I called out, “Come in.”
I had expected it to be Rodrigo, coming to eat lunch with me. Occasionally, he would bring me some of his wife’s cooking, and I would threaten to move in with him and steal his wife. Every time I threatened it, he would say, “Sorry, Emma, I don’t think you have the right equipment to keep her happy.” I would fake gag, and then we would laugh about it. I was preparing for the exchange when the door opened.
I was not prepared for Riley to open the trailer door and walk in. He didn’t say a word as he sat down at the table, glancing at my textbook and then my bottle of wine. There was no glass, just the bottle I had been drinking straight from. His eyebrow raised, asking a silent question I would not be answering.
He looked nice in a sweatshirt and jeans. He had on a new pair of cowboy boots, not yet broken in by hard work. He looked calm and put together, and he smelled good. So very good.
I tried to control my breathing so it wouldn’t look like I was huffing his smell.
Who was this new version of Riley? Was it William or the attorney who broke him? Maybe they threatened to institutionalize him for his volatile anger? A girl could only hope.
“I need your help,” he said quietly.
I must have been drunk. I looked at the bottle of wine, like it was a hallucinogen. No, I couldn’t be drunk or tripping on a bad trip. I blinked a few times and looked back to him.
“Emma, did you hear me? I asked for your help,” he repeated, trying to be polite.
I sat slack jawed for a moment. The first words Riley said to me after telling me to get bent wasI need your help.Are you kidding me?What could he possibly need my help for? He hadn’t trusted me to help him in any way, except saddle up a horse, since we were eight.
“You need my help?” I asked him, not understanding where this was coming from. I was trying to think of a way to say no before he even finished explaining.
“Yes, what you witnessed a few nights ago on the front lawn, that was it. I pushed my father too far. I messed up, and I could lose everything. I’ve hit rock bottom, Emma.”
It was not like Riley to ever admit weakness, especially not to me.
“I don’t understand where I come into this equation. What you did, Riley, what you have been doing for years, is incredibly stupid. You will get yourself or someone else killed. You deserve whatever the consequences are. I hate you for what you did. Your father is just trying to save you. You don’t deserve my help. I don’t think you understand that. You can’t come in here after everything you’ve done to me and expect me to pick you up and put together your broken pieces. You don’t deserve that.”
“I know that,” he answered quietly.
He was too calm. This was the longest conversation we had ever had without yelling, except for when we were kids, before his dog died.
“Your uncle isn’t the only one who is dead because of drunk driving,” I said, my voice going soft.
For some reason, it was important to me for him to know what his actions did, how much that one stupid decision really hurt me. It felt like a direct attack, even though it probably had nothing to do with me. That’s probably my own issues, but I needed him to know.
“I know, I remember what happened to your parents,” he said, looking down.
At least he had the decency to actually look ashamed.
The near-mention of my parents brought tears to my eyes, which I fought against. One of the many rules I made to survive Riley wasdon’t let him see you cry.I was about to break this rule to, what, prove a point to a boy who would probably never understand it?
I slammed my book shut to distract him from my face. It worked. He had looked up at my face again, but his eyes followed the sound of the book.
“Why should I help you?” I asked.
I couldn’t wait for the bossy excuse he would make so I could throw his entitled ass out of this trailer.
“Because you are right, I am a prick. I had my reasons, but they aren’t good enough anymore. I’ve been fighting with those reasons for a long time now. Since your parents died, and I was told to stay away from you. I wanted to change then, but it was easier just to continue with the verbal exchanges than apologize and face your rejection. I’m doing that now. I want to inherit this farm one day, and Father made it perfectly clear I’m not ready. He made it even clearer that you are. Please help me learn what I should; put me in my place. Turn me into what I need to be for my father to be proud and for you to forgive me.”
Holy hell. I might start hyperventilating.I was not ready for this. The man who sat here in front of me was someone I never thought I would see in a million years. He was so desperate to make sure that his father changed his mind that he was willing to ask his enemy #1 for help. Not to mention, he said he wanted to apologize and had for a while. I didn’t believe that, though, not for a moment. Right after my parents’ deaths would have been a great time to apologize. I wasn’t in a position to be choosy about my support system. Instead, he was a coward and continued with the status quo.
“I am far from perfect,” he said. “Help me be a better horseman. If you can tough that out, then help me be a better man.”
“So, what, I help you grow up, learn the things about horses you should already know, and then what? You take over this farm, when it’s your time, and you revert right back to the asshole you’ve always been? I don’t believe you want to change. This wasn’t for an organic self-actualization. This was forced. This was an ultimatum.”
“I will try not to turn back into that asshole,” he promised.“I don’t like that person I became.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. I looked for any of his tells that he was lying, but I didn’t spot one.
