Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
CHASE
“ D o you think they’ll have puppies this time?” Trey asked the question, his hand in mine as we approached the rodeo gates. After happening upon an adoption van from a local shelter on National Adopt-a-Pet Day, he’d started asking every time we came. It had only happened once, but recollection never seemed far from his mind.
“I don’t think so, bud.”
“If it’s here, can we meet the puppies?” Trey was undeterred.
“Sure, but you know we can’t take one home.”
Tatum, who walked next to me on the other side, chimed in. “Chase is right. Your momma would have his hide.”
Trey seemed disappointed, even though there was no adoption van in sight and this question was purely hypothetical. “But can you take a picture of the doggie and send it to Mommy?”
Trey knew I was on Team Canine. He’d never missed a chance to make me a co-conspirator in his schemes to get a dog.
“Sometimes with your momma, the best idea is to play the long game. You try too hard and she’s got a chance to say no. But if you can be just a little bit patient, and work on her in small ways, you might be able to turn a no into a yes.”
I sounded wise and confident for someone who had only recently cried into his beer and been so desperate as to wind up at secret poker. By the end of that night, no more poker had been played. For two solid hours, we’d come up with a plan. Confronting Violet directly was getting me nowhere. The best path forward was to subtly lead Violet to the same conclusions I’d drawn all along, while letting her think it was her idea.
The first conclusion was simple. Violet didn’t need to leave the farm, not if it was like Jules said and she was bent on proving something. Her rightful place was with me, adding on to the house she built. The second conclusion would reveal itself in time. I had no plans to return to the fire service. And the temporary nature of my current project would soon be revealed.
The third conclusion was one I’d striven for every woman I’d ever had a crush on to come to: that I wasn’t a platonic friend. Goddamnit, I was dateable.
Trey might have been a bit too young to appreciate my appeal for subtlety, so when he fell silent, I let it lie, content to spend quality time with him and Bri. The fourth conclusion that I needed Violet to reach was that I would never, ever leave her and the kids. When Tatum had called to see what we were up to tonight, I’d thought to invite her. Getting Violet’s friends on my side couldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe Tatum would put in a good word.
Along those lines, I leaned in to what would promise to be a fun and relaxed outing. Evenings at the rodeo were always the same. We’d start with cotton candy while watching the riders from the stands. More than they loved the skill of the riders, the kids loved the bevy of other players. Bri was old enough to study the movements of the bullfighters; Trey was just young enough to delight in the gags of the rodeo clowns; I’d gone to the rodeo with my dad and remembered loving all of it at their age. Cowtime Rodeo hadn’t changed in all the years I’d ever been going. Being there with Bri and Trey took me back.
“It’s nice how much you do with them.” Tatum paid me the compliment as she sat next to me in the bleachers. All four kids sat together at my left. Tatum’s and Violet’s kids got along like gangbusters. Tatum’s twins were full of mischief and the older Bri lived to thwart their attempts. Trey just liked to be included in the high jinks of older kids.
“I’m telling you—they’re easy. People don’t believe me when I tell ’em that, but they are. They are seriously two of my favorite people.” I beamed over at Bri and Trey while I was talking about them.
“Every kid deserves that.” Her voice was somewhat wistful. “Someone who thinks the world of them.”
I turned back toward her. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“You ever think of having a family of your own?” Tatum wondered aloud. “Or will you forever be the cool uncle?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind being promoted from cool uncle to cool dad.”
“You mean you wouldn’t mind being both,” Tatum lightly corrected. I realized what I’d said. Thankfully, she didn’t dwell on it.
Given their young ages, the kids lacked the stamina to sit calmly for an entire show. We usually made it forty minutes before someone got antsy. When they did, it was my cue to move them on to the next attraction. It was smart to do rides second and to save them for during the show. The lines were shorter then, and a kid with an empty stomach was less likely to get motion sick on a ride. Bri had a stomach made of jelly. The rodeo had ended badly once or twice.
“Y’all ready for the bucking bronco?” I asked when I heard Bri’s stomach growl. An hour earlier, we’d all left the ring. By now, I’d won Trey a floppy elephant at the ring toss and taken all four kids on most of the smaller rides. Trey liked the giant turkey legs, but there was always a line and they took him about forever to eat. And I still had to get them home and in bed at a decent hour.
The final stop the kids were hell-bent on making before we ate was to ride the mechanical bull. Ten minutes later, I was lifting Bri onto the child-sized bronco that moved comically slowly in its bucking. That didn’t stop the kids from dissolving into giggles whenever they rode. Trey liked to fall off dramatically on the ample padding beneath. In addition to actually riding the bull, they loved for me to take video so they could go back and laugh at themselves.
After each of the four kids took a go-round, we stood in line for them to go again, watching their videos to kill the time. All of us laughed good-naturedly at the replay of Bri’s technique. Her black sparkly leggings, ornate black-and-blue cowboy boots, and a tasseled black jacket made her look like a miniature version of the Lone Ranger. She held on to the padded rope with one hand while the other held on to her hat. Waving it in the air for balance caused her to really look the part.
“Show it to Mommy!” Bri held my bicep and jumped up and down with the exuberance only a seven-year-old could display.
“All right, all right,” I appeased. “I’ll send it.”
“But you can show it to her right now.”
“I know, shortcake. I’ll text it right now .”
“No, you don’t need to text it.” Bri pointed her small finger. “Mommy’s standing right there.”
My gaze tracked where she was pointing and I prepared to see a look-alike. When it landed, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Violet stood not thirty feet away. She looked amazing in a far more sophisticated variation of the outfit Bri wore—leggings and boots, and a very soft-looking sweater.
Before I could stop what happened next, Bri was running toward her mother with my phone in her hand. Before I could call after her, Trey was on her heels. I couldn’t fathom what had possessed Violet to come to the exact place where we would be. Seeing her on another man’s arm—not physically touching him, but looking at him attentively—gave me a familiar punch in the gut.
I’m losing her again.
I hated myself for thinking it, but this was how it had felt when she’d gotten together with Todd. Except this time, I hadn’t just caught feelings. This time, I was deeply in love.
“Mommy!” Bri launched herself into Violet’s arms. An astonished Violet reared back until she realized who had just pounced on her. Bri and Trey were not supposed to know that Violet was dating. The look of horror on Violet’s face foreshadowed the total shit-show that was soon to come.
“Baby, I didn’t expect to see you here.” I was walking toward them at a normal pace, but within earshot when Violet spoke in a panicked voice.
Bri, being seven, called her on it immediately. “But Uncle Chase told you we were coming here. He even tried to get you to come.”
Violet’s expression turned swiftly to one of chagrin.
“Go easy on your momma, now.” My interjection was soft and firm at once. “She already had plans with our friend Rod. You might’ve seen him around the farm. He’s one of our suppliers.”
I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t want to out Violet. She’d made it clear that her kids didn’t need to know she was on a date, which—no thanks to Man Enough —they had the capacity to understand. Also, Rodney needed no help discrediting himself. He was dressed not like a spectator but like a rider who had just exited the ring. The man had on assless chaps.
Bri and Trey slid their gazes over to Violet’s companion. Trey asked, “Who are you?” At the same time Bri wanted to know, “Your real name is Rod?”
Good girl.
I threw Bri an approving look even as I tried to smooth things over.
“Well, hello, young lady.” Rod crouched down and spoke to her in the manner of somebody who, literally, never spent time with kids. “Can you show me with your fingers how old you are?”
Bri frowned and threw Violet a Who is this guy? kind of look.
“I’m seven.” Refusing to suffer the indignity of showing fingers, she used her voice.
“And I’m four.” Trey seemed to want to get ahead of things.
“And we’re five.” The twins, who spoke in unison, had caught up now.
“You’re very pretty,” he said to Bri in a still-too-slow and saccharine voice.
“And smart.” My arms were crossed as I glared at Rodney.
“Of course. That, too,” he stammered.
“Y’all having fun at the rodeo?” I asked Violet. I wanted to move the small talk along. That meant skipping some of the introductions. Violet could politely say that all was well. I could politely wish them a good night and make our excuses about needing to eat. The kids would try to get me to show her their bronco videos. I’d tell them they could do it tomorrow, at home. Then, all of us could be on our merry way.
“We’re just killing a little time,” Rodney answered for Violet. I didn’t like it, even a little bit. “Making rounds before the main event. My main event, that is. I’m playing with the Chubby Dingus band. I’ve got too much going on to commit to every show, but I catch up with them when they’re in town. Me and Chub grew up together. We’ve known one another for years.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” Tatum stepped forward until she was next to me. “What instrument do you play?”
I’d never thought of Tatum’s extreme friendliness as anything but endearing. But I wished she would cool it right now. Hearing Rod talk about himself wasn’t my idea of a good time.
“A mean banjo,” Rodney boasted. “Or so I’m told.”
“You and Chase ought to jam some time,” Tatum continued. “I’m sure Violet’s told you, Chase plays. He’s too modest to ever tell you so, but he’s real good.”
“Is he, now?” Rodney gave me a sly look, then smiled like the cat who ate the canary.
I made sure to look bored. “So I’m told.”
“You ought to come up on stage tonight, and jam with the band,” Rodney challenged.
I knew what Friendzone Chase would say. He’d tell Rodney to take a rain check—then he’d tell Violet to get back to her date. He’d mention that he had to tend to the kids and say they could jam another night. But Friendzone Chase was sick as hell of losing. So sick, it turned out, that Man Enough Chase had already emerged to make an unscheduled appearance.
“Alright, man, I’ll jam with you.” Man Enough Chase accepted the challenge. “Long as you think you can keep up.”
“It’s been ages since I’ve heard you play,” Tatum chimed in again, helpfully. “I’d love to hear you,” she gushed.
“I don’t know if that’s a good i—” Violet began, but her children cut her off with twin versions of, “Mommy, please, we want to see Uncle Chase play!”
“The band won’t go on for another half an hour,” Rodney cut in before Violet could fully decide. “The kids can grab a table. We’ll order them a few Rob Roys and Shirley Temples. We can head over right after I ride this here bull.”
Rodney jutted his chin in the direction of the adult-sized bucking bronco. It was down the way from the one they had for the kids. Naturally, a guy like him would show off for Violet.
“Come on, Chase,” Tatum prodded. “You ought to go on, too!”
Friendzone Chase looked over at Tatum wide-eyed. Seriously. What was up with her tonight? Predictably, the kids came in with things like, “Pleeeease, Uncle Chase?” and “We’re not even hungry right now.”
“Yes, Chase. Why don’t you do it, too?” Violet had crossed her arms in front of herself. Her voice was sweet, but I could tell for certain: she was pissed.
Small talk was even more awkward for the next few minutes it took us to get to the front of the line—awkward for everyone but Tatum and the mostly oblivious kids. Though, I was secretly proud of Bri for her active side-eye of Rodney. She, too, seemed to sense that something with him was off.
“After you, part’ner.”
When we got to the front of the line, Rodney feigned chivalry. Both of us knew what this was—him wanting me to go first so he knew what time to beat. This wasn’t us riding for fun or to compete for the night’s $500 prize. This was purely between me and him.
Not that I was great at this, but I had a secret weapon. I’d spent my early twenties doing a lifetime of stupid things, most of them in honky-tonks just like this. I’d picked up a bevy of nontransferable skills—from bull riding, to holding my own at chug-offs, to swallowing flaming shots without ending up in the ER.
Rule number one of bull riding was grip with your nondominant hand. All the better to have your stronger hand free to break your fall. Rule number two was to scoot forward and grip the thing with your thighs. Rule number three was the see-saw— when the bull went forward, you went back and vice versa. All of this, of course, while keeping my eyes on the bull.
That’s exactly what I did as it jostled me to and fro, reminding me with every nanosecond what a bad idea this was—what a bad idea it had always been. It wasn’t until I was on my back, staring at the ceiling that I realized I’d been thrown. It was more déjà vu from years before—having the spins for a minute so I could orient myself. I pulled myself up to walk out of the ring and tried not to weave.
When my brain came back to fuller focus, Rod was mounting the bull. His assless chaps reminded me that I’d already won. Even if he blew me out of the water on time, I wasn’t wearing those. Plus, a glance at the tournament clock on the wall told me I’d stayed on for a respectable fourteen seconds—well above average and only three seconds shorter than my freewheeling days.
I was met by the children and Tatum with laughs and pats on my back. Violet looked at me—arms still crossed—with an expression I couldn’t read. She didn’t look pissed off anymore but she also didn’t look like herself. She broke her gaze from mine in order to look back toward the mechanical bull in the ring.
I followed suit and caught a glimpse of Rod long enough to see him waving at Violet. But a flat-hand wave was what you used to signal the operator to start. What happened next happened very quickly: the operator started the bull, which caught him unaware. It took just a second for him to flail, just one good buck to send him airborne, one good fall to cause him to land with a sickening crunch.