Don't Let Go

by Andrew Grey

  “You’d better get dressed and packed.” Zeke groaned as he pushed back the covers. “I’ll get things ready in the barn and meet you and Glenn out front.” He pulled on his jeans and left the room without another word. Robert watched him go, his heart aching, feeling the distance between them already beginning to form.

  Dressing and packing didn’t take very long, and he carried his bags to the porch. Glenn was already waiting for him. Robert put his luggage behind the seat in the truck and shut the door.

  “Are we driving this the whole way?”

  “No.” Robert turned as Zeke came out of the barn. “Barry arranged for a private flight for us this morning. I thought he’d have told you. Zeke, can you take us to the airport?”

  He nodded. “What about the truck?”

  Robert tossed Zeke the keys. “I put the title, signed over to you, on the kitchen table. I can’t take the time to drive it all the way back. I thought you could always use another work truck.” He didn’t say that then he’d also have something to drive when he came back. “Take good care of her for me.”

  They were climbing into the truck as Samuel approached. Robert climbed back out and hurried to where Samuel came down the stairs.

  “I was looking for you,” Samuel said as they stood toe to toe. Samuel pulled him into a hug. “I’d always looked forward to having a daughter-in-law, but I think a son-in-law will be just fine.” He pulled back. “Figure out the things you need to.” He nodded, and Robert got back into the truck, surprised, as Zeke pulled out and they headed for the airport.

  They didn’t talk, but Robert kept in constant contact with Zeke. As they approached the airport, Robert put on a baseball hat and glasses. When they came to a stop, Glenn got out and took care of the bags. Robert stayed where he was.

  “There’s way too damned much that I want to say to you right now,” Zeke said as they stared at each other.

  “Me too.” But Robert was completely tongue-tied. “You have to send me your rodeo schedule, and I’ll come to as many as I can. I promise you that.” He reached across to take Zeke’s hand. “You ride those bulls for all they’re worth.”

  “You keep writing those songs, and I’ll definitely be listening for mine.” Zeke turned away and Robert squeezed his fingers. Then he let go and slid across the seat to hop out and stand in the open door. “Robert….”

  He leaned into the truck and took Zeke’s hand one last time. “Don’t let go, no matter what, no matter how, just don’t let go.” Robert stepped back and closed the door.

  He waited for Zeke to pull away before he turned to go inside to where Glenn waited for him. Thankfully Glenn said nothing, and carried his bags as they navigated the private airport and out to the plane that was waiting for them. Robert climbed on board, silently, sinking into himself as he watched out the window.

  The engines started, whirring on the periphery of Robert’s thoughts, and Glenn took a seat, trying to speak to him, but Robert shook his head and didn’t look away as the plane taxied and then took off, pulling him up in the air, the valley growing smaller by the second.

  “Don’t let go,” he muttered to himself.

  Chapter 10

  “WHAT’S WRONG with you?” Marty asked as he plopped himself on the barstool next to him. Zeke hadn’t even realized he’d been leaning over the bar, nursing his beer, giving off massive “keep away” vibes. But apparently that was what he’d been doing.

  “I haven’t been myself since Carson’s death.” That was what most people seemed to assume, and while it was partially true, Zeke felt guilty for not telling the whole truth. This was his second rodeo since Carson’s death and since Robert had returned to Nashville.

  “Well, whatever has been wrong, it certainly hasn’t had an effect in the arena. You blew away Amarillo and no one could touch you. You rode like the devil himself was after you.” Marty signaled to the bartender and ordered a beer. “I hope whatever mojo you have going wears off, or the rest of us are going to eat dust.” Marty was pretty easygoing most of the time. He wasn’t one of the top riders, but he had potential.

  “Don’t know what to tell you,” Zeke said and forced a smile as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the message from Robert, and damned if he didn’t smile for real this time. Robert had said that he was going to try to come.

  Marty’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything more—he knew better than to ask what the message had been.

  Zeke typed a quick response that he was at the rodeo and at the bar. He waited for the response and smiled once again.

  Have a flight tomorrow night. Hoping to see the finals.

  Zeke sent that he was looking forward to seeing him and then put his phone away. He’d give Robert a call once he returned to the hotel. “I decided to dedicate my riding to Carson. The last thing he said to me was to win for him, so that’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “Well, whatever you’re doing, it seems to be working for you.” Marty gulped half his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “A lot of it is practice and having someone to work with. I learned a lot of what I know from my dad.”

  “Do you think he would work with me?” Marty asked.

  Zeke nodded. If Marty was willing to pay for his dad’s time, then maybe he could make some extra money to put against the debt. “I’ll ask him, and if he’s willing, you two can work something out.”

  “Zeke,” a familiar voice called from behind him, and he stiffened.

  “Glenn?” Zeke asked, surprised enough that he nearly tipped off the chair. “Marty, this is a friend from back home.” The two of them shook hands. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you.” A cold zing went up his back. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I just came to help pave the way and check things out.” Glenn ordered a vodka on the rocks and leaned against the bar. “Are you a rider as well?”

  “I just started last year. This is my first full season making the professional circuit, and I’m hanging on by my fingernails.” Marty drained the last of his beer. “I should probably get back to the hotel. If I drink too much, I can’t think straight.” He slid off the stool and headed for the door.

  “How much did he have to drink?” Glenn asked, their gazes following Marty as he left.

  “Just one. He’s barely of age and really wants to do well. He usually comes, has a beer that he spends a couple hours drinking, and goes right back to the hotel. He’s still learning the ropes.” Zeke shrugged. “So what really brings you here?”

  “Robert said he was coming, so I thought I’d make sure everything was set up for him.” Glenn turned away and slowly sipped his drink.

  “Right. You came all this way to make a few hotel arrangements and look shit over.” Zeke narrowed his eyes at Glenn. “You’re a shitty liar.”

  “Yeah, I probably am. I did come to make some arrangements for Robert. He has a tour stop here in a few months, and I’m taking a look at the venue so we can specify the special arrangements we need made in advance. I found out you were here and asked around before coming here.”

  “Is there a problem?” Zeke asked.

  Glenn shrugged. “When was the last time you spoke with Robert?”

  “Yesterday. He sounded fine. We talk nearly every day, though some days it’s been hard because he’s at the studio.” Robert had told him that he’d recorded his song, which was really cool. “Why?”

  Glenn slammed the last of his drink. “Robert isn’t the same. I can’t say he’s doing badly or anything, but he isn’t the same. There’s….” He sighed. “There’s something serious going on with him, and he rarely smiles.” He motioned for another drink. “He’s serious about the music, and what he’s recording is amazing, some of his best work ever.” He took the drink, holding it in his hands. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was burying himself in work so he doesn’t have to think about anything else.”


  Zeke ground his teeth together with pent-up frustration. “And you think it’s any different for me? For the few minutes a day that I get to talk to him….” He swallowed and turned away, refusing to show just how miserable he was. Robert didn’t need to worry about him. “I look forward to that all day long.”

  Glenn rolled his eyes and sighed. He downed his drink and pushed away from the bar. “You do know that you and Robert are so damned much alike.” He looked toward the door. “You’re both thick and stubborn as mules and need a good kick in the ass.” Glenn left the bar, and Zeke stared as the door swung closed behind him.

  “What the hell was that?” Juan, another rider, asked in his thick Argentinian accent.

  Zeke shrugged. “He’s from New York. Half the time I can’t figure out whether I like him or hate his guts.”

  Juan turned back to the door. “I say you hate his guts until he gives you a reason to change your mind.” He tapped the top of the bar, and when the bartender passed four beers for his table, he walked away.

  Zeke wondered why the hell Glenn had shown up in the first place. He and Robert needed to figure shit out on their own—they didn’t need someone else butting his nose in.

  The bar seemed to have lost some of its appeal, so he settled his tab and stepped down off the stool.

  “You leaving already?” Guillermo called from the table nearby. “You no go out anymore.” He slid his chair back, wobbling a little as he did his best to amble over. Guillermo never seemed to know when to quit when they were on the road. Apparently his wife objected to drinking of any kind, so he made up for it when he was away. The guys he hung out with always made him leave his keys and got him home before pouring him into bed. The amazing thing was that it never seemed to affect him the next day. In the arena, Guillermo was a fierce competitor. “You are becoming a stick in the butt.”

  Zeke chuckled. “You mean, a stick in the mud…,” he corrected gently as Guillermo threw an arm over his shoulder.

  “Yeah… that. Come have one more beer.” Guillermo led Zeke to the table, and he had one more drink to be sociable. It wasn’t going to hurt, since he’d planned to take a cab home, and maybe a drink—or two—would help him forget what he was missing.

  ZEKE’S HEAD ached when he cracked his eyes open too damn early in the morning. He thumped his way to the bathroom and took a couple pills with a huge glass of water to dull the aches from his ride the previous day. He’d done well and scored high, which had him on top of the world, but he knew that meant nothing without Robert. The next bull could be the one that left him faceup on the dirt, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

  A sharp pounding on the door made him jump, and he cracked it open. “You coming to eat?” Marty asked.

  “Give me ten minutes.” Zeke opened the door to let Marty come in, and grabbed his clothes on the way. Shaving and showering in record time, he pulled on his clothes and met Marty in the room, where he sat on the edge of the bed, watching television.

  “Ready to go? I’m hungry.” Marty turned off the program and stood.

  “I guess I am too.” Zeke wasn’t really sure. Sometimes he didn’t eat before riding in case he lost his lunch.

  Marty paused at the door. “Do you ever worry about getting hurt? I worry sometimes, and… I think I’m losing my nerve.” He turned bright red.

  “Then you need to find a different profession,” Zeke said softly. “You have to have a fire in your belly and nerves of steel to do this. Marty, you have talent, but….”

  Marty sighed. “I know what happened to Carson, and I don’t want that to happen to me.” The fear in his eyes was palpable enough that Zeke didn’t just see it; he felt it in the pit of his stomach.

  “Then why are you doing this?” Zeke sat on the edge of the bed to give Marty a chance to calm down and for his arms to stop shaking. “If your heart isn’t in it, then….” Zeke stopped midsentence as he wondered if he was the biggest hypocrite of all. He motioned for Marty to sit next to him. “You have to follow your heart. That’s all any of us can do. If you want to ride bulls, then do it if it’s going to make you happy.”

  “And if it’s not?” Marty asked as he sat.

  “Then find something that will.” In that second Zeke knew what he wanted more than anything. He closed his eyes and saw the ranch from horseback, the breeze carrying him along, with Robert next to him. The land stretched out around him, his home. And as far as he knew, there was only one way for him to get what he wanted, and that meant climbing on those bulls and riding hell-bent for leather so he could win enough money and pay off that damn debt. Then the ranch would be safe, and he would be one step closer to having that picture become reality. That’s what mattered.

  “There’s nothing else. I’m shit at anything that requires thinking, and….” Marty paused. “How do you stop being scared?”

  Zeke thought a second before answering. “You use it. When the fear rises, you can either let it drag you down or you can turn it on itself and use it to make you sharper.” He met Marty’s gaze. “That’s what you have to do. Let that fear make you sharp, use it, and then toss it aside.” He watched Marty’s range of emotions play out on his face. “Why are you riding? What do you hope to get? Answer those questions and then focus on your answers.” He stood and waited for Marty to follow him. “Now, let’s go eat and get ready to ride.”

  Chapter 11

  ROBERT FOUND his seat in the front section, with Glenn taking the one next to him. Barry had wanted him to take security along to the arena, but Robert had talked him down to just Glenn going with him.

  “Excited?” Glenn asked.

  Robert nodded, unable to stop his eyes from scanning the edge of the rodeo grounds on the chance that he might get a glimpse of Zeke. His heart raced faster as the seconds kicked in. “I wish I could have gotten here sooner.” He shot Glenn a pointed look and then wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t his fault that their recording sessions had taken longer than expected. Robert had been hoping to see Zeke ride in the first round and then take him back to his hotel room, where they could talk and…. Who was he fooling? Robert ached for him so badly, it was going to take a fucking miracle to keep him from leaping onto the arena floor once he saw Zeke.

  “You’ve been distracted a lot lately,” Glenn chastised, and Robert knew that was true and that he was part of the reason the recording had taken longer. Though not all of it, by a long shot. “And there’s still a hell of a lot to do.”

  Robert really hadn’t needed the reminder of what was still outstanding and the fact that he didn’t have a lot of time. He hadn’t seen Zeke in a month, and it felt like a lifetime. They talked regularly, but it wasn’t the same as seeing, touching, and holding him.

  “Can I enjoy the time I have away… right now… without worrying about next week?”

  Glenn nodded. “Sorry.”

  The announcer broke through the din of the crowd, introducing the riders as each walked to the center of the arena.

  “They’re about to draw their bulls,” Robert whispered to Glenn. “It’s random, so no one knows ahead of time which bull they will ride. They have to study them all and know each bull and how it behaves. Sometimes they bring in new ones, and that can throw everything for a loop.”

  A woman in front of them turned around, and Robert knew the second she recognized him. Her eyes widened and she smiled. Robert put his fingers to his lips, winking at her, and she nodded, then turned forward again.

  Each rider was announced, and Robert jumped to his feet as Zeke strode out onto the arena floor. He’d know that walk and the way he carried himself anywhere from a million miles away. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck just from seeing him. Fucking hell, he hadn’t realized how hard it was going to be to see and not be able to touch.

  “Hy Whitely, ladies and gentlemen, the cowboy from Wyoming who’s hoping to bring the championship back to the American West!” The crowd went wild as Zeke stepped forward and reache
d into the bowl. “You picked number six, which is Cyclone!” the announcer intoned with enthusiasm as the crowd roared its approval.

  Robert turned to Glenn, who was on his phone. He handed it over, and Robert blanched at the bull’s statistics. He’d only been successfully ridden once, with a 99 percent buckoff rate. Granted, at this level all the bulls were pretty nasty, in Robert’s opinion, but this one seemed particularly daunting.

  “When will he ride?”

  Robert checked the program. “Not until the end. He’s apparently in first place after his first go, so he rides last.” Which gave Robert quite a bit of time to worry over it. He wished he could go backstage, as it were, to see Zeke, but that wasn’t possible, so Robert sat with his gaze glued to the arena as the first rider got into the chute.

  “Martin Lanier on Gelthorn!”

  The crowd clapped and cheered. Then the chute burst open and the bull, with the rider astride, charged out onto the arena floor. The energy in the place shot to the roof as the bull spun and leaped into the air.

  Robert didn’t get any music from this rider in the few seconds he stayed on the bull before flying off into the air. The crowd gasped, and Robert held his breath as Martin hung in the air for a fraction of a second before plunging to the ground. The clowns distracted the bull and got him out of the arena. Martin scrambled to his feet and waved to the crowd, who all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Robert noticed a stumble as he reached the side of the ring and wondered if he was truly okay. But the show went on, with the next rider being announced and readied in the chutes.