Chapter 5 - Chase Me, Cowboy

It’s been a long time since he left. Not one day has gone by that I haven’t ground my teeth and thought about every detail of that night. And the next few days that weren’t supposed to happen, either.

Not a single one of the men I fooled around with has stuck in my head like Jamie Iron, bigshot agent and country music guru. If I’d known he’d still be rattling around in my brain a year later, I would have told him to get out when he propositioned me. Was it the best sex I’ll ever have? Probably. But was it worth all the tossing and turning? The way it threw everything a little off-kilter?

No, definitely not.

At least, I tell myself that.

Wincing at the memories, I fix my gaze on the mountains in the distance. Today, everything seems the same. The cows low in the west field. The wranglers are hemming and hawing at the back barn, standing in circles with their chew and opinions they’ve mowed around a few times before.

The only thing that’s different: Jamie Iron is coming back.

All through the year, I thought about him, and it made me mad as hell. He appeared with his stupid face and his obnoxiously hot mustache, and the dullness inside me disappeared. Those few nights were like a dream, something that happens to other people, but never to me.

He was real, warm skin and a heartbeat that slowed mine down. And a mouth, hands, and body that sped it back up.

Then, he was gone, and I spent an entire year watching my sister get her happily ever after, and wondering if it would ever happen for me. I’m overjoyed for Sabrina and Coen, they deserve it. When Dad left for Portland, the entire dynamic changed. The ranch house wasn’t a family unit anymore. It became the house of a happy couple, and I turned into the third wheel.

Tonight, they’re in town, at dinner. I sit on the top porch step with my Gibson guitar in my lap, my chin resting on it.

Everything is so beautiful out here in rural Wyoming.

But I’m so empty, and I don’t know why.

I’m twenty-three years old now, and I’ve never left this place other than to visit Mom and her husband, Hugh, in New York. We spent Christmas there, all three of us, last year. When I hugged Mom goodbye, she asked if I wanted to come up for the summer. I said I’d think about it, and she said, “Anytime, call me, and I’ll book the flight.” I haven’t called.

I don’t know why.

My lashes are wet. I sniff, wiping my nose.

The ranch is so quiet tonight. Tomorrow, Jamie will be here with his huge…personality, filling up the room, and reminding me that once again, I didn’t fit into someone’s life. And I can’t even complain because I knew it was a hookup. I told him it was a hookup, and I never wanted to see him again because he annoyed me. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and didn’t look back when he left the ranch.

And then I got sad.

And sadder.

My fingers thrum lightly over my guitar. I’ve never been able to shake this feeling in my chest when it’s me, lost in my thoughts. A hollowness. A yearning for something indescribable, like wanting to be on the other side of the horizon.

I’ve always thought it was silly. I don’t have any reason to think I could leave the ranch. Unless it’s to visit Mom. Sniffing, I stop plucking at the strings and swipe beneath my eye. All at once, the weight of the entire year crashes over me like a wave. I’m being stifled. My chest expands, lungs heaving. My head spins.

It’s been a while since I had a panic attack. Abruptly, I stand, holding my guitar by its neck, and push through the door, running up the stairs to my room. My phone is on the bedside table. It takes a couple tries to dial Mom’s number, but I get it in the end.

Calm down, Serena. You’re going to worry her.

There’s nothing really wrong. I just need out, and I’m done trying to make this work. I need a break from the four walls of this room. Squeezing my eyes shut, I listen to the ring as it goes on and on.

Please pick up.

She does. Intense relief floods my body, and I open my eyes.

“Hey, honey,” she says. “What’s up?”

My brain tells me to backtrack. I can’t just walk out, or Sabrina’s going to be worried.

“Hey,” I say.

I glance up, and my eyes fix on the window. Down below is the same scene I’ve looked out over every day of my life. Suddenly, I’m not myself. I’m a doll in a dollhouse, sitting with stiff arms and legs, wondering what it would feel like to come to life. I don’t know who I am, and I’m already in my twenties. If I don’t change something, in ten years, I’ll still be a doll watching the sun go up and down.

Time will pass, anyway.

I swallow hard. One day, I’ll be gone. Everyone will be gone. All I have right now is being alive…and I haven’t been living.

“Can I come stay with you?” I burst out.

There’s a shocked silence.

“Of course, but…is everything okay?” she stutters.

I consider lying, but decide against it. What’s the point? “Things are different now, and I need a change, too,” I say. “Just for a few weeks.”

“I’ll book your flight. When did you want to come?”

“In the morning.”

Another shocked silence.

“Are you okay?” she asks. A door closes in the background, maybe she’s in her office.

I swallow back the rising lump. “Yeah, I just can’t sit in the same place anymore.”

That seems to hit a nerve because she clears her throat, like it makes her sad. Her keyboard clatters as she types.

“Can you have someone drive you to the airport for a six a.m. flight?” she asks after a minute.

“Yeah, I can.”

Click-click.

“Alright, it’s booked,” she says crisply. “I’ll be there to pick you up.”

The relief is a tsunami, crashing over me, drowning my lungs. All at once, the impending panic attack is gone, and my shoulders sink. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be in New York in my soft pink room in Mom and Hugh’s house where I have nothing but good memories.

“Thank you, Mom,” I say.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, it’s just stuff,” I say, letting out a breath. “Boy drama. Other stuff. Nothing bad is happening, but I need a break and some time to figure myself out.”

“I get it.” Her voice softens. “You can stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you again. Alright, I’d better tell Sabrina and Coen.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She hangs up. I fall onto my back, a limp pile of bones. Oh my God, I did it. I’m going somewhere alone, for the first time ever, even if it is just Mom’s house. I’m so fucking excited, I have no idea if I’ll even be able to sleep. That will give me more time to pack. God, I need to start packing. I have to find my rolling carry-on…it’s been ages since I used it.

I vault to my feet and start tearing apart my closet.

By the time Coen’s truck pulls up, I’m packed. I roll my bag to my bedroom door and leave it there before coming downstairs. They’re both talking, laughing, as they enter the kitchen. I can tell Sabrina has had a couple drinks; she’s giggly, blushing, and tugging on Coen’s hand.

“Hi,” I say, sliding up to the breakfast bar.

They both go quiet at the expression on my face.

“Everything okay?” Coen asks.

I nod. “So…I’m going to Mom’s.”

Sabrina’s jaw drops. It takes her a second to recover. “What? Why?”

“I just need a break,” I say, words spilling out. “Plus, this could be really good for you guys, like as a couple, to have the house to yourselves. And I could really use a change of scenery.”

Sabrina opens her mouth, and Coen takes her elbow and looks down, brows raised. They exchange a glance, which I’m not sure the meaning of, and she pops her lips closed.

“I’m not trying to avoid anyone,” I say firmly.

“No, no, I didn’t think so,” Coen says, shaking his head.

Sabrina comes out and leans on the counter, eyes thoughtful. “How long are you gonna stay?”

“A few weeks. Is that okay?”

She nods, with a hint of sadness. “If you feel like you need to go, you should go. It’s what you told me to do last year.”

It’s true, I did. Last year, when she barely knew Coen, he asked her to road-trip across the country to Nashville with him. She told him no, but I encouraged her to take a chance. And she did. I stayed home and took the brunt of Dad’s anger, the long sullen silences at dinner, the upset phone calls. It was rough.

He’s better now, but God, I kind of hated him last summer. Turns out, he just needed a change of scenery. We’ve all been cooped up too long on this ranch. And now, I need to spread my wings as well.

“You should go,” Coen says, arms crossed. “You want me to book a flight?”

“N0, Mom got me one at six in the morning tomorrow. Could…you maybe drop me off?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Nobody says anything for a minute. Then, Sabrina hugs me, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight. When she lets me go, she waves a hand in the air and starts making coffee, even though it’s a bit late for that. It’s a bit of a Maxwell family tradition to start making everyone a cup of coffee when any kind of tension arises.

“I’m not dying, guys,” I say finally.

They both laugh, the ice breaking.

“I know,” Sabrina says, handing me some coffee. “You all packed?”

That night, I can’t get any rest. Maybe it’s having to wait for my alarm to go off at three in the morning. Or it’s thinking about how I’m running away from Jamie. Yes, this is about a lot of things. But it’s also about not having to face him after I gave him my number and he never used it. That’s something I’ve turned over and over in my head, wondering why he didn’t even send me a text to acknowledge what happened.

He got on a plane and left.

Never said a word.

I sleep a little bit and wake up a few minutes before my alarm. My eyes are sticky, so I turn on the shower and steam up the room. My heart is thumping faster than usual. It’s been a long time since I woke up and felt…excited. Every day has looked the same for the last twenty-three years. But for the first time, it feels like that could change.

I get out and dress in something comfortable.

The face that looks back at me in the foggy mirror is unfamiliar. Once upon a time, I was a little girl climbing on a stool to reach this sink. Now, it’s almost two decades later, and here I am, still standing at this sink.

A tiny thought appears. A spark of apathy.

Maybe I come home after a few days. Maybe there’s a tiny chance I don’t.

I shake my head because that sounds ridiculous. Other people get to grab their bags and run. Not me, who barely sets foot off this ranch.

Downstairs, I roll my bag to the door just as Coen appears on the porch. The truck is running in the drive, exhaust fumes rattling into the dark. It’s warm, but I’m glad for my hoodie. The world feels strangely big and very empty.

Coen reaches for my bag.

“You ready to hit the road?” he asks.

I nod, following him onto the porch. My stomach tilts like a ship in a sea storm. At the bottom of the stairs, I turn to look back at the ranch house for a second, not long enough for Coen to notice. I consider what it would feel like if I didn’t return, but I can’t even visualize it.

No, I shouldn’t push my luck.

I’ll be back soon.