Page 67 of Tame Our Wild

Leaving home for good crossed my mind, but when my parents said they were moving and couldn’t live on a property plagued with a horrible memory that easily diminished all the good ones, a part of me couldn’t let it go. So together, Paisley and I tried to find the good.

Every day we still try.

She’s better at seeing the brighter side than I am.

When we near the center of the small lake, Harlow shuffles, maneuvering herself slowly to kick her legs over the bench to flip positions and face me. “This place means something to you.”

It’s not a question. It’s an observation.

I clear my throat. “What makes you say that?”

“I thought that rigid posture in your muscles and face was permanent, but out here, you seem more relaxed.”

I gesture to our surroundings. “Have you looked where we are?”

She pushes her sunglasses to rest on her head, tipping her face up to soak in the last warm remnants of the day.

I can’t ignore that life has been lighter with her around. Brighter. Livelier in a way that I ache to hold on to, as if she might slip through my fingers and disappear if I’m not careful.

She will once the season is over.

“Besides the ranch, this is my favorite place on Earth. I’d come here as a kid with my family during the summer. It was always a reset.” In more ways than one.

As a boy, it was how I spent my summer days—fishing with my dad and Paisley, and swimming till our fingers would prune. Then, when I became an adult, it was the one place where I could sit down and give myself some grace. Forgive myself. Which only lasted until I went home, only to find all the reminders. Seeing Paisley didn’t make it any easier. Then blame crept back in, suffocating and raw.

“You don’t talk about them much,” she says, her voice as curious as it is cautious. Her tone is right on the line, not favoring either side since she’s not sure how I’ll react.

I know what she’s asking, and I release a weighted breath. She only knows what I’ve allowed her to know—my family is a subject I’m cautious of. When these conversations came up with Harlow, I could either side-step the question, give her short answers about the past, or turn it back on her to learn more about her life in Arizona. But I’m not sure how much longer I can do that, knowing she sees all the photos in the house, hanging on the walls.

“My parents live in Knoxville,” I tell her. “The season and the ranch make it hard to see them often.”

Harlow searches my eyes, as if she knows I’m spewing the lies through my teeth. We both know that’s not that far away, and it’s no excuse for the canyon of distance between us.

“But you said Paisley is there, right?”

I struggle to nod, not sure how to answer.

“Do they ever come watch—” She blows out a breath and shakes her head, glancing out over the water. “Never mind.” She leaves it at that, which I appreciate.

Harlow plays with her fingers in front of her, a sign I’ve come to recognize as her holding back and keeping thoughts to herself that she would rather voice out loud.

The weird thing is, I have this inclination to tell her. Jam my fingers between the crack in my heart and tear it open to show her all of me. To let her know that I have never hated her or her riding, just that she’s too much of a reminder—that there’s too much fear behind watching her ride when her tenacity and reckless heart remind me so much of how my sister used to be.

But watching her ride recently …

Harlow is crushing events. Steadily riding those eight seconds like she didn’t lose two years. And though that little bastard of doubt festers inside me, saying her fear will be her downfall, she’s less vulnerable out there on the dirt than she was. I know every rider gets hurt. Hell, I have competed with a broken collarbone, ribs, and fingers.

It’s not a matter of if, it’s when.

It’s easy to coach when you have someone so moldable and willing to try anything. Sure, we’re both professionals, but it’s different when she comes in with an open mind, allowing herself to welcome that continuous growth that so many people ignore until they become stagnant.

Not Harlow.

She makes coaching easy, and I’ve loved every moment of it.

It’s fulfilling in a way riding never has been.

She glares down at the water, narrowing her eyes. “Do you guys have those long fish here with those huge teeth?”