Page 29 of Saving the Rain
Instead, I’m drowning in harrowing memories. The yelling. Her wailing. Shouting down the phone at my mom with a half-empty bottle of vodka in one hand. Telling her to sort herself out, and that if she doesn’t, I’ll goddamn well informColton Wilderof everything she’s done as a willfully neglectful parent to ruin my life.
Heat stings the back of my eyes, and I can hear echoes of her pathetic sobbing.I’m sorry honey, I wasn’t in my right mind. I don’t remember doing that.Followed by the denial.You’re a foul little shit, making up lies about your own momma.
All she’d ever do was cry. Make excuses. It’s like arguing with a child if I ever bother trying to talk some sense into her. She never could stay off the pills long enough to have a clear head. Never capable of making a decision that wasn’t centered around getting her next fix. Most of the time, she was out of it on the very pills that doctors are happily shoving in the hands of their patients all over this goddamn country. The fucking epidemic they’re enabling with people just like my mom, who are too weak to accept the help they need in order to finally say no and get clean.
Seeing her latest messages, I’m already dreading what new trouble she’s gotten herself into. Who has she racked up another sky-high round of debts with? What phone call am I gonna get this time, out of the blue, that potentially derails everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve?
I’ve spent the past couple of years climbing out of that pit of shame after getting lost in the bottom of a bottle in an attempt to avoid all of this.
Now, I’m so close to making something of myself. I’m so close to actually achieving the rodeo dreams I’ve had my heart set on since the first pro bronc ride I ever watched.
Since the first time I saw Raine compete.
Fuck’s sake.
“...wake the hell up, man.” Chaos smacks my shoulder.
I jerk my head around, realizing his Bronco is parked and the engine has been cut. We’re here. And I’d better get my head in the fucking game.
Finding a quiet spot,I hide out and run through my stretches. I’ve already been for a jog to get my blood pumping, trying to combat some of this anxiety humming and sizzling in my veins that I wouldn’t usually be fighting at this late stage before heading into the arena.
My number hasn’t been called yet, so I’ve still got time to go through my pre-ride routine. The ritual I’ve cultivated for myself that seems to work. We’ve all got our quirks and superstitions we do to settle ourselves, to lock in the mindset we need before entering the bucking chute. Some will have a smoke, some will make sure they’ve got their specific competition hat to wear.
Chaos disappears to hurl his guts up at the last second, without fail, every time.
As I’m quietly working on my groin, stretching out in a kneeling lunge position, my eyes lift.
Familiar black hair sticks out, wild and unruly, beneath his charcoal hat. On reflex, my chest tightens.
With all the memories of Mom and my shitty past lurking right there, my brain struggles to process what I’m seeing. Why the fuck is he here? What the hell is he doing in this section of the arena... right where all the competitors are gathered, getting ready to be called?
Just as my stretch falters, as I lose focus on what I’m supposed to be doing, the asshole turns around.
His dark eyes drill into mine, and I’m faintly aware of the blood rushing in my ears, deadening the noise of the crowd and announcer. I push to stand up, seemingly unable to rip my attention away from Raine.
That curl to his upper lip tugs higher, and his focus dips down to take in my chaps, my boots, then back up to my shirt and vest. I’m pissed off at myself for being so easily distracted by him being right here. Right in the competitor’s section.
“Why the fuck are you here?” I bite out.
He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Worried I’m gonna be in that arena and whoop your ass?”
“No.” My palms feel goddamn clammy all of a sudden. “I know you’re not competing.”
“Sure about that?” He glances between me and the railings, the crowds.
Fuck this guy. “What the hell is your problem? Just leave me alone.”
“Gladly.”
“Then why are you here?” Everything I’d normally be doing right now has flown out of my brain. It’s too much like being face-to-face with him when he was top dog, the rodeo king. Time after time he was the one to beat.
Just thinking about that fact, even though I logically know it isn’t happening in the here and now, my body reacts as if we’ve just rewound the clock by years. I might as well be eighteen and staring at the guy I so desperately wanted tobeand who looked at me like I was shit on the sole of his boots.
“It’s a free country, last I checked.” Raine scratches his jaw. “But since you’re crying like a kicked puppy about it... I drove Tessa here so she could watch Oscar compete.”
Swallowing down jagged rocks, I’m stuck in a place where words escape me.
“Happy now? Put your pacifier back in and suck on it while shutting the fuck up.” He shakes his head. “If you put half asmuch effort into riding as you did to crying on my shoulder...” He clicks his tongue and with that, abruptly walks off. Not even bothering to finish the sentiment.