and I got a thumbs up?
Taking a tight swallow, I shook my head at myself, knowing my need for Tag’s reassurance was juvenile and probably unhealthy, but I couldn’t hush my desire for it.
Because I’d chased a high my entire adult life, I had very little by way of accomplishment to show for my thirty-one years on earth.
In some ways, my months since rehab felt like the first adult days of my life.
I had returned to more responsibility, a stable job, health insurance, and I even paid my taxes like a good upstanding citizen now.
But, despite the leaps and bounds I’d made, my chest felt hollow with hunger for a list of things no amount of adulting could help me find. I blinked down at the phone screen then tossed it into the passenger seat, determined to put Tag’s response out of my mind.
Arriving at the campsite, I scanned the area for Peter, only to find him sitting in a folding chair beside our tent with a six pack of Voodoo Ranger growing warm by his feet.
I hissed a cuss word before I exited the truck, quickly noting the empty bottle by his feet.
Looked like he was just starting his second, and that knowledge pissed me off.
The fact I’d walked away from the bar sober on Saturday night was a miracle.
And I wasn't sure I’d get so lucky a second time.
Fifteen minutes ago, I would’ve believed myself strong enough to ward off the temptation, but now, not so much.
Setting my jaw, I slammed the truck door and made my way toward him. “Where the hell’d you get those?”
Peter didn’t bother to turn my direction. “Bob. Site fourteen.”
I looked two sites down to see an older gentleman with a massive pot belly. Unable to keep the bite out of my tone, I snapped. “Well, I certainly hope you two got nice and cozy.”
Peter lifted his head, frowning in confusion at my comment.
“Because the moment you get sick, you’ll be sleeping in his tent. I don’t do puke.”
“I’m not going to puke.” When he lifted the beer to his lips, the scent of malt and hops hit me like a dense fog. His throat worked with a long swig of the stuff and my insides turned to mush. Saliva pooled in my cheeks and I hated how badly I wanted it.
“Why are you drinking anyway? I know that isn’t your norm.”
He smiled, but the action was void of happiness.
“Because I can’t think of one reason not to.
” He palmed the bottle and looked up at me again.
And even though he wasn’t looking in my face, the anguish in his eyes wrote an entire story.
He was absolutely miserable. “Sarah left, and I’m here, stuck at a rodeo with you.
And I had to phone my brother because I can’t set up a tent anymore. ” He shrugged and took another swig.
I dropped onto the bench of the picnic table. “Listen, man. I’ve been down this road. Drinking because you’re unhappy will get you addicted really fast.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m not an idiot.”
“Well, you’re acting like one.”
“I’m not sure why it’s any of your damn business.”
I lifted my ball cap off my head and rubbed the matted roots of my hair. “Just trying to warn you. You’ve got a wife to get back to and you don’t want to take an alcohol problem to Colorado.”
He shook his head, slouching back in the chair. “She doesn’t want me home.”
“Sure she does. I bet she’s missing you right now.”
Peter aggressively rolled his eyes as he corrected me. “Nope. She’s not. She said she was going to pack up my stuff and drop it off at my parents’ house—”
“Oh.”
“—and right now, she’s at a fancy club in downtown Denver.”
“How do you know that?”
“I got a notification.” He shook his head when he realized that didn’t make any sense and explained, “Sarah started a bucket list when she was fifteen, and I helped her cross stuff off.” He shrugged, a sad smile lifting his cheeks.
“The list is digital and every time it’s altered, I get a notification. ”
“Wait.” I snorted, trying to hold back an incredulous laugh. “So let me get this straight. Clubbing is on her bucket list?” What a dumb idea.
“Not just any club.” Peter shook his head. “A particular club where all the rich people go.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Sarah has never done anything on her list without me. We do the stuff together.”
“Ah. I’m tracking. So you’re sad that she’s living her life while you rot.”
He shook his head, thinking for a few moments. “No, it’s not that. I want her happiness more than anything.”
“Why’d she leave anyway? Was she mad about what happened on Saturday?”
He huffed. “Yeah, she was pissed, obviously, but that’s not the reason she left.”
“Why then?”
He pointed to his eyes.
“Because you’re blind?” The words exploded out of me as I scoffed.
I didn’t know much about marriage but that seemed like a pretty shitty reason to leave.
And, based on the conversation I’d had with Sarah on the trail ride, I doubted that was all the split boiled down to.
She went to rehab with him. She learned freaking braille.
I saw the look in her eyes when she talked about him—she loved Peter.
“Come on, man, be real. That can’t be the only reason. ”
“The old Peter is not coming back. I’ve been trying to tell her that for months, but I think she finally came to terms with it.
I want her to be free. She deserves a lot better than anything I can give her.
” His jaw rolled as he fought back emotions.
“She wants a family life and adventures and so many things I just can’t do… I’m not that guy anymore.”
I nodded, the pieces coming together. “So you’re glad she left because then you don’t have to feel guilty about the fact that you’re a pathetic, lazy piece of shit.”
His gaze turned fiery. “I’m not lazy. I’ve worked hard to find some semblance of normal.”
“Sarah was all over the ranch, trying her best to smile and have a good time while you slept in the fifth wheel. All the cowboys felt sorry for Sarah. Cody told her to come find him if she got lonely. And, let me tell you something, he was ready to show her a good time.”
Rage flickered to life in his eyes.
“If I had to guess, Sarah left because you’re bitter and unbearable to be around.
One day stuck with you, and I am ready to hightail it.
Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve got a scowl on your face and a stick up your ass.
You’re wallowing, man. No one could stomach that forever.
I don’t blame her one bit for throwing in the towel. ”
He sat like a statue, listening. Maybe no one in his life was being honest. But I didn’t know how to bullshit with people, wasn’t proficient at holding my tongue, and I wouldn’t know kid gloves if they hit me in the face.
So I continued, “If you’re dead set on being a prick then I’m glad she’s clubbing and I hope someone a hell of a lot more interesting than you takes her home tonight and rewards her for being a saint. ”
His lips pressed into a firm line, his fist on his lap balling.
“Go ahead. Get angry. To be honest, I don’t think you’re angry enough. ‘Cause that’s exactly what’s gonna happen if you keep laying around, sucking your thumb.”
His solution? Reach for another beer.
Suddenly, anger crested in my chest, and I kicked the six pack out of his reach, the glass bottles clanging as they clacked together and toppled onto the packed dirt ground.
I wished I could be Peter—tipsy and not giving a flip—but my dying wish was to be someone my brother could trust and I would be damned before I let Peter’s stupid identity crisis derail me.
I knew a thing or two about living a nightmare and if I couldn’t drink my darkness away, Peter couldn’t either.
Maybe it wasn’t fair, but those were my rules.
With his hand suspended toward the pack, he scoffed in disbelief.
“Pour them out. You’re done.”
“No, I’m not.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, my hands starting to tremble.
“Listen, I’m a recovering alcoholic. If you don’t get that shit off this campsite, I’ll burn through the last four in less than ten minutes and be sitting at Bob’s campfire in less than fifteen.
I’ll be wasted before midnight and driving the trailer with a hangover tomorrow.
Then, unlike you, I’ll lose my job. And also, unlike you, I won’t have a family to wipe my ass when I’m unemployed.
I’ll be on the streets and probably doing drugs again.
So I don’t care how sorry your life is. You’re a Thompson and the fact that you don’t realize what kind of life advantage that is is another reason to not respect anything about you.
I want to find some food then get in bed. Not babysit. So pour them out.”
I swore Peter could see me with the way he glared directly into my eyes.
In the dim light of the flickering street lamps, the lines of his face were angled and hard, angry and hurt.
For a few tense beats, we stared each other down, each waiting for the other to crack.
And just when I thought he’d push back, his brow softened, his throat pulling with a swallow.
Slowly, he reached toward the toppled pack of beers and his fingers found purchase on one’s neck.
He lifted it, popped the top, and turned it upside down.
Relief coursed through my body, my shoulders falling a few inches.
Beer slapping the ground filled the silence between us.
I stood and watched the opportunity get whisked away.
It hurt a little to watch the amber liquid disappear into the soil, but I knew it was better there—foaming with the earth, beyond rescue.
When Peter opened the second, I grabbed the third.
Then two streams of beer made puddles at our feet, lifting bits of decaying leaves and swirling in the dirt.
When it was finished, Peter tossed the bottle on the ground.
For a long moment, he was silent, not looking at my face.
I detected a little bit of red climbing up his cheeks.
Mine warmed too. I hadn’t meant to embarrass him.
Hell, I didn’t even know where all that came from in me—that defiant rage and desire to do the right thing.
Maybe I was getting older, just maturing out of mere necessity.
Or maybe…I was tired. Tired of trying so hard and having nothing to show for it. Tired of the constant uphill battle. Tired of everyone around me holding their breath, waiting for me to go off the rails again.
My throat tightened as I realized how easily I could throw it all away.
Peter’s voice jerked my gaze away from the foaming puddle. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Cooper.”
I waited, not sure what he was apologizing for.
“I didn’t know you were recovering.”
“I thought everyone knew that.”
“Maybe I knew at some point, but I forgot.” He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have brought it back to the campsite, if I’d realized.”
“Don’t mention it.” I waved him off. “You hungry?”
Dinner at a local hamburger joint went fine.
When we walked in and found a bar, Peter suggested we take it to go, and I appreciated that.
We ate at the campsite’s picnic table under the street lamps and made a little small talk.
Conversation came easier now that I’d said my peace, and surprisingly, my harsh words hadn’t scared him off.
In fact, they did the opposite. Once he put his weapons and sorry attitude away, he became half-way decent company.
By the time we finished and took showers at the bathhouse, we went into the tent. The late October air chilled my long, wet hair, so I snuggled into my sleeping bag. Just as my eyes started to close, my phone vibrated not too far from my head. I swiped it up and read the text notification.
Tag
Hey Coop sorry I didn’t respond earlier. I just finished running broncs to the chute so I can finally think. I’m so glad everything went smooth. Thank you so much for taking the sheep. That takes a load off.
Me
No problem. How did they do?
Tag
Crushed it. They’re getting a lot of attention.
Me
Cool
Tag
How are you?
Me
Sober *whew emoji*
Tag
Proud of you.
Me
No big deal.
Tag
It’s a very big deal.
Maybe you can do another short trip soon?
Me
That would be awesome.
Tag
It really would. Good night Coop
I drifted to sleep with a smile on my face.