Forty-four
FORTY-FOUR
Tag
Two weeks later
T he Ranger’s bright headlights cast my shadow long across the field. Had to be past ten o’clock. My stomach growled and my arms ached, but those things paled in comparison to the other things I felt now.
In the past, coming back to myself after a panic attack brought relief. Now, I wished for that state of numbness. Being halfway gone was better than hurting this bad. This morning I woke to find the fog had cleared, lifted like the incident had never even happened. There were very few things I remembered about Bea’s last two days at Meadowbrook.
In some ways, I was happy about that—less to torture myself with. But in other ways, I was torturing myself over what I didn’t know. What had I said? Done? And most importantly, what did she think of me now?
With the force of two men, I drove the shovel into the earth. Digging was the most cathartic activity I could get my hands on. The pain was distracting. The burn in my hands somehow cut the scorching burn in my chest.
Bea’s presence lingered like a cloud over this ranch. I heard her laugh and voice and saw her smile in every corner. We’d spent every day together for the three entire weeks. Now that my body was fully in the moment, the pain was ravaging. The loss of companionship felt like a bleeding wound, making me weaker, sicker by the hour.
Flashes of those last two days haunted me on repeat.
Namely, the way I hugged her before she left—stiff, distant, closed off. The way I’d said goodbye— “travel safe.” The way she chewed her lip to keep from bursting into tears. And the way she hesitated before climbing the pasture fence, like she wanted me to call her back.
And I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t offer what she needed. Emotionally, I was bone dry—still floating above myself, watching the scene play out like a movie. Everything in me wanted to pull her in and beg her to stay. Prostrate myself like a worshiping fool and beg her not to leave my soul behind.
But even the words we’ll keep in touch slurred off my tongue and the air felt like concrete as I raised my arms to hug her. I wanted to do a lot of things in that moment, but as always…I could only manage the basics.
Survive.
Try to breathe.
Remember how to move.
Focus on something close by.
Think of anything but the past.
This was why I couldn’t be with her.
My love for her would always be hindered, always second. I would let her down because I couldn’t live it down. If she needed me when my memories came calling, she’d lose every damn time. If I was slipping, there was nothing I could do. I didn’t know how to stop it, it just happened without my consent or control.
Cooper was right. I would destroy her life.
But like an absolute idiot, my mind had succumbed to playing, spiraling, and thinking about the things we could be. I foolishly allowed myself to think I could be different. For a few blessed hours, I resurrected ideas—dreams—I had buried alongside my hope.
Wife. Children. Family.
Certain fantasies stuck to my mind throughout the years. Like a chronic illness sometimes they tortured me, other times they lay dormant. But when I got to yearning for togetherness, the same imaginings paralyzed me with loneliness. They’d rear their head until I was so depressed I wanted to die.
Every single one of those fantasies were derived word for word from Strings’ letters. A preteen girl’s words and stories, written in pink and purple gel pens, wove my only concept of a family unit. She told me how they all went ice skating a week before Christmas every single year. How celebrating your birthday in the Thompson home meant picking the entire menu for the day. Game nights, long talks with Dad, cooking with Mom in the kitchen, swim days at the rinky-dink community pool, and the sibling fights.
Her stories were so real to me I had all but adopted them as my own. At first, I imagined tagging along with the Thompsons, maybe as the third brother. But eventually, I imagined myself as the father, making a beautiful life for a family I adored.
I imagined laughter in that gigantic ranch house, the rooms filling up over the years.
I imagined a wife on the front porch tucked under my arm in the swing.
I imagined locking my family in tight after the sun went down.
Three weeks ago, those dreams were faceless—blurs of people I didn’t know and would never know. Now, Bea was at the core of each one. Her existence elevated my hopes for the future to something real, something tangible, something within my reach.
I couldn’t draw a breath without remembering our kiss—her body pressing against mine, her hands plunging into my hair, her hums muffling against my lips.
That damn humming.
I drove the shovel into the dirt and cussed out loud.
Then did it again and again. Anger fueled my movements, taking them faster and faster, until my muscles screamed in pain and my back felt like it would break. Blood streaked the handle of the shovel, but I felt nothing except the searing pain in my chest, the stinging solitude, and the weight of grief in my stomach.
A long while later, I tossed the shovel aside and fell to my knees in the trench I’d created. My memories and thoughts of her were so vivid, I found myself reaching for handfuls of dirt, smelling them, just to make sure I was truly alone.
I dropped my forehead against the upturned earth and wept. Alone, under the stars and covered with soil, I curled up like a child.
“Strings, I’m sorry.” I whispered into the ground. “I’m so so sorry.”
Gravel crunched, and an engine purred down the drive. I should’ve seen this coming. I righted myself, jumped up to grab the shovel, and took a shaking scoop of dirt. Unsure of where I’d put my hat, I kept my face down and averted, wanting to avoid as much confrontation as possible. I sniffed a few times, not wanting Jesse to see me bawling like a baby.
I didn’t look up or acknowledge his nearing presence in any way.
Jesse’s boots scuffed along the gravel drive until he stood, looking down into the growing trench. A few long moments went by, just the shovel breaking the silence.
He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
I didn’t raise my head. “Didn’t realize you’d gone blind since dinner.”
Jesse snorted. “Okay, let me rephrase. Why are you doing non-emergency plumbing at ten forty-five at night?”
“This is the main line that busted. I’m replacin’ the rest of the pipe so it doesn’t happen again. Bein’ proactive instead of reactive for once in my life.”
“You keeping the line on for tomorrow?”
“Yep. Just going to dig it up a bit at a time. When I get it all uncovered, we’ll turn the line off and replace it.” I did my best to keep my voice steady and make it sound like this was a sane business decision and not a pathetic attempt to cope.
“Any reason you aren’t renting a skid for this?”
“Maybe I like diggin’. ”
Expecting a snide remark, I was surprised when he sincerely responded. “I think you just don’t want to go in that house.”
“I think you should mind your own damn business.” I threw my weight down on the shovel.
“Oh, I see how it’s going to be. I come out here to help, and you decide to be an asshole.”
“You’re helpin’?” I glanced up at him for the first time. “You didn’t bring a shovel.”
Jesse took a deep, quiet breath. “Tag, stop a minute and listen to me.”
“I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want it.”
“You need it.”
I stomped on the shovel, trying to ignore him.
“Look, I know you’re probably feeling like crap right now, but we need to talk about what happened for a lot of different reasons.”
Defenses flew up around me. “I’ve never had one that bad, alright? It was a one-off thing.”
“But what if it wasn’t? I’m not trying to be insensitive by forcing you to think about it, but Tag what if it happens when you’re driving or at a rodeo?”
My back spasmed, and I lifted one shoulder, rolling out my spine. I sighed in frustration and spat out my reply. “I don’t know, Jesse. I’ve been dealin’ with this my whole life, and I know as much about it today as I did when I was twelve. I’ll live with it, same as I always do.”
“Cade and I need Meadowbrook. This is our home now, for better or worse. I care about what happens to it, and you are the captain of this ship. If you’re not okay, Meadowbrook won’t be either.”
“I’m fine .”
“Stop lying, Tag. That’s not going to help anything. I’ve seen you space out and struggle and have weird weeks plenty of times, but I have never seen you unresponsive.”
“It was only for a few minutes.”
“No, it was about fifteen minutes. That’s a long time to be completely unaware of your surroundings.”
I hated how right he was. If I had been at a rodeo or hauling horses, the results could have cost me everything. If I’d been in public, someone would’ve called 9-1-1, and I’d be shackled, once again, with hospital bills I couldn’t afford.
I stood straight and opened my arms wide in defiance. “What do you want, Jesse? An apology? I’m sorry!”
“No, dammit, I don’t want your apology.”
“Then what’s the point? I’ve got work to do.” I drove the shovel again.
“You need to see someone. A doctor or something.”
“I already have.”
That surprised him. He paused for several beats. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“When?”
“Years ago. The first guy just wanted to drug me. I was on several medications for a while. The second just…I stopped goin’. I couldn’t afford it, and…the stuff we were bringin’ up was makin’ it impossible for me to operate. I was gettin’ worse, not better.”
“Well, shit. I didn’t know that.”
“Yep. Both doctors only made my panic attacks worse.”
Jesse sighed. “Panic attacks? Is that really what the doctors were calling them?”
“The first one.”
“The second?”
“She called them episodes.”
“Episodes of what?”
I sighed. “Not sure.”
A long silence went by. When Jesse spoke again, his voice was quieter, sad. “I need to…tell you something.”
I looked up.
He repeatedly scuffed the ground with his boot, head hanging low. “Laurel…she had episodes, too.”
We held eye contact as the headlights washed over us. Sorrow was visibly etched into his face, despite the angled shadows.
“She had some trauma in her past. She’d space out for a while, not remember things, feel really out of touch with her emotions for days on end. Said she sometimes felt like she was watching herself from a distance. ”
“Like a movie.”
Jesse nodded. “Her exact words.”
“She had bad dreams, things that triggered her memories, and was forced to relive the worst moment of her life with no warning whatsoever. She regularly saw a therapist and was on a couple medications. Still”—his voice wavered—“she was the strongest person I ever met.” He took in a shaky breath. “I’m telling you all this because I think you and her are really similar. You act similar, anyway. But her doctor never once used the term ‘panic attack.’ I’m not trying to diagnose you or anything, but you should know that Laurel was very quickly diagnosed with PTSD. Her therapist was incredible and the help she received saved her life.” His voice trembled. “She was able to go on, get married, have Cade. Our life was…simple, but it was beautiful. And she gets all the credit for that.”
Immediately, Laurel’s story resonated in my chest. I looked down at the dirt, my chest tightening.
Jesse continued, “I should’ve told you before now. I’ve always kind of suspected you might have PTSD, but the last episode made me think I should say something. You don’t have to tell me your life’s story or anything like that…I just wanted you to know a little about Laurel’s.”
For a moment, we stood in silence.
Eventually, I choked out the most insensitive question of my life. “But…you actually loved her?”
Jesse laughed a little, but didn’t answer.
“Man, I’m bein’ serious. Even though she was like that, you loved her?”
Jesse sobered with a deep, long inhale. For a few moments, he considered how to answer. “You know, she played the harmonica. Wasn’t all that good honestly, but she adored that thing. Occasionally, I’ll be working, minding my own business, and I swear I hear that harmonica on the breeze.” His exhale shuddered. “She stole the oxygen out of this earth when she left it. I still love her so much, I can hardly breathe most days.”
I nodded, surprised by the tears gathering in my eyes as I did.
Can love co-exist with pain ?
In Jesse and Laurel’s story, it did. You’d have to be a blind idiot not to see how hung up Jesse was on his late wife.
I remembered what Bea said to me as we laid under the stars.
“Real love grows in spite of pain and fear.”
Could I have that? I was too afraid to even hope.
Jesse took a cleansing breath, his voice gaining strength. “I came out here to kick your ass into gear though. If you love Bea, you need to prove it by doing the first right thing. You need a proper diagnosis, coping methods, and healing therapy in order to live well. And you need to be honest about how deep you truly hurt. My guess is you’ve been masking it your entire life.”
I nodded, quietly submitting to his advice.
“I know it’s easier said than done. I’m not discounting the mountain you’d have to climb in order to do those things, but if Bea is worth it to you, you’ll at least try.”
I nodded again, helpless to do much else. There was so much to consider, I didn’t even know where to begin.
“She called me, by the way.”
My gaze snapped back to his face. “She did?”
“Of course she did, she’s worried sick. Why aren’t you calling her back and answering her texts?”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I—was plannin’ on callin’ her.”
Jesse grew suddenly angry with me. “Cut the crap, Tag. We’re standing here, in the dead of night, talking honestly. I don’t want your load of bullshit.”
“I haven’t called because I can’t answer her questions! She’s gonna ask me questions I have no idea how to answer. I want her to know everything, but I can’t even think about what happened to me without feelin’ like I’m gonna die from the way my heart races.”
“Then call and tell her exactly that.”
I shook my head.
“Fine. Shake your head. But I’ll say this, if you aren’t willing to put yourself out there for her, you’ll be alone forever. You have every right to play the victim card if you want, but you also have the option to take a step towards healing and step toward a future that doesn’t make you want to drink your existence away. That woman is gone for you, and you’d be an idiot to let her slip away because you’re afraid of trying . If it were me in your shoes, I’d fight tooth and nail—pain be damned.”
He backed toward the truck. “But I’ll shut up now. I think I made my point plenty clear.” He waved across the trench with the toe of his boot, his shadow skittering over the gravel and dirt. “I’d offer to help you finish this, but love made me a father. I need to get back to my son.”
Gravel crunched beneath his feet again. When the truck door opened, I called after him. “Jesse.”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
He nodded once and disappeared.
Once again, I found myself writing through the night, working on my story, and writing out my thoughts that needed escape.
Jesse’s pep talk lit a fire under me. I realized I not only needed help, I wanted it. Even just learning some coping strategies could provide me with a better future.
If Laurel could heal, maybe I could too.
The next morning, I took Jesse’s advice and looked up an old friend.
Miss Simone.
She was a soul who had fought for me once. And I had no doubt she would again.
Her in-home office was a two and a half hour drive. I was desperate enough to not care about the lost time; I was useless on the ranch right now, anyway.
I stepped up to her olive green door and dropped the bronze knocker against hot metal.
Tap, tap, tap.