Page 51 of Storm Warning
“Better not slam my door like that too.” This time his voice is lighter, I may even sense a joke.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, kid. My door just doesn’t stay shut if I pussy foot around too much.” I pause for a moment. “She likes an assertive man.” Turning toward him, I catch his smile and can’t help but continue. “Well, until today. Now she prefers to blow off steam on the side of the road. I guess she’s just as unpredictable as they come.”
“Whatever you say, Rhett.” He nods once, but his faint smile remains. “I’m sure it’s simple, probably a leak somewhere. I’ll fix it and put it back at Sawyer’s for you.”
“Thanks, Man, just let me know what I owe ya.”
“Not a problem at all. My uncle owned a shop, so I know a lot about cars. We’ve got all sorts of extra pieces and parts lying around from work trucks at the ranch, so don’t worry about it.”
My curiosity about him grows. He seems to be a jack of all trades, knows how to do just about anything, and yet he never shares enough about himself to be anything more than a stranger.
“Thanks, again.” I don’t linger on the subject as I look over the inside of his tidy cab and then toward the tattoos that cover his dark skin.
A rather large skeleton wearing a cowboy hat and holding a rifle takes up the majority of his forearm. Within its mouth is a cigarette with smoke that billows up into the next tattoo—a scene of a slumped cowboy riding a horse toward a mountain, a bottle of booze hanging from his hand. The details are phenomenal. It’s as if staring off into a scene,though I’m not sure if it’s toward redemption or destruction for the rider.
Billy clears his throat, and I snap back to reality, the trance of his tattoo floating away like smoke on the wind. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask why you don’t ride anymore.” The question comes out as more of a statement, but in true Billy fashion, it’s blunt and emotionless. “I don’t mean to be a dick,” he continues before I get the chance to even formulate a response. “You just… You were real damn good. Entertaining. Determined. Didn’t really seem like you could be cut down that easily.” His gaze flicks to me for a moment before settling back on the road. “Was it worse than they say?”
My fingers start to tap my thigh. I hardly know this guy, the last thing I want to do is unload my sob story on him. I lift my arm up and lean it on the window ledge. It doesn’t stop my tapping, but feels like more of a release than leaving it where it was.
Silence sits in the air as I think about what he asked, and whether or not it makes sense for me to share this information now or ever. But nothing changes the reality of what happened, and only I can decide what moving forward looks like. With each passing day, hiding feels less and less helpful to myself and my family, even if I blanket it with the excuse that we need money more than I need a thrill.
I sigh, giving into the idea that sharing with him won’t hurt. “I guess it depends on who’s sayin’ it. At the beginnin’, I know reporters were sayin’ I was touch and go. That I was a legend here and gone.” I chuckle softly to myself.
A legend?How could I be when there were so many greats before me? So many men who devoted their life to the sport, just like me, and not for any other reason than their passion. The moment I was on a bull just for the money was the very moment I should have lost any title as grand as that. And I did.
“I’m no legend. I lost focus that day over somethin’ else,and because of that, I rode like shit. Helfire knew it the moment I got on him. He deserved the win. I was an unequal opponent, a waste of his time. It pissed him off and he did a damn good job of showin’ it.”
He seems to contemplate my words, his gaze slightly narrowing as he looks ahead. A moment later, he nods, his voice a low rumble as he says, “That’s not really the answer I was expecting."
"What’d ya expect?" I question.
"I don’t know something along the lines of you blaming someone or something else. A shitty pick. Faulty bullrope. Someone else opening the gate before you were ready. Feels like for most guys it’s all about pride. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone take the loss and nearly apologize to the bull for it." His umber gaze flicks to mine. "Did the doctors say you shouldn’t go back?”
“I got cleared a few weeks after the incident. Pretty gnarly concussion, had to do some rehab, but the doctors gave me a clean bill of health. It’s gonna take more than that to keep me off a bull. Ridin’s my drug. I’ve lived and breathed it for so long, it’s become somethin’ I can’t walk away from." My voice trails off, and I realize the contradiction in my words.
But it’s true. The plan is to go back. It always has been.
“Then why did you?”
Why?A question I’ve asked myself for so long it feels like it should come with instructions. The basis of why from the beginning was because I wanted to help my family, especially after fucking up so bad, but also because I made a fool of myself. I was used to showing up and killing it. Instead, my season was slaughtered all because I couldn’t keep my shit together. I can’t really share why in detail without messing with how my family is perceived. Not that it’s anyone’s business. It’s just some things are best kept private, and my family’s struggle is one of them.
But I could’ve come back. I could’ve kept my trap shut and made everyone who doubted me eat their words. Like Dad said, everyone has an off ride now and then. Something else has stopped me in my tracks, and it’s just that I’m finally realizing what it is. I just can’t decide if sharing any of it with a near stranger is a good or awful idea.
Billy decided to help me without asking anything in return and never once has he pried, so maybe an answer is the best way for me to repay him for his kindness.
“Honestly…” I release a steady sigh, trying my best to leave out parts of this situation I don’t want in public, while still getting it off my chest. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s because I’m scared. Other times, I tell myself it’s because the money’s slow and not guaranteed.” His expression doesn’t look convinced, and I don’t feel better stopping at that, so I continue, “Every day I’m not ridin’ is miserable, but between you and I, the longer I think about it, the more I feel like it’s because that day made me wonder if I don’t have ridin’, what the hell do I have without it?”
His expression softens, not that he appeared angry to begin with, but almost as if he gets it. That on some level he relates to what I just said.
And just like that, there it is. The answer I’ve been looking for all this time out in the world instead of searching within myself. All because I not only allowed someone the chance to ask, but also took the time to honestly answer. I’m not scared to go back, I’m scared to have nothing when there comes a time that I can’t. My fingers stop tapping and a small sense of relief washes over me.
He doesn’t speak for a while, and neither do I. But the quiet doesn’t feel heavy, it feels like we both just found an answer we were looking for and are content with that.
“Ya know, I spent months thinkin’ about this and avoidin’ reporters left and right because I felt like they just wantedgossip for their front page. Had I answered them, I don’t think I would have been this honest.” I turn to look at him as he focuses on the road. “It’s not a very tough answer.”
“Maybe not a tough answer, but definitely a tough reality.” He looks at me then back at the road again. “I was convinced that you were told you couldn’t because the damage was too bad. You present yourself as confident and all, but you found your weakness. Now all you have to do is figure out how to conquer it. You’ve got something to prove and nothing is scarier than a man with tunnel vision and a shit ton of determination.”
“Rogers.” I wince at the husky voice that breaks through my thoughts.
