Epilogue
Islow just inside the gate, eyes catching on the banner flapping in the breeze, the colors muted around the edges from years of weathering. Time has a way of softening a lot of things.
We haven’t been to a rodeo since this time last year, when everything blew up. And the grounds look the same as they did then—from the old ratty welcome banner to the line-up of food trucks filling the air with the aroma of fried foods.
Last time, my stomach was in knots. Today, Holden’s hand is steady in mine.
“Let’s grab your poutine before the lines get too long,” Holden says, moving our joined hands to steer me to the left. “Considering that’s the only reason you came, I’d hate for you to miss out.”
My hip bumps into his. “For the record, I’m here because I love you.”
He raises a brow. “And off the record?”
“Off the record… the poutine might’ve swayed my decision.”
He presses a kiss to the side of my head, and I can feel his smile down to my bones. The sun’s warm on my back, warmer in his bright blue-green eyes when he gives me a wink before stepping up to order our food.
It’s hard to believe how much I’ve changed since the day I climbed into Holden’s truck last summer. The type of love I thought I deserved is so far from the type of love I expect now.
Once the cheesy, gravy-covered goods are secured, we make our way to the bleachers and find seats halfway up.
Close enough we can see, far enough away that my poutine doesn’t get flecks of dirt in it when the horses take a hard turn close to the fenceline—something I might have some experience with from last summer.
Holden stretches his legs out and loops a relaxed arm around my waist. “Weird to be watching a rodeo from this vantage point.”
I work to swallow a squeaky bite of cheese curd. Yes, I barely sat down before I was tucking into the scalding meal; I’m a poutine fiend, at the end of the day.
Once I’m finally able to speak, I ask, “Do you miss all this?”
“Sometimes.” Holden shrugs. “I mean… I don’t miss the drama, or being on the road constantly, or sharing a tiny living space with my brother, but it’s pretty fun being out there.” He juts his chin toward the arena.
“Maybe next year you should do a couple that are close to home.”
He rolls his lips together, seeming to consider it for a moment. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Am I going to have my good luck charm there?” He pinches my side, making me squirm and giggle against my will, with a devilish grin spread across his tanned face.
“Holden.” I swat at his hand. “If you make me drop this poutine, I swear—and as for your ‘good luck charm,’ I think it might be hard to rope cattle with your devil’s trident in the other hand.”
“I think knowing you’re watching is a bigger distraction than anything in my left hand could possibly be.”
“Ass-kisser.” I point a french fry at him, and he leans in to bite it.
The rodeo starts, and Holden’s attention shifts instinctively to the action.
I watch him instead—how his jaw tightens for a second, how his posture changes without him even realizing it.
There’s still a piece of him out there, chasing dust and adrenaline.
But there’s a bigger part of him right here.
For the next hour or so, we watch the rodeo. I eat poutine, Holden explains the events I know nothing about, I snuggle into him, he rubs his callused fingers up and down my bare thigh.
Then a familiar name crackles through the loudspeaker, and Logan rides into the far end of the arena. He still has the same cocky confidence, casually rolling his shoulders and adjusting the brim of his cowboy hat as he settles into the roping box.
Holden and I both hold our breath.
With a sharp nod of Logan’s head, the calf’s released from the chute and sprints through the thick dirt.
Within seconds, Logan’s barreling toward him and slinging his rope forward to land around the calf’s neck.
Just as fast, Logan’s feet hit the ground and he flips the small calf on its back with ease.
Before the cloud of dust around them has settled, Logan’s standing up and tossing his arms in the air.
“Damn, that was a good run.” Holden finally relaxes, and his fingers resume their slow drag along the top of my thigh. “That’s the part I miss.”
“You don’t have to miss it forever.” I pop a gravy-coated fry in my mouth and lean my head against his shoulder.
“I know. Maybe one day I’ll give it another go, but right now I don’t need it the way I used to.” He steals a fry from the takeout container balanced on my lap. “Want to go say hi?”
Things between the brothers definitely aren’t what they used to be, but they’re trying.
After Logan came back from spending the rest of the summer on the road, the two met for a beer and managed to spend three entire hours together without throwing any punches.
Since then, there’s been regular texting, the occasional phone call, and Holden even helped Logan get things ready for this year’s rodeo season.
I’ve run into Logan a few times—we live in a small town, after all. But something about the idea of seeing him today feels like the last little piece of closure we all need.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I say.
Logan’s leaning against the horse trailer, drinking a beer with another cowboy, when we find him. Small curls of sweat-dark hair stick out from under his cowboy hat. He looks loose. Happy.
I debate dropping Holden’s hand—not because I want to, but because the last thing anyone needs is a repeat of last year.
But as my fingers loosen, Holden’s tighten.
I glance over to meet his eyes and give him a small nod of understanding.
We’re here together, and there’s nothing to feel guilty about anymore.
When Logan spots us, his grin comes easy, and he claps a hand on his buddy’s shoulder before leaving him to saunter over to us. His eyes flicker to our joined hands for a split second. “Oh look, a couple of fans wanting an autograph.”
“That run was really clean, man.” Holden reaches out his free hand to shake his brother’s.
I smile at Logan. “Yeah, you did great.”
“Thanks,” Logan says. He tugs his cowboy hat off and uses his shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “It felt good. The entire season so far, actually.”
We stand there for a minute, watching a group of barrel racers prep their horses. It’s a little uncomfortable, to be perfectly honest, but I remind myself that it could be so much worse.
Eventually, Logan clears his throat. “I, uh, know you guys just had poutine…” He gestures toward the takeout container in my hand.
It’s closed, so he has no real way of knowing it contains a few leftover fries and some room-temperature gravy.
Maybe at a certain point he actually did notice things about me but didn’t love me enough to care.
“But maybe we could go grab drinks or something?”
I open my mouth, but Holden beats me to it. “Can’t. We’re already running behind schedule.”
Logan cocks his head.
“Road trip for two weeks,” I clarify. “We’re leaving from here.”
Holden points to me. “We’ve got a list of weird roadside attractions Sunday needs to see.”
I scoff. “I need to see?! You’re the one who made the list.”
“Ah, like the coffee pot.” Logan looks between us, amusement sparking in his eyes.
If he comes to any realizations about what that giant, silly, roadside coffee pot meant for any of us, he doesn’t dwell on it.
“Well, maybe we’ll cross paths out on the road.
I’m at a couple rodeos in Alberta over the next two weeks. ”
“For sure,” Holden says. “Turns out it’s pretty nice watching the rodeo from the stands—wouldn’t mind doing that again.”
A laugh blows from Logan’s nostrils. “Stay safe out there.”
Holden gives him a curt nod. “You, too.”
With that, we go our separate ways, and Holden releases a long, slow exhale.
I slide my arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug as we stroll toward the front gates. “That went well.”
“Yeah, it did. I’m glad we came.”
“Me, too,” I concur. “Where to now?”
Holden kisses my hair. “It’s a surprise.”
I smile to myself at that.
It doesn’t matter where we end up. Wherever we’re going, it’s together.
Thank you so much for reading!