Chapter 27
The Less I Know, the Better
Cash
“See ya, Caroline,” I hear Duke call as I pull Callie through the tent back toward the arena.
Caroline? I stop walking and turn toward him.
I take in the utter devastation on his face and his hand raised in a really sad imitation of a wave.
I look to Callie and see the brokenness mirrored there.
I look between them for a few moments before the announcer calls out my name and I turn and continue through the door, pulling Callie behind me.
I swear in those twenty steps or so, I can actually hear my heart breaking.
“Cash?” she whispers as we walk but I don’t acknowledge her. As soon as we are in the arena, I plaster a smile on my face. It’s my costume to hide the absolute nuclear bomb that just landed in the tent.
“And who is this, Ashley?” the announcer asks, trying to make this look like anything resembling a normal interview.
“Oh, this is Car-Callie. My Hurricane.” I stare into the camera. “She swept in overnight and destroyed everything.” I take the buckle and turn and walk back to where I came from.
Walking through the tents and out into the night air, I can hear the soft steps of Callie behind me. We rode together so I have to take her home. The last place I want to be is trapped in my truck with her though.
Climbing up, I place both hands on the wheel, facing forward while she gets in.
I don’t look at her. I don’t speak to her.
I turn the engine over and begin the drive back to Inspiration.
The only place I have ever felt at home now feels like a war zone.
We ride in silence, not even breathing loudly.
Pulling up to her door at Pete’s, I put the truck in park and stare ahead, hands on the wheel.
I’m pissed, like well and truly pissed, but I don’t for one second want Callie to be afraid of me.
“I’m sorry,” is all she says as she removes her seatbelt, opening her door to climb out.
“He’s my best friend, Callie,” I say in return. When the door shuts behind her, I see her necklace laying on the seat.
The moment I gave it to her was the moment everything changed for me. I thought she was it. The woman I could hold onto. Wake up next to. Raise a family with or have a thousand farm animals if she wanted that instead.
I feel the tears prickling my eyes as I retreat into myself. I thought it was finally my time to claim a real piece of happiness. Every interaction, every event feels fake, like I was being manipulated.
Arriving back at the ranch, I walk in and hug my dogs, letting my tears dampen their fur and imagine I can still smell her on them from this morning.
Only this morning, my dream girl sat in my kitchen.
Now, I am alone, being swallowed by what could have been.
My dream became a nightmare faster than I can even digest. I give myself time to grieve, to wallow.
I collapse into myself for a few moments, flinching away from the thoughts flying at me at a thousand miles an hour.
Now, a million small things jump out at me.
Her about-face last Saturday when I called after she watched the rodeo at Waylon’s.
Her wistful look when she met Lola, rubbing her fingers over Duke’s name branded on his saddle.
How sad she was the same days Duke was. It’s all pieces of a puzzle I was too blind, or too unwilling, to put together.
The chances of us both meeting the perfect girl, days apart, who happens to not be from around here?
We were both so blinded by her that we didn’t see the signs right in front of us.
She never told me who she was talking to, but she did tell me she was seeing someone else.
I can’t hold it against her. I thought we were building something real.
Something worthy. But I can hold it against her that we had a dozen conversations where I talked about Duke.
I told her about him and Indie, about our childhoods, and she never even indicated she had ever heard his name before much less that she was intimately familiar with him.
The pain slices through my chest. The fear, the anger.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I see I have no notifications. I open my thread with Callie and scroll back, smiling sadly at the laughter we shared, the jokes. How a curious flirtation had transformed into something real.
Switching to my chats with Duke, they are short, to the point, the way my best friend often is. Mostly just texts about coordinating events, when to come or go. Scores from Rodeos and hockey games. The sum total of over thirty years of friendship.
I’ve never competed with Duke for anything; we’ve always had different interests.
We liked different women and did different things but always stood side by side when it mattered.
He is the cloudy sky to my sunshine, and we have always balanced each other.
I refuse to let a month-long romance, no matter how sure I am that I’ve already fallen in love with her, come between us.
Duke, we need to talk.
A few hours later, I’ve had half a dozen beers and almost as many swigs of whiskey from the bottle I keep in the back of the cabinet and my head swims. Drunk texts are never the answer, but I don’t want to leave the door open.
Opening the Callie texts I type, “We’re over,” and delete; “I can’t believe this,” and delete; “I love you, but I can’t do this,” and delete.
Finally, I settle on—
Caroline. Callie. Whoever. This is it.
Sending my text off into wherever it is that texts go, I drag myself upstairs. I shower quickly before lying on my back, spread eagle, and beg for the pain to go away before the ceiling spinning lulls me to sleep.
Rolling over in the morning after something disturbed my sleep, I glance at the sun and realize it’s well after midmorning and I haven’t slept this late in years.
My next thought is of a beautiful green-eyed girl sitting on a horse, walking beside me, forever.
I think these peaceful thoughts, a smile on my face, until the truth of my life slams back in and I groan, dragging myself up.
My head pounds, and I cup my face in my hands.
Today, I walk into the world after the hurricane.