He slaps my ass before taking me by the hand through the house until we get to the back door. Thank God, he lives on some land and his neighbors aren’t nearby because I’m still in nothing but a jock and chaps when we step outside. The rest of the night is spent curled up near the fire outside—once I get some actual clothes on—drinking and bullshitting until we get tired enough to go back inside and pass out.
I could get used to this.
40
Shooter Graham
Sterling: Whatever happens tonight, whatever he says… you got this.
The talk I’ve managed to put off for the last almost three months is finally happening tonight. Daisy and I are going over to our folks’ house for dinner since the season is over. It’s something we always do once we’re back in town, and normally, I look forward to it. I wish that were the case today. My stomach is in knots, and while I know that everything is already said and done, that I can’t change anything, I’m still worried about what type of disappointment my father is going to throw my way. Even though I know what I did was for the best formeand my wellbeing, that little boy deep in my mind that wants to make his dad proud is still there, holding on tight.
I’ve gone over how this conversation could go about a couple dozen times over the last few months, and I’ve tried to figure out what would be the best outcome of it all, and I’m still just as clueless as I was when I first made up my mind. I think deep down, I want my dad to understand where I’m coming from. Iwant him to see what the pressure he’s thrown on me has done, and I want him to be proud of me for making that tough call. Maybe even apologize for his part in it.
The latter two will probably never happen, but one can hope.
As I stare down at the phone in my hand, reading and re-reading the text Sterling sent me, the warmth in my chest grows insurmountably. The warmth that is ever present whenever he crosses my mind. He knows how nervous I am for tonight, and this one short text means so much to me. Last night, he asked if I wanted him to come with me. And while, yes, I do, I also know it wouldn’t make anything better. There’s also a part of me that simply just doesn’t want him to see me like that; belittled and small while my dad harps on me, tells me how disappointed he is, how much better he would’ve handled the situation. Sterling has already seen me at such a low point, and my pride can only handle so much of that.
Locking the phone, I shove it into my pocket before doing the same with my wallet. The drive over is quiet, no music playing, only my thoughts filling the void. By the time I park in front of their house, I’m no less relaxed, no less at ease. The one plus is that Daisy’s car is already here, so at least I don’t have to go in there completely alone. I didn’t realize how much I was leaning on my sister until this very moment. Knowing that she’ll be inside when I have this conversation does a lot at calming my racing pulse as I climb out of the truck and make my way up to their house. The front door is open, probably letting fresh air in like Mom likes to do. As I reach for the screen door, I pause when I catch the sound of my name. It’s coming from Daisy.
“You’re way too hard on him, don’t you see that?” She sounds pissed.
I hear my dad scoff, mouth probably down-turned into a frown. “You have no clue what you’re talking about, sweetie.”
“Like hell I don’t,” she booms. I can picture her standing in the living room in front of my dad’s recliner, hand on her hip. “When was the last time you told him you were proud of him, huh?”
“I always—”
“Without then pointing out something he could improve on.”
“Daisy, this is ridiculous,” he grunts, face probably turning red as he loses his patience.
“Is it, Dad? Is it really that ridiculous? Or is maybe your skewed way of thinking what’s ridiculous?”
I don’t think I’ve ever heard Daisy talk to our dad like this.
“The men in this family ride broncs. We push ourselves, and we’re the best! That’s how it’s always been. There is nothing wrong with improving. Nothing wrong with me giving your brother a little constructive criticism. He shouldn’t run and hide like a little fucking baby because he can’t handle that. That’s not who we are!”
The volume of his voice has raised significantly with that last sentence. Heart pounding behind my ribs, hands shaking, I’m about to storm in the house and give him a piece of my mind when Daisy speaks up again, even louder this time.
“Do you hear yourself? That’s not who we are? Who we are is human. Who we are is a family who loves one another unconditionally. Who we are is proud of one another’s accomplishments. And Shooter has accomplished a lot. A hell of a lot more than I have in my career, yet you constantly tell me how proud you are of me. You’ve never once treated me the way you’ve treated him.”
Daisy sighs, and I finally pull open the screen door. Before I can get too far into the entryway, my mom steps out of the kitchen, wet eyes on me as she shakes her head, holding a finger up to her lips and a hand up to stop me. I bite down on my molars as I stand here while Daisy continues.
“I love you, Dad, but you’re the problem.”
“I beg your pardon?” he scoffs.
“Shooter is an amazing bronc rider. More than amazing. He’s one of the greatest of our time, but the way you get into his head messes with him, messes with how he competes, and he shouldn’t have to take that. Whether you want to believe it or not,you’rethe one who pushed him to leave this season. It wasyouin the back of his mind when he quit. And frankly, I don’t blame him. He’s only human, and can only take so much. You should be ashamed of the way you’ve behaved, Dad. Ashamed of the way you made Shooter feel. He is a three-time world champ who doesn’t feel good enough. You did this. You broke him, and it’s time that you fix him.” Her voice cracks, and I know she’s crying. “You know, he’s been going to therapy for the last couple of months, trying to work through everything he’s feeling. That was hard for him, Dad. Hard for him to make that first step, but he did it, and he’s really been working on himself, but he needs you to step up and fix the mess you’ve made. He’d never ask you or tell you that, but he needs it. This family needs it, Dad.”
My throat is thick, my eyes burning with the weight of everything she said. The way she confronted our dad. The way she stood up for me to him. I’m speechless.
Hands clenched into fists at my sides, my gaze drops to meet my mom’s, a tear falling down her cheek.Did her and Daisy plan this?
She reaches up, cupping my cheek in her warm, soft palm, and says quietly, “I love you, honey, and I’m so proud of you.”
That one sentence hits me right in the chest, like shattered glass puncturing my heart, making it hard to breathe. It’s nothing she hasn’t said a hundred times before, but in this moment, it’s like everything I needed to hear. The growing moisture in my eyes spills over, wetting my face as my visionblurs. I’ve spent more time crying in the last three months than I have in the last decade, and I’ve gotta admit, I’m fucking over it.
Mom gives my arm an encouraging squeeze before stepping aside to let me pass. When I walk into the living room, Dad is sitting in his recliner and Daisy is standing in front of the couch. Both of their eyes snap toward me when they hear me come in. Daisy’s face is red and wet, Dad’s just red.
