“Son…” Dad says, but nothing else. I think Daisy’s rendered him speechless, which hasn’t ever happened before. If the moment wasn’t so tense, I’d probably laugh.
Daisy comes over and wraps her arms around my middle, pulling me in for a hug before she whispers, “Please don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t stand to see you hurting anymore. I love you.” She doesn’t give me a chance to reply before she scurries out of the room. Probably to join Mom in the kitchen.
Once she’s gone, I go and sit on the couch, eyes drifting over to my dad. “Well, guess we can just jump right into it now, huh?”
His lips are pressed into a thin line as he watches me with blue eyes that mirror mine. The emotion splashed on his face is one I can’t read. It’s not quite anger, I don’t think. “I’m assuming you heard all of that?” he asks, deadpan.
“Not all of it, I don’t think. But enough.”
He nods. “And you think what she said is true?” There it is—the nameless emotion. It’s hurt. I can see it now. He’s hurt by what Daisy said, and I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t believe what she said so he’s offended…or if he’s hurt that he’s realizing he may have made me feel that way. Either way, the realization chokes me up. My throat’s dry, and I swallow thickly, but the words don’t come. My ears heat under his gaze. “Shooter, what’s going on with you?”
“I…” Brushing a hand over the top of my head, the short strands of hair scratching my palm, I think of how best to say this. I want to be honest, get it all out there for once, but Ialso don’t want to hurt his feelings. Above all, I truly think he means well. “I’ve always wanted to follow in your footsteps. In grandpa’s footsteps. And I’ve always loved bronc riding, you know that. But…” I blow out a breath, my thoughts jumbled. “But somewhere along the way, I lost the spark I once felt, the thrill to ride. I lost my desire to keep going because it never felt good enough for you. Every time I’d compete and do really well, every time I won, every time I was so excited to show you what I had done, it just felt like there was always more you expected of me. It was never just pride for what I’d accomplished. I eventually got tired of letting you down.”
“You never let me down, son,” he grunts, thick, bushy brows pinched together.
“Dad, after every single rodeo, you’d call me and tell me ways I could’ve improved. Even when I won.”
“Shooter, don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs. “It’s called constructive criticism. How are you supposed to improve if you don’t hear where you went wrong?”
My heart rate speeds up, my chest squeezing. “Sometimes I don’t want to hear what went wrong. Sometimes, all I want is for my dad to tell me how proud he is of me. Especially when I worked my ass off and took the win. Can’t you see that?”
He shakes his head, face getting redder by the second. “My father did the same thing to me, and look where it got me. I succeeded and made a name for myself, using his feedback to push me along. It fueled the fire under my ass and made me a better rider.”
I breathe out a laugh that’s lacking any humor. He’s not getting it. “I’m glad it worked for you, Dad. Honestly. But I’m not you. All of this hasn’t lit a fire under my ass. It’s burnt me out. It’s made me not want to continue. I don’t even know if this is something I want to do anymore. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be fucking proud of me.”
My voice cracks at the end of that sentence, and I fucking hate myself for it. I feel like some small kid standing before his dad, begging for his approval. Begging for his love. It’s goddamn pathetic. My skin’s crawling, every part of me wanting to dash out of the door right now and pretend this never happened.
“Shooter, you’re being ridiculous. Of course, I’m proud of you!” My dad’s voice booms so loud, the neighbors probably hear it. “How could I not be proud of you? Look at all you’ve accomplished, but this is a hard world to be in, and you need thick skin to make it. All I’ve done is make sure you’re ready for it.”
“Yeah, rodeo is a hard world, and Idohave thick skin. I can handle criticism from the outside world, but I don’t always need it from my family, Dad. Sometimes I just need you to be my dad. Not my critic. Sometimes all I need after winning a rodeo or winning a world fucking championship is to hear my father, the man I look up to the most, tell me how proud he is of me, how much he loves me. You’ve never done that, ever. And again, I’m glad this hard-ass approach worked for you with your own dad, but it doesn’t work for me. All it’s done is stress me the fuck out and make none of this enjoyable anymore. I fucking refuse to live my life doing something that doesn’t bring me joy, and I’m not sorry if that doesn’t make you happy. It’s not your life, it’s mine, and I hope with time you can learn to respect that.”
I angrily wipe the stray tears away that have fallen down my face, my eyes trained on the coffee table in front of me as silence descends upon us. Pulse roaring in my ears, it’s about the only thing I can focus on as my throat feels like it’s closing up on me. We sit there for what feels like hours, but what’s actually only probably a minute or so before my dad lets out a weighted sigh. His hand rubs up and down on the top of his thigh, leg bouncing, a telltale sign that he’s agitated.
What he says next, paired with the softness in his tone, surprises me more than anything.
“Shooter, I’m… God, I’m sorry, son.” Sitting forward, his hands rest on his knees. “I had no idea you felt this way. Iamproud of you. So proud, and I’m sorry I ever made you question that.”
I’m… speechless. Literally.
I’ve wanted to hear those words for as long as I can remember, and now that I have, I don’t have a clue what to say back, or how to process it. My emotions feel too big, too heavy right now, and I desperately wish Sterling was here. When he asked if I wanted him to come, I should’ve said yes.
“Are you really seeing a therapist?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Daisy said something about it before you came in here.”
I nod. “Yeah, I am. Have been since I decided to leave this season.”
“Are you okay? Is it because of me?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him truthfully. “I went to figure out how I was feeling toward the rodeo, and hopefully figure out what I wanted to do moving forward. Yes, part of that includes you.”
My dad’s face screws up before he schools his features. “And what do you want? Going forward.”
“I don’t know yet, but whatever I decide, I hope you’ll support me and respect my decision.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but eventually closes it. I know he has an opinion he wants to give, but I’m thankful he doesn’t. I don’t expect a one-eighty to happen here. This is a lifetime of beliefs and thinking engrained into his mind, but I’m just happy I was able to get it off my chest. Say how I feel, and put it all out there. Whatever happens now is up in the air, but I’m hopeful he’ll respect my choice as best as he can. I believe him when he said he never meant to make mefeel this way. It’s all he’s ever known, and I get that. Maybe with time, we can find a common ground together.
Shortly after our talk, dinner is done, and surprisingly, it’s not as awkward as I assumed it would be. The entire time, my phone is practically burning a hole in my pocket, the need to talk to Sterling overwhelming. More often than not lately, the urge to simply be near him is about the only thing I can focus on. Not even because of sex, even though that’s a huge plus. Being around him, seeing him, getting to touch him, breathe the same air as him, it calms me. Calms my mind. It makes me feel comfortable. I debated telling my parents about Sterling and me tonight. In the end, I decided not to. To wait until things with my dad have hopefully blown over even more. My parents are more than supportive of my sexuality, so it’s not that I think they’ll frown upon it. It’s more like I’m not ready to let them into this bubble just yet.
As soon as it’s socially acceptable to, I say my goodbyes to my family, and jump in my truck with one destination in mind. It doesn’t take long for me to reach the long, windy road that leads to the ranch, and before I even have time to get out, Sterling is jogging out of the barn, eyes filled with concern.
