by J. L. Leslie
I toss some money on the table to cover the fries and the drinks and stand up. I tell the women it was nice to meet them and follow Brynn outside. I thought I was the one who was ready to leave, but she can’t get out of there fast enough. I guess that’s what happens when you lie to your new friends.
12
Brynn
I’m almost to my car, and I know if I can get inside, I can avoid the awkward conversation I know is coming with Kipton. I saw the look on his face when Shannon asked about Willow. When she made it clear she didn’t know who Willow was. My own daughter.
“What the hell was that about, Brynn?” he asks, stopping me before I can open my car door.
“I’m not certain what you’re referring to.” I play stupid. I can be good at that.
“Now, Willow is your dog? Or something like that?”
He’s angry, and I rarely see Kipton angry. He’s the calm and collected one. I would even call him the quiet one. The voice of reason. He has his crutches, we all do, and he deals with them by getting on the back of a bull, but he’s hardly ever out of control. Hardly ever emotional. But now, he’s pissed.
“How is it possible that you’ve been around these women this entire time, and they don’t know about your daughter?”
I shrug. “We’re not that close.”
It’s a lame excuse, and I know that. We don’t have to be close for me to share that with them. It should be common knowledge to anyone I would call a friend, and I do consider them my friends.
“You spend time every week with them! You go out with them!” he accuses.
“And what happens when they want to see pictures of her?” I ask, and his eyes go wide.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Brynn? Who cares that Willow has Down Syndrome? Are you seriously telling me it would bother you that those women would see that?”
My eyes prick with tears. “What happens when they want to see baby pictures of my daughter, and I don’t have any? When they want to know when she started crawling, walking, and I don’t know those things? What the fuck happens when they ask me things about her, and I can’t answer them because I don’t know? Because I left her?”
Tears are streaming down my face now, and in an instant, Kipton’s arms are around me, pulling me against his rock-solid chest. I will myself to stop crying, stop feeling fucking sorry for myself, as he strokes my hair.
Everything I missed, all the things I can never get back, I did to myself. Yes, I was sick, but I chose to walk away. I chose to leave. I did not stay in Chapelwood and work through my issues. Even when I found out my diagnosis, I didn’t come back right away. I was a damn coward, and it cost me. I have to live with that.
“I told you I don’t have my shit together,” I say with a half-hearted laugh.
“You fucked up five years ago, Brynn,” Kipton says, breaking our embrace. “You can’t punish yourself your whole damn life.”
“But I also can’t pretend that I shouldn’t be punished.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Eighteen months old.”
“What?”
“Willow started walking at eighteen months. She kind of skipped the whole crawling business. Never really perfected that. She would just scoot on her belly. But when she walked, she would use a push toy for a while, and then she would hold our hands or follow along the wall. Eventually, she let go.”
Kipton reaches up and tucks my hair behind one ear and I lean into him. He takes a step forward, and so do I until there are only a couple of inches separating us.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice just above a whisper.
I gaze up at him, a war brewing inside me. He’s so close I can smell the slight scent of the beer he had mixed with the delicious scent of French fries. I want to know if he would taste like that. If I could get drunk off his lips.
“I’m always here for you. You know that, right?” he asks, his thumb tracing my jawline.
When I’m nearly one hundred percent sure he’s going to kiss me, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead before stepping back and putting some distance between us. I’m officially placed in the friend zone, as if I had any doubt that’s where I belong.
13
Kipton
I tell myself avoiding Brynn is the best thing for me to do. I have the Knoxville Invitational coming up, and I can’t afford to have my brain on anything other than my rodeo career at this point.
She wanted me to kiss her.
Fuck, this thought has run through my mind over a dozen times, and each time, I tell myself I was only imagining it. I wanted to kiss her, and I’m projecting. She doesn’t think of me the way I think of her. Never has.
“If you keep screwing around, you’re going to miss the whole damn barbecue,” Tauren says, popping his head in.
I zip up my bag and toss it on the floor. “If I don’t get packed, there won’t be a reason for the damn barbecue.”
“It’s not like you need a whole lot,” he counters with an eye roll. “You only ever wear t-shirts and Wranglers.”
“I have gear, dipshit.”
“Don’t forget condoms,” he smirks. “You may actually score some ass while out on the road. That whole ladies love country boys saying.”
“I have a box of condoms,” I assure him, pushing him out the door.
“Just one?” he teases. “Talk about setting a low goal. You cannot be my brother.”
We walk out onto the porch and my yard is full of people, mostly my family but there are some church folks here, too. Everyone wants to wish me luck.
“Kaler, tell this man he’s going to need more than one box of condoms,” Tauren says loudly, not caring who hears. “They don’t say ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ for no reason.”
“Tauren!” Helene admonishes, her face turning bright red.
“He knows I’m just screwing around,” he tells her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Well, you’re being obnoxious,” Mama points out as she puts a bowl of potato salad on the picnic table. “My son ain’t going out on the road to pick up women. Right, baby?”
“That’s right, Mama.”
“If he finds one while he’s out there, though, I won’t complain,” she adds, and I roll my eyes.
“You already have two of your sons married off,” I remind her. “Don’t push me to tie the knot.”
“I only saw one of them tie the knot,” she says, her eyes cutting over to Kaler.
He and Jenna secretly got married at the courthouse. No wedding. No fuss. Of course, they plan to have a ‘real’ wedding when her parents fly in from Japan, but there has been no talk of when that might be. If you ask me, the two of them will never have this so-called wedding they keep promising my mama they’re going to have. They are happy exactly the way they are. If it ain’t broke, why try to fix it?
“Mama, you know Kipton’s going to settle down one day,” Tauren says. “He just needs to sow some wild oats first. A lot of them.”
“He’s been doing that his whole life,” she gripes. “Lord almighty, help me with this one.”
I chuckle. This is not the first time I’ve heard my mama say this. In fact, she says it before every event so much that the saying is also one of my favorites.
As for Tauren, he can have his fun. I know I have no intention of sowing any wild oats when I leave Chapelwood tomorrow. I may ride bulls, but I’m not the reckless kind.
14
Brynn
I hang up with my source and step out of Kipton’s bathroom. His yard is full of people, everyone wanting to wish him good luck before he leaves for Knoxville tomorrow. I’ve made my own arrangements to travel to the event, figuring Ronald would want the first event covered by the paper.
I pass by Kipton’s room on my way out, and his packed bag catches my attention. I’m not trying to snoop, but the zipper is partly open, and a box of condoms peeks out. I don’t attempt to label the emotion that washes over me at the thought of him hooking up with random
women while on the road. Kipton is no saint, and I haven’t been one either.
Kaler may have been my first, but after we divorced, I thought I could find solace in bedhopping from one man’s bed to another. Thought that would make me feel better about leaving Willow behind. Make me less lonely. Replace her somehow.
It didn’t work, and it didn’t last long. After that, I tried the dating scene but quickly figured out the online sites weren’t legit when I wound up on a blind date with a dude who had a mullet.
“You didn’t get lost, did you?” Kipton’s voice brings me out of that horrible memory.
“Oh, um, no. I saw your bag, and it reminded me that I need to pack, too.”
He glances over and then steps into his room, shoving the box of condoms into his bag and zipping it up all the way. He seems slightly embarrassed, a light shade of pink creeping across his cheeks. I love that he’s blushing.
“The paper sending you out to cover the events?”
“Yeah, a few of them. I can’t leave Willow behind to go on the road with a bunch of cowboys,” I tell him with a smile.
“We would never get Willow away from the horses,” he grins.
“And you’ll never get the women away from you.” I mean it as a joke, but it comes out like I’m a jealous girlfriend. “I mean ‒”
“I’m not interested in other women, Brynn.”
His tone is serious; his eyes leveling right on me. I want to ask him exactly what he means. He didn’t say he wasn’t interested in women right now. He said he isn’t interested in other women. Does that mean there’s one he’s interested in? Is that me?
Good grief, I should stop this wishful thinking bullshit. A relationship is not what I need right now, yet I keep hoping the one person I shouldn’t have one with wants one with me. What the fuck is wrong with me? I must be the most self-destructive person on this damn planet.
“I’m sure the rodeo is going to keep you plenty busy,” I say, brushing off his comment. “Try not to break too many hearts on the road, okay?”
“That’s not what I ‒”
I turn around and walk down the hall, unable to hear him make any kind of confession. As long as this whole thing is in my head, I can convince myself it’s best that it stays there.
I can’t dedicate myself to a relationship until I’ve made the most important relationship in my life a priority, and that’s the relationship I have with my daughter.
15
Kipton
I’m not a superstitious man. I don’t check the stats on the bulls I pull. I don’t research their names to find out their meanings. I make my pull, and whatever bull I draw is the bull I’m riding. If I checked their stats and researched their names, that shit would only get in my head and psych me out.
I pace back and forth in the holding area, my stomach in knots. This is the way I focus. I’m so in my own damn head about the ride that I make myself fucking sick. My lunch from the room service I ordered is coming up in about fifteen seconds.
I rub my neck, working out the soreness from sleeping in a bed other than my own. I won’t have time to get used to the hotel pillows before I have to get on the road again, next time heading to Virginia. I’ll stay again tonight, maybe tomorrow night, and then I’ll pack up and go. The small-town life I’m used to in Chapelwood is officially over. At that thought, my food rises, and I upchuck in the closest garbage can.
Damn, I feel better now.
“Holt, three more riders, and then you’re on deck.”
I nod and get my glove out of my back pocket, making my way over to the chute so I can get ready. When you’re only on for eight seconds or less, it doesn’t take long to go through a few riders. Most of us don’t make the eight.
The cheers from the crowd nearly drown out the announcer, but I hear my name. Stay on the bull. It’s only eight seconds.
I’m lowered onto the bull, not even remembering the animal’s name while I’m in the moment, and I position my gloved hand underneath the rope, gripping it tight. I take one last breath, and exhaling it, I nod.
Eight seconds on the back of a bull feels more like eight minutes. You hold on as tight as you can while this animal does his damnedest to throw you off of his back. If you manage to stay on, you have conquered one hell of a beast.
The muscles in my arms and legs burn, and my grip almost falters. Then, the buzzer sounds, and the knowledge that I did indeed conquer this fucking beast fills me with elation. I let go of the rope, and it takes me a few seconds to snatch my hand free. I’m thrown to the ground, and I quickly scramble to my feet, my eyes never leaving the bull. I have no intention of being trampled.
The rodeo clowns usher me to the safety of the gate, and I climb over, waving my cowboy hat at the crowd that’s cheering for me. It was a solid ride, and that’s all I can ask for. The score of ninety-one puts me in the standings. It’s up to me to stay there and climb higher.
“Kipton!” Brynn calls out for me, rushing over and flinging herself in my arms for a hug. “You did great! Oh, my God! That is so terrifying to watch!”
I laugh at her, breathing her in. She smells like fresh flowers while I’m filthy and sweaty. Her body soft against my hard frame.
“Don’t watch,” I tease, releasing her.
“I can’t help it,” she grins and then pulls out her phone. She swipes on the screen and then smiles up at me. “Mr. Holt, you’ve just finished your ride for the Knoxville Invitational, your first event in the pro rodeo circuit. Can you give the Chapelwood Courant a statement on how you feel about it?”
“Good,” I reply with a smirk, and she punches my arm, rolling her eyes. “Fine, the bull was a young one, but he did a bit of sunfishing. That’s when the bull is off the ground and kicking their feet while twisting because the son of a bitch wants me off of him. He had a lot of power, but he didn’t win this ride.”
“Thank you.”
“You can cut the ‘son of a bitch’ part out if you need to,” I let her know. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Brynn shakes her head. “You were perfect.”
16
Brynn
The event continued for another couple of hours, with Kipton remaining in the top ten standings for the event. I managed to get in a few more interviews and capture some more photos for the paper, too, since Ellie isn’t traveling to the events. I’ll work on getting everything put together once I get back to Chapelwood.
“You should come have a drink with us,” Stuart Packard, the last rider I’m interviewing, suggests, nodding toward a group of cowboys. “You could get a closer look at life on the road.”
I know what he’s hinting at. He has a mischievous grin on his handsome face. He’s one of the younger riders, and I’m certain his life on the road has been all about the fun. He’s made several smack-talking jabs at the other riders, cutting up every chance he gets.
I consider turning him down flat, but then I spot Kipton laughing and smiling with the group Stuart was just pointing at. If anything, that should solidify my decision to turn him down, but the thought of seeing Kipton let loose with fellow riders, being completely in his element, has me intrigued.
“I would love to,” I accept.
He tells me they’ll be at their hotel bar, and I nod, not letting him know that I’m staying at the same hotel. Apparently, the hotel was offering a discounted rate for the event. I go ahead and leave before the guys do, heading back to the hotel so that I can have a chance to go up to my room and freshen up. I change out of my jeans and into a white, cotton, spaghetti-strapped sundress, pairing it with my boots and a denim jacket.
I take a few minutes to give Willow a call and tell her good night. Then, I laugh at Jenna’s text telling me to save a horse, and well, you know the rest.
By the time I come down, the hotel bar is full of cowboys and other patrons riding the high of a successful rodeo. It’s crowded and rowdy, everyone drinking and talking. I can hear the men exchanging stories, and the women in the bar are ha
nging on every word in the hopes that they snag a cowboy for the night. Pam would fit right in.
“There she is!” Stuart says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and steering me toward the bar. “A shot, please!”
Okay, so this is what he has planned. Get me sloshed right off the bat. He obviously doesn’t know me. I can handle my own. When you grow up in Chapelwood, there isn’t much else to do and most of my friends were boys. I can drink this lightweight under the table.
I toss the shot back without a grimace and slam the glass down on the bar. Stuart looks at me with admiration and calls for another. While we drink, I do ask him about the rodeo. If I’m going to be here, I’ll get a little bit more work in.
After four rounds, I finally spot Kipton. I was beginning to wonder if he was going to show. He slowly walks up to the bar and takes a seat beside me, ordering a beer. He isn’t wearing his cowboy hat, and his dark brown locks are damp from where he’s showered.
“Having fun?” he asks, his tone clearly telling me he isn’t.
“Of course,” I reply, smiling.
“Yeah, it looks like it.”
I frown at him, but then Stuart nudges me, handing me another shot. I order Kipton one and slide it over to him. With a clench of his jaw, he shoots it back and gives the bartender a nod for another.
What started as a drinking game between Stuart and me quickly becomes a competition, mainly between Kipton and me. Several other patrons join in the fun, and it doesn’t take me long to realize I’ve overestimated my ability to handle alcohol. I’m drunk as fuck.
I lean against Kipton, laughing at something Stuart says. Kipton laughs too, his arm around my waist, and I can feel the vibration from his chest against my back. Stuart yells for the bartender to turn the music up and starts belting out the song on the radio.
