Page 129 of We Drank the Dawn

“How do you mean?”

His brow creased with pain. “I just…miss talking to her. Leaving her a voice message seems like the next best thing…at least I hear her voice for a few seconds.”

“Damn. That’s depressing.”

“Yeah, it is. Not sure what else to do though.”

I rolled my eyes. “Too bad we don’t live in the twenty-first century where there’s only a thousand forms of communication.”

He explained between breaths why tracking her down on social media seemed a little invasive in light of her obvious need for distance, and how he planned to write her a letter.

Nursing a stitch in my side, I said, “You gonna get it notarized, too?”

“What?” Picking up on my dry tone, he said on a laugh, “Does that seem too formal or something?”

“It definitely does.”

“Fine—what would you do?”

Squinting into the darkness, I shook my head. “I have no idea because I would never even be in that situation. I don’t do⁠—”

“Relationships.” He finished my sentence. “I know. But hypothetically…”

For a few long moments, nothing but our footfall filled the silence. I spoke slowly. “What about flowers? Women like those, right? I might have a bouquet delivered and put ‘I’m an asshole please call me’ on the card thingy.”

“Cooper?” Peter’s breaths were heavy. “That’s a fantastic idea.”

Somehow, that run patched a hole in my chest I didn’t even realize existed. Having been on the brink of death multiple times in my life, I’d had people rush to my side and try to help—pumping me with meds, holding my hand, sitting at my bedside. But people stopped worrying about me when I wasn’t jeopardizing my heartbeat.

Hollie was an anomaly. And that’s why I adored her.

And, surprising as it was, so was Peter.

I realized he’d become a good friend. And, yet again, a flash of fear shot through my core. I didn’t want to be good friends with Peter. Because, eventually, Sarah and him would figure out their problems and he’d return to Colorado.

Before I could mentally spiral, Peter asked, his voice breathless. “You think—I could ride a bronc?”

I laughed—couldn’t help it.

Over the last week, he’d gotten pretty comfortable up on a horse and had even started trotting. In fact, he’d learned the arena enough to lead a horse around without a guide. Even still, the idea that he wanted to get thrown to the ground was crazy to me. Of course, I thought of Terry Hughes and said, “Sure. Why not?”

“Cool. I want to try.”

“Why?”

He stayed silent for a moment.“I’m just sick—of feeling halfway alive. I can’t explain it, but—sometimes I feel like I can’t fully experience life anymore. When I do stuff that I used to do with sight—I feel frustrated like I’m missing something.” He took a deep breath, his voice eking out. “But I feel good with the horses, on the ranch, too. And I think that’s because almost everything I’m doing here—I’ve never done before, or at least I haven’t done it much.”

I hummed, thinking through that. “So you want another new—blind—experience?”

“Yeah. That probably sounds dumb.”

“It doesn’t.” I laughed. “But you’ll definitely eat dirt. You know that, right?”

He smiled. “I know.”

“I think you can do it, but—you’ll have to learn how to fall first.”

“Can you teach me?”