Chapter 25 - Chase Me, Cowboy

Mom and I go for one last girls’ day out before she puts me on an evening flight to Wyoming. I cry a little at my gate, even though I swear to myself that I’ll come back in this autumn. There’s still a tiny doubt in my brain. A voice that tells me I gave up and I’m running home. The rational part says that’s not true, this is about the engagement. And about needing a little space from Jamie.

Who am I kidding?

A lot of space.

The plane is half empty. Mom put me in first class; I think she felt bad for me because I kept sniffling on the drive. Honestly, that was more due to summer allergies, but try telling her that. I curl up and pull the blanket she sent me with to my chin, resting my head on the wall. Through the window, the lights of the city fade as we rise into darkness.

My eyes shut.

Jamie swims into them. Big, warm, and wrapped around me beneath the covers. Not fucking me, just holding me, his breathing regulating all the anxiety thrumming through my chest.

I open them. Maybe I’ll watch a movie instead.

We land a little late due to the weather. It’s almost midnight when I grab my carry-on and shuffle out of the airport. Coen’s truck sits on the curb, and he jumps out, swinging open the vehicle door.

“Welcome back,” he says.

I smile, knowing I look like hell. “Thanks, long time, no see.”

“I was expecting you to be gone a little longer,” he remarks, shutting the door behind me. He gets into the driver’s side and starts the engine.

“Congrats,” I say, dropping my purse and curling up in the seat. “Are you excited?”

“I mean, yeah, more than I have been for anything.”

The way he says it makes me happy. He’s always so intentional with Sabrina, and I appreciate that a lot. It does make me want to stay quiet about Jamie, though, because he’s not behaving as well as Coen, who was straightforward with Sabrina about his interest. Jamie is a little more…complicated.

“Sabrina’s excited, too,” I say.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that,” he admits. “Maybe I would’ve proposed sooner.”

“I don’t think she was looking for you to. It’s only been a year. Sabrina’s pretty outspoken, she’d have told you.”

He nods, pulling out onto the highway. “Yeah. Now, she did tell me something else.”

Oh God, I’m pretty sure I know what it is. Despite Coen being a reserved type, he’s adapted well to the small-town tendency to want to be in everyone’s business at all times. That might be the influence of the local Agriculture Club, or going down to the feed store to mow things around with all the men who sit at the soda counter. Either way, he’ll sit and listen to gossip any day.

“Sabrina talked,” I say, frowning.

“I mean, we both knew.”

“And what about it?”

He sighs. “I feel kinda responsible. I mean, Jamie’s basically my brother, and he’s not always…on the same wavelength. Sometimes he does things I wouldn’t do, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Like what?”

“Like he can’t emotionally commit.”

The last year has already proven that. I didn’t need Coen to lay it out. I turn my head so he can’t try to read my emotions.

“It was my idea to stop…meeting up,” I say.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I say forcefully. “What? I can’t be emotionally unavailable, either?”

He laughs, then sobers. I know he can’t tell whether I’m being serious or not.

“Well, if you need me to talk to him, I will. But I’m trying to stay out of your business.”

I swing around to give him a look, not an unkind one. “Not trying all that hard.”

He shrugs, jaw ticking.

“Sabrina’s worried,” I guess.

He shrugs again. “I don’t know if worried is the right word. Maybe she would have preferred if you’d picked someone else.”

“Well, that’s rich. You’re not exactly an uncomplicated option.”

“I get it,” he amends.

Turning, I fix my gaze on the road. “I didn’t pick him, anyway. He’s not someone who’s good for my future, so I made the choice to spend a few days together and…you know, get things out of our systems.”

Coen’s silent.

“I mean it,” I say firmly.

“I believe you,” he says, but not convincingly.

We don’t speak again until we stop at a gas station. I pick out some snacks while Coen pours the largest black coffee he can get and finds a pack of jerky. He pays for everything, and I skirt back to the passenger seat and let him fill the gas. When he returns, he slams the door and starts coughing, hitting his chest.

“God, it’s dusty as fuck out here,” he says, clearing his throat hard.

I glance sideways at him. Maybe I don’t want a man; he’s as loud as my dad, and I doubt Jamie is any better.

“Alright,” he says, adjusting the rearview mirror and slapping this high. “Let’s get going.”

My mind drifts as we get on the highway again. If they decide to have kids, he’d make a really good dad. Sabrina would be an amazing mother, and our mom would be the best grandmother. Hell, even my dad would be pretty good at the grandparent thing. The longer Coen and Sabrina are together, the more they’re turning into a stereotype of an old married couple. In the best way possible.

“How long until we’re home?” I ask.

“About an hour,” he says. “Not too bad.”

He flicks the cruise control on and settles back, reaching for the radio. I curl up and pull my hood over my head.

“I’m exhausted,” I sigh. “If you don’t care, I’m gonna crash for a bit.”

“Go right ahead,” he says, taking a drink of coffee.

I close my eyes, and I’m out in seconds. Being back in Wyoming puts a mental wall between him and me. It feels like I’m sleeping for hours when I wake to a hand on my shoulder, giving me a little shake. Startled, I sit upright and blink.

Where am I?

“Jamie?”

The word slips out a half second before I remember where I am.

Silence.

“I don’t know if you’re as over it as you’re saying,” comes Coen’s lightly amused voice.

“God, shut up,” I grumble, sliding out of the passenger side.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious,” he calls, as I grab my bag from the car and drag it across the gravel.

He catches up with me, pulling open the door. The dogs appear in the hall, shoving their faces into my hands and bouncing up and down. The house is otherwise quiet. I was expecting it to be. I’m sure Sabrina couldn’t get herself to stay up this far past midnight, and I don’t blame her. Coen says goodnight and heads upstairs. I only brought my carry-on back, so I don’t need help with luggage.

I stand in the dark kitchen, the dogs pacing in a circle.

That’s when the sadness hits.

An ache, like the first breath of cold air when summer comes to an end. If I’m going to stick to my intention of pursuing my own path, this is both the start of something new and the end of the possibility of him. I swallow. That’s alright— it really is. I’m making the choice I won’t regret.

“Come on,” I whisper, clicking my fingers at the dogs.

They rarely sleep in my room with me, but tonight, I need company. Silently, we all head up the steps. Billy settles down at the foot of the bed on a pile of fallen blankets. The Kid climbs on the bed and settles his nose on his paws, big eyes on me as I drop my carry-on and crawl beneath the covers. I can shower in the morning. Tonight, I have nothing left.

So, I curl up and sleep hard.

The next morning, I catch the scent of pancakes before I can peel my sticky eyes open. A cold dog nose is pressing into my neck.

“Stop,” I protest, forcing my lids open and sitting up.

Billy is on the bed, The Kid waiting by the door. I know they’re used to going outside earlier than nine, so I peel myself out of bed and smooth my sweatsuit down before heading to the kitchen.

The front door is propped open. It’s a little smoky; it always is when Sabrina makes pancakes because she cooks with bacon grease. The dogs barrel out into the yard, and I hear Coen hollering at them a second later. They’re probably peeing on the flower garden again and killing Sabrina’s cosmos. He really needs to put a fence around it because they’re never going to learn.

“Hey!”

I turn to find Sabrina’s glowing face at the end of the short hall.

“Hey,” I say, joining her to take my usual seat at the breakfast bar. “Show me the rock.”

She lifts her hand, wriggling her fingers. It’s bigger in person, with a beautiful cut and clarity.

“Damn, it’s really nice,” I say.

It is. I’m impressed.

“He did good,” she says.

Coen appears at the back door, arguing with the dogs as he tries to keep them on the other side of the screen door. He manages to get them out, then slams it shut and lets out a low whistle.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “I can’t take too many more animals around here.”

“Just a few more. I’m sending the wranglers out to the auction this weekend,” Sabrina calls.

“As long as the cows aren’t trying to get in the house, I don’t care how many we have.”

“We had cows in the house once,” I say. “When we were little, Dad had a couple of calves born early. It was so cold out, we wrapped them in blankets and bottle-fed them on the couch.”

“I’m surprised you remember that. You were really little,” Sabrina says.

“I remember stuff,” I say.

She pauses, like she wants to say something, then shakes her head. Coen finishes washing his hands and slides an arm around her waist. She gives him a soft smile, but it’s how relaxed she is around him that catches my attention. I hate that I know that feeling, and I wish I didn’t.

Grabbing a pancake, I push off the stool.

“I’ll help with chores,” I announce. “What are you working on, Coen?”

He takes a second, maybe a little confused. “Uh, some fencing on the upper pasture.”

“Perfect. Let me go change.”

Neither of them says a word as I sail upstairs. I’m so happy for them, I really am, but everything reminds me of Jamie. In my room, I pull on some jeans and a T-shirt that I don’t mind getting dirty. If I’m going to be home for a while, I need to find something to distract myself. If that’s going back to my old ways and acting as one of the wranglers for the rest of the summer, that’s alright.

It’s better than pining away like I did last year.

God, I can’t do that again.

For the rest of the day, I work so hard that Coen asks me if I’m alright several times. I nod, wiping the dust and bits of straw from my sweaty face. He can tell I’m not in the mood to talk, but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. I’m sure they’ll have a serious conversation alone tonight about it.

I’m fine. Really, I am.

That night, after dinner is over, I go and sink down on the porch with my guitar. It’s not lost on me that this is where I sat the night I decided to go see Mom. And run away from Jamie.

How’d that work out?

The little voice in my head has been pretty mean lately. I squash it back and focus on the brilliant orange-and-pink sky.

I swallow, past the prickly lump in my throat. My fingers run idly over the strings. I think about what Jamie said about putting some music out there and seeing how people respond. It’s a terrifying, vulnerable thought. But it’s also the only way forward if I really want to pursue music. My fingers speed up, plucking the same three chords.

I want to go after it.

It’s all I’ve ever had. Even now, all torn up inside, I’m holding my guitar.

I wait until there’s no more light to see by, then I go inside.

It’s going to be a long summer.