Forty-Two | Colson
Iguess it’s only fitting that everything that’s hard to confront happens at once. Getting drunk and acknowledging the truth last night wasn’t enough, so life is really shoving a boot up my ass as I walk onto the deck, my parents trailing behind me.
When I released everything I had been feeling and holding onto to Harlow by the lake, it was like clarity had crept into the void and was filling the cracks with something besides empty space.
Then she whipped out that lava cake she quickly made while I was in the shower and a birthday candle, and the spark of the lighter set off a reaction inside me that I wasn’t prepared for.
One that fired without warning, knocking the breath out of my lungs.
I told Harlow last night that I needed to take a good look at where my life was going, and, sitting on that blanket with her, I couldn’t help but feel like a piece of my future was in front of me—my drop of Arizona sunshine, piercing the black veil I’ve never been able to escape.
I sit down on the outdoor loveseat on the back deck as I watch my parents settle on the couch opposite mine. The anxiousness is vibrating through my body, so I brace my hands on my knees, taking in the two people who raised me and all that’s changed between them.
The sunlight spills onto their faces, highlighting their features that have changed over the past three years since I last saw them. The fresh air is doing nothing to ease the unease growing in my stomach about this unplanned visit.
My parents look older now than the last time I saw them, with those grief lines carving their faces, making them look at least ten years older.
I should know. I have them, too.
My mom cuts right to the point. “You never answer our calls. You don’t visit anymore.” She nervously drags her palms over her jeans. “It’s been three years.” The sadness laced in my mom’s tone has my heart clenching.
I lean back, knitting my arms over my chest. I knew this conversation was going to happen eventually, but it doesn’t make it any fucking easier. “I know,” I exhale.
“Why?” my dad asks.
Why? “Because ever since Paisley died, guilt has been rotting me from the inside out. You may have stopped verbally placing blame on me after the first few years, but I felt it with every visit.” Every interaction as it pressed on my sternum like an added weight that was determined to crush me until I submitted to its relentless power.
“It was suffocating. You may have lost a daughter, but I lost my twin.” I point to my chest. “My other half. And you acted like you were the only ones grieving. You never once considered how it was affecting me.”
My mom’s green eyes turn glassy, her lips rolling to suppress whatever emotion she is feeling.
“Colson—” my dad says.
But I don’t stop. Not now that the weight has intensified with them here, and everything I’ve hidden behind barriers and walls is being pressurized to the surface.
My knee is anxiously bouncing now as I lounge. “Yes, I shouldn’t have let her ride that day. I should’ve stopped her … but the blame doesn’t fall only on me. I’m so fucking tired of carrying that around. I won’t do it anymore.”
Dad’s head turns, his gaze roaming the back pasture as I continue pouring out everything I’ve swallowed.
All these things festering inside me have burned more than the amount of whiskey I’ve consumed all these years to forget what I was truly feeling, along with the guilt.
The pain. The hurt of not just losing my sister but losing the two people who were as constant as she was.
I fucking lost everything.
I nearly lost this property until my Pbr winnings let me hang on to the last thing that hadn’t slipped through my fingers like sand.
The oxygen is thin as I struggle to draw air into my lungs.
“You made me feel like shit for still riding when that’s exactly what Paisley asked of me.
She knew how much it meant to me, meant to us, and I’ve kept that promise every fucking year because it’s a piece of us I’m too afraid to let go.
” Emotion clogs my throat. “You wanted to sell this property—this place—like there was nothing good left, but I was still here. You still had me.”
“Oh, honey.” My mom leans forward, but I move to stand, unable to sit any longer.
“I couldn’t take it anymore after that Christmas three years ago. It was too fucking hard to see you, and I felt alone anyway.”
My mom’s tears fall now as her head drops into her hands, my father’s palm reaching for her back. He’s trying to comfort her, but in a way, that motion has always given him some comfort, too.
“My life has been creeping by since Paisley died in that hospital, and this is the first time in seventeen years that I feel like I can finally try and find peace in the pain. She may be gone, but I still feel her”—see her—“in everything.” My mom peers up at me, her watery eyes making me swallow.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to hear, but I needed to say it.
I owe it to myself, and I can’t move on and heal without having this conversation with you. ”
My mom’s silent sobs blend with the sounds of spring and the soft breeze.
When I don’t think they will say anything, my father shakes his head, dragging a palm down his face.
“We needed to hear it.” I hold his gaze.
“We’ve made a lot of mistakes in our lives, Colson, but making you feel like her death was your fault was the worst. You were hurting as much as we were, and we should’ve been there for you, too. ”
I swallow, words lost on me now.
My mom cuts in, sniffling. “Nothing we say will change our faults, but we want to try. I always thought I was holding onto some resentment, knowing that you were still riding after it was the reason it took her from us, but I realized it wasn’t that.”
My brows draw together.
She continues, “I realized that if roles were reversed, you wouldn’t have wanted Paisley to stop riding.”
Her words slash across my heart like a dull blade. It’s true. I would’ve asked the same of her.
The question is, if roles were reversed, would she still be torturing herself to keep this promise?
Paisley was as wild as the breeze. She was unpredictable. Even when we were younger, she was blowing through life as if she were untouchable, never flowing in one direction. She always caught people by surprise with how pure mischief and grit can hide behind a soft smile.
I watched her grow up, and when we hit our teenage years, it was like a new era thrust a distance between us that we had never experienced.
Our friend groups became different, and she started to take a fondness for other activities other than the ones I did.
She would go out on dates and to dances with guys she was too good for—guys who tried to soften her tameless spirit.
We were always attached at the hip until we weren’t, and life kept moving.
That’s why bull riding was ours.
Because even through all the changes life threw at us and our relationship, our shared love for the sport was our center. It was always easy to find our way back to it. Find our way back to each other.
If it were me, I would’ve wanted Paisley to chase her next goal, work toward her next dream, even if it wasn’t one I was a part of. I would’ve wanted Paisley to move on a long time ago, the moment she realized that it wasn’t what she wanted anymore.
That thought churns in my gut, grinding against all the sensitive places that inject a new dose of lucidity into my veins.
This isn’t what she would’ve wanted for me.
Meeting my mother’s gaze, I nod. “I would’ve wanted her to be happy—even if happy meant watching her move on without me.”
My mom gives me a soft, emotional smile.
She stands, slowly approaching me. Reaching out timidly, she places her palms on the sides of my biceps, rubbing them up and down in soothing motions.
“I think she would’ve wanted that for all of us.
” Her admission is pure, but I still catch the hint of sadness there.
Healing is never instant. It’s messy. It takes time to adjust to the pothole in the road that was recently sealed but still has those visible reminders that it was there. Life is full of them, but the road still stretches into the horizon.
And as a flash of movement in the lower field crosses the corner of my vision, I realize that the one stop on this road that I nearly left in the rearview mirror is in front of me, riding across the field on the back of the horse that I thought was as lost as I was.
My eyes linger on Harlow in the field with Cosmos, my heart smashing against my rib cage hard enough that tears burn in the corners of my eyes as I memorize this scene that I never thought I’d see.
I can’t take my eyes away as Harlow leans over, her smooth hands gliding across Cosmos’ neck. I can only assume soft whispers of praise are falling from Harlow’s lips.
I’m staring long enough that my parents follow my line of sight, a gasp leaving my mom’s throat when she sees them.
My dad stands and moves next to Mom. His raspy voice hits my ears. “Is that—”
“Cosmos,” I finish for him, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Since I offered to coach Harlow, Harlow offered to work with Paisley’s horse, since she hasn’t let anyone ride her since she witnessed the accident.”
My mom lifts her hand to cover her mouth, and we all turn to watch Harlow and Cosmos stroll across the fresh spring grass with the forest line beyond.
“Just like us, I thought that horse was hopeless without Paisley,” Dad exhales.
I tuck my hands into my pockets. “I’ve quickly learned not to doubt the things Harlow is capable of.”
“So, you’re coaching her, huh? Coaching her on a bull or in the bedroom?” My dad gives me a knowing smile to make the heaviness feel lighter.
“Richard!” my mother scolds.
I suppress my smirk. “Yeah. Harlow is one of my competitors, but her coach, Aaron, died at the beginning of the season, and I wanted to help her out.”
“We know who she is,” Mom mentions. “Such a remarkable story, especially after coming back from an injury.”
“Wait.” I pause. “If you know who Harlow is, that means—” My jaw snaps shut, and my brows draw together.
Dad claps my shoulder. “We’ve watched every ride you’ve had this season. Every interview. We’ve followed your stats.”
“We were wondering how she was able to bounce back as well as she has. And after walking into her carefree in the kitchen and you saying you’re coaching her, it all makes sense now.” My mom’s mouth curves.
What they don’t realize is that Harlow is the reason I’m starting to bounce back, too.
“Oh, we almost forgot,” my dad says, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a folded piece of paper.
He holds it out to me, and I grasp it with shaky fingers. When I open it, my eyes widen at the invoice. “You bought front-row seats for the event in Albuquerque?”
My parents nod. “We don’t want to miss anything else.” Mom slowly reaches for me, and I let her wrap me in her embrace. “We are so proud of you, sweetheart. We want to be there.”
My heart clenches behind my ribs hearing them say those words. Words that I haven’t heard in over seventeen years.
And as I wrap my arms around my mom, my dad joins us, and a subtle weight lifts off my shoulders. It’s a semblance of relief.
Taking the first few steps to move on feels a lot better than I thought it would.