DAYS TURNED INTO weeks, and weeks turned into months. I could finally look in a mirror without wanting to slam my fist through it. That first month after leaving Josie, I couldn’t count how many shattered mirrors I left in my wake. Looking in a mirror and hating the person staring back at me wasn’t new, but what had changed was that the eyes staring back were the same ones Josie had looked into as she admitted her love for me. She’d looked into those eyes and said it again and again and again before they had turned away and betrayed her.
I’d hated myself for so long it didn’t feel like hate anymore, but that . . . ? I didn’t have a word extreme or intense enough for how I felt about myself. Utter self-loathing was the closest I could get, but that seemed way too cute for how I really felt.
After leaving the Gibsons’ that night, I’d headed east. I didn’t have any plans. I just went until my gas tank was empty and I felt as physically exhausted as my mind did. I was in Billings. Even though it was my first time there and I didn’t know a thing about it, I moved into a motel room I could rent by the month or the hour and made it home. I didn’t know a single person in or around Billings. It was perfect. I didn’t want to know anybody, and I didn’t want anybody to know me. I found work at an old man’s ranch just outside of town, a place to practice bull riding, and tried to purge my mind of all things Josie. I watched the sunrise that morning after I left her, knowing she would wake up hating me. She was right—that kind of love didn’t just shrivel up and die. It ran too deep and had weaved too far inside of us to just fade away. It was imprinted on our very cores. That kind of love couldn’t be weeded out, so it changed and darkened and morphed into what Josie said—hate. I felt it, too. In my case, it was extreme hate for myself, not for her. So the good thing we had—the best thing I’d ever experienced—I’d managed to twist and break and transform until it turned into thick and heavy hate. I really was a virus.
A month had passed when I recognized one of Willow Springs’s seasonal ranch hands walking into the feed store in downtown Billings. I headed straight back to the motel, packed my duffle, got in my truck, and didn’t stop driving until it was empty again. I wound up in Baker, about as far east as a person could go and still be in Montana. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to stay in the same state I’d grown up in. The same one my mom had fled from, my dad’s charred ashes were blowing through, and where the girl I’d loved and destroyed was. Nothing was behind me but a mountain of bad memories, so if I hadn’t been about empty on gas and money, I would have kept going until I’d crossed into North Dakota.
I worked at another ranch, I rode bulls at another arena, and another month passed. I knew, in theory, my life was going on, but it felt like it had stagnated. Most of it I’d left hundreds of miles west. I’d even left behind two of my favorite pastimes: whiskey and women. I hadn’t had a single sip or felt a single woman beneath me since I left the only home I’d ever known. I knew part of the reason for my newfound abstinence was because I just felt numb. I didn’t need a drink or a woman to help me get there because that was my steady state anymore. The other part, the main part, was doing it for her. She’d never know, but I couldn’t let the love she’d given me and all that she’d sacrificed to be with me be for nothing. I wanted to stay changed, even if we couldn’t be together. I wanted her sacrifice to be matched by one of mine. I wanted her love to leave me changed forever so, somehow, I’d always carry it with me. Saying no to the Jack and the girls was the only way I could honor the love she’d given me. It was all that was left of it because her love had turned to hate.
So I cut off all ties with my old life. Since I didn’t have a cell phone, no one from my old life could reach me. It would only be a matter of time before I ran into someone or someone tracked me down, but I was too busy living in the moment to think about the future. Even five minutes into it.
It was a Friday night, and I was competing in a small-time rodeo just outside of Baker. I didn’t know why I bothered to enter. I still hadn’t managed a single eight-second ride in practice, so I had no reason to think riding in an actual competition would be any different. I suppose, as time had proven again and again, I was a glutton for punishment.
I was up next, and when the guy before me flew out of the gates, I crouched down to scoop up a handful of dirt. Cupping it, I shook my hand and let the dirt sift between my fingers. It was the first time I’d done it, but I’d seen it done plenty of times. When Clay made it to my rodeos, he could always be found staggering around, sifting a handful of dirt between his fingers. I guess it was something he’d picked up from his dad and used to do as a bull rider himself. I asked him once why he did it, and he’d answered—well, he’d slurred—how could a man expect to stay on top when he didn’t know what was below him? It hadn’t made sense to me then, and it still didn’t make sense to me. But back in his day, Clay Black had been a bull riding legend, so I figured if shaking some arena dirt through his fingers had worked for Clay, I wasn’t above trying it. I’d tried everything else—might as well.
The guy ahead of me managed to stay on a full eight and earned a decent score. Lucky bastard. When my name was called, I dusted off my hands, climbed the chute, and got into position. I didn’t know anything about the bull I’d drawn. I didn’t know anything about the rodeo, or the people competing, or the people in attendance. The only thing I knew was that I had to stay on the back of that damn thing because that was all I had left in life. Bull riding and eight seconds. Those were the last things I had to look forward to, the only things left to aspire to. Sad and pathetic, but the truth. So I weaved my hand through the rope, lifted my other, and emptied my head.
I should have known better. As soon as it was empty, she leapt into it. Josie always had a way of doing that—sneaking up on me when I least expected it. The image of her below me, holding my face and telling me she loved me, rushed into my head. It wasn’t in a hurry to rush out. It stayed until I didn’t see or hear the arena. All I heard and saw was her and those three words. The image was so painful, I winced . . . and the chute flew open. I remembered where I was a moment too late. That bull bucked before hurling into a spin, and I caught so much air I might have been suspended for eight seconds.
But I’d barely made it one on that back of that bull. When I hit the ground, I landed on my chest. My face hit next. I knew what the dirt felt like, and I knew what it tasted like: cow shit and failure. Shoving to a stand, I spit out a mouthful of dirt and chucked my hat across the arena. I didn’t notice the crowd, and I didn’t turn around to make sure the clowns were doing their jobs. I stomped out of that arena swearing if I never saw another one or another bull, I’d be just fine.
Once I’d leapt over the fence, I wandered until I had some space and could curse at the bloody moon without offending anyone too much. Life was shit, and that was what I had to look forward to for the rest of my life. Lonely nights, hard-worked days, and humiliating rides where I personally insulted the sport of bull riding.
Fuck my life.
“I don’t know who looked more pissed off out there. You or the bull,” a familiar voice said behind me as my hat landed at my feet. “Actually, I take that back. You were definitely the most pissed one. By a long shot.”
I was already smirking when I twisted around. “Why if it isn’t the girl who isn’t afraid to let her freak flag fly.”
“Nope. I’m not afraid to be who I am. Or love who I love.” She smirked right back, lifting an eyebrow.
“Rowen Sterling.” I looked around. No sign of Jesse . . . or anyone else.
“Garth Black. Minus the enthusiasm,” she threw back.
“What? Really? No enthusiasm? I thought that, if nothing else, one misfit could drudge up some enthusiasm for another.” I grabbed my hat and beat it against my chaps to get the dirt off.