Page 47 of Tame Our Wild

For verbal praise when she’s riding well, of course.

Yep. That’s what I’m going to tell myself.

The clanking of metal has us both turning our heads to see Hank loading the next bull into the chute.

“The next event isn’t until after New Year’s,” I remind. “So that gives us a few weeks to get you mentally in shape to keep up with your physical stamina.”

She considers my words. “About that, I think I’m going to go home for Christmas and New Year’s. I’m sure you want to spend it with your family, too.”

I haven’t thought about my family much over the last few days, but the knot in my chest returns when I think about how different the holidays are now. Paisley’s accident may have been seventeen years ago, but it rewired our family in ways we’ll never change.

“This happened because of you.”

“She’ll never be the same after this.”

“You’re irresponsible, Colson. You shouldn’t have let her ride.”

“It’s your fault.”

“It’s your fault.”

“It’s your fault.”

Those are the kinds of comments that stick with you. Words that cling to the soles of my boots like mud I track everywhere. My soul is already aching, but the past lingers, like a rusty, jagged nail that digs deeper each time I visit. Seeing my family only heightens the sting. Amplifies my inner self-loathing.

Paisley may be with them, but even I know that’s not the same. It will never be the same.

Of course, Harlow would want to spend the holidays with her family. What did I expect—her to stay here and keep me company?

“I expected you to go home,” I lie.

“But I won’t be taking it off,” she rushes out. “Do you think you could—”

“I’ll give you a list of things to work on and a workout plan that you can do at home. Until then, we’ll keep up with fundamentals, our individual workout plans, and I’ll work out some more training days with Hank.”

Her warm smile should hit my bloodstream, but it doesn’t.

I realized in my early twenties that my parents were better off without me around. I’m the scar—the physical reminder that no matter how much time passes, the things that changed between us are permanent. I’m the embedded and raised tissue that attempts to blend in with the surrounding skin, only to remain an impostor with each passing year.

Paisley begged me to consider going to my parents, but my mind was made up the moment she asked. Looks like I’ll be spending another holiday alone, downing a few bottles of whiskey to numb the unbearable loneliness I always feel this time of year.

TWENTY | COLSON

Ifucking hate New Year’s.

I’ve always been stuck in this repetitive cycle, spinning and spinning with no end in sight, because I’m too stubborn to wonder what life would be like without bull riding. Paisley always reminds me that there’s more out there, but that thought feels just as hollow as I feel now. I think she worries that if I don’t explore other possibilities, I’ll end up an old man trying to find a cure at the bottom of a bottle when his riding career is over because he’s got nothing else going for him when it all ends.

No wife. No kids.

I’m not sure I even want them if the opportunity ever presents itself—considering how reckless I am.

I stand in the middle of the old practice area that my parents built for Paisley and me when they realized how serious we were about making this a career. It’s tucked in the field at the bottom of a small slope, behind the barn.

Stars pierce the clear darkness above me, the air filled with a scent and a bone-chilling quality that makes me think snow could fall, which would be a miracle since there isn’t a cloud in sight.

The rim of the bottle shakily finds my lips, the amber liquid slipping down my throat as smooth as water. I no longer taste the sweet spice that usually lingers on my tongue. I don’t feel the cold seeping through my thin sweatshirt. I don’t feel the excitement most people do as the last day of the year ticks down.

I feel nothing but dread, standing at the center of where Paisley’s and my dreams slipped through the cracks in the ground. Literally and figuratively.