28. Lyla
Lyla
“Wait for your shot. You’re throwing too early,” Nash hollers as another one of Beck’s throws misses the steer. He turns Willow around and does a victory lap of the ring. She throws her head as if she’s just as frustrated at the rest of us watching Beck practice.
I enlisted Nash to help Beck train. Beck wasn’t making as much progress with Austin. We’ve been out here doing this nearly every afternoon for the last week, ever since I found the insurance policy we went hunting for.
Wade had in fact remembered to renew the insurance, which took Beck by surprise. But what he failed to account for was the changing climate, and the policy didn’t include flood damage, or any water damage that was caused by factors outside of the buildings on the property.
The water damage to the barn is going to run Beck a lot more than whatever savings I’ve been able to find elsewhere in the budget. I was clear that the benefits to the ranch wouldn’t be seen immediately. That the biggest changes would come next year.
In the meantime, we still have to figure out how to pay for all of this. The rodeo is Beck’s best option at the moment, but it’s not a sure bet. He still has to win. And right now? The prospect of even placing feels out of reach.
The afternoon sun beats down, beads of sweat forming on my neck.
I can tell his shoulder has been causing him grief, and I watch him stretch it out and Willow into position for another run.
Nash has been coaching Beck from inside the ring, shouting pointers at him after every run, small tweaks and corrections to improve his time. Austin and I have been watching from the sidelines. My brother has both forearms resting on the fence, and I’m sitting on the top rail next to him.
Every so often he makes a tsk sound with his tongue, before anything has even happened, at least from what I can tell. It seems Austin knows when it will be a bad run before Beck has even thrown the rope.
As the afternoon wears on, frustration mounts in the ring as each run seems to be worse than the last. Nash corrals the young steer in the pen beside Beck and Willow, gearing up for another run.
Tate let Beck borrow the animal for practice, and it’s been handy having him here, although I’m not sure I want to give him back after this. I’ve started to really like the little guy, and I hop down off the fence and pick up my bucket of apple slices to give him a treat.
His eyes look wild when I near him, but he seems to calm down as I hold out the apple slices, and he happily takes them from my hand.
“In all my days, I’ve never seen a steer get treats after an event,” Beck says.
“This one does,” I say, shading my eyes with one hand from the setting sun as I look up at Beck, sitting on top of Willow. “Are you sure this doesn’t hurt him?”
“It doesn’t hurt him,” Beck answers. “Trust me, Trouble, no rancher ever wants to hurt their animals. It’s not practical if you want to make a profit. And he jumps back up as soon as I pull the rope off him.”
I nod, and bend down to plant a kiss on his head before Nash gives Beck a nod to see if he’s ready. Beck nods back, and he lets the steer go. Willow takes off after him, lining herself up behind his shoulder.
I hold my breath as Beck lifts his roping arm, but something is wrong.
Where Beck normally wears a smile on his face while he’s roping, his expression twists into a grimace. He steels himself, and tries to throw the lasso, but his arm drops, and he cries out.
“Fuck!”
The rope lands in the dirt next to the steer, a near repeat of the disaster at the Sage Valley rodeo.
And now the stakes are higher. Not just for the ranch, but the rodeo he’s competing at this time is bigger than the one in this sleepy town.
There will be more competitors, and stronger, more experienced cowboys.
He can’t afford to miss like this. But there’s no time to think about what this means for the rodeo or the ranch.
Worry washes over me, everything moving in slow motion as Beck brings Willow to a stop and climbs off her, barely able to get himself down to the ground without falling since he can only use one arm.
“What the fuck happened?” Nash reaches him first, but Austin and I are close behind him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Beck says, but his eyes give him away. They’re distant, his focus is elsewhere, and he’s slid his walls back into place. “Take her back to the pasture.”
Beck takes off toward the house, his gait steady, but I can tell he’s bracing his arm. I glance around at Nash and Austin, trying to decide if I should go after him, if it will give us away. I have no reason to care about Beck like this, and Austin knows it.
But the concern for him outweighs my ability to care what Austin thinks. I don’t want Beck shutting down like this, closing himself off to everyone, to me. I know the pressure he puts on himself, and that he’ll take this as a personal failure.
My surly, grumpy cowboy had just started opening up to me, had started letting me see the soft side of him that no one else does. It kills me to think that he could ever lock that part of himself up again.
I run after him, only catching up when he’s halfway through the yard.
“Go home, Trouble,” he growls when I fall into step beside him. “I just need some space.”
“No, Beck,” I argue. “You don’t want space, you want to shut yourself down. You want to hide in your house and shove down everything you’re feeling.”
He grumbles under his breath as I follow him into the house. He turns to face me once we’re inside, out of eyesight from Austin and Nash.
“I process differently than you do,” he says, his voice low, like he’s keeping himself on a tight leash. It’s a tactic I know all too well because I’ve fucking tried it myself. And you know what? It’s awful. It’s torture, having to hold everything inside all the time.
“No, you don’t process. You compartmentalize, and keep pushing. But you don’t let yourself feel your feelings to move through them, Beck.”
His shoulders drop, and I know that I’m starting to reach him. Either that, or I’m wearing him down. But if it achieves the same end, I’m ok with that.
I soften my tone now, because I’m not angry with him, and if he really wants space I’ll respect that boundary. “You can shut the rest of the world out Beck, that’s up to you. But I want all of you, all of this. Please don’t shut me out, too.”
Beck stares out the window toward the mountains, now painted in gorgeous pastel shades. When he looks back at me, his expression is open, but his eyes are… sad.
“It’s just one thing after another,” he says. “I can’t keep up.”
Air rushes from my lungs, leaving me breathless for a moment before I can speak. “You put so much pressure on yourself, Beck.”
He nods, contemplating my words, letting them settle over him.
“You hold yourself to this impossibly high standard, and then beat yourself up when you fall short. Anyone would fall short.”
“I just don’t know what to do, I can’t let this place fall apart.” His voice cracks. “It’s going to shit and it’s like all I can do is sit back and watch it happen.”
“First of all,” I say, “you’re spiralling.”
“I’m not spiralling,” Beck argues.
“Beck,” I level with him. “I am the queen of an emotional spiral. I know a spiral when I see one. It’s okay. Sometimes you need to say all of your fears and anxieties out loud so you can hear them clearly. So you can see that they don’t have as much power over you as you think they do.”
Beck looks back at me, mouth set in a straight line.
“And,” I continue. “Sometimes you need to voice your fears to someone who can lovingly tell you that you’re being a bit ridiculous. The ranch is not going to shit. We’ve made a lot of incredible moves forward in the last month. It’ll take a while, but we’re getting there.”
Beck takes a deep inhale and lets out an audible sigh. “Not fast enough. I don’t know if I can compete with this damn shoulder.”
“We’ll tackle it together,” I say, leaning up to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek and the tension in his body eases at the contact. “Go upstairs to get changed, I’ll get you an ice pack and some pain killers.”
He does what I’ve asked and retreats up to his bedroom, while I rummage around in the kitchen to find what I need.
Wade is out tonight, some of his buddies in town pick him up once a week for poker night, so I’m on my own.
The ice pack is easy, but I go through nearly all the cupboards before I find a bottle of ibuprofen.
I bring the whole thing upstairs, wandering down the hall until I see the open bedroom that has to be Beck’s. I know this because I can hear him grunting, and when I come around the corner, I find him stuck with his t-shirt half off, one arm twisted trying to get loose.
I let out a laugh before going to help him.
“This stupid fucking thing,” he says.
“Wait, stop moving around, you’re making it worse,” I say, tugging on the fabric to get it off Beck’s good arm. Once it’s off, I slip it over his head and down the injured side. His shoulder looks a little swollen, but I can’t see any obvious bruises.
I swallow hard, my eyes skating over his body. I’ve seen every inch of Beck’s body now, but he still hasn’t let me have him. He’s still withholding because of some sense of honour that I both love about him and hate at the same time.
Because the more times I see Beck like this, the more I crave him.
I clear my throat, handing him the ice pack and the ibuprofen, and averting my eyes. If I stand here staring at him any longer, I’m not going to be able to hold back. What Beck can do with his hands alone was enough to have me desperate for more.
And he’s made it clear that can’t happen. Not until he can talk to Austin and tell him the truth.
“Do you need to go see someone about this? A doctor? Do you have a physiotherapist?” I ask.
Beck shakes his head as he tosses back the pills with one hand and swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.