I hold up the journal.
“The day he died, he wrote a passage about how he knew he wasn’t going to be there for me as I grew up. He knew what was happening, but he had no clue he would die. He just suspected it.”
“Give me that.” My mother reaches for the book again.
“Honey, it’s hers,” Jon pipes in.
“But don’t I get to read it?” Mom’s voice is shaky, like she’s on the verge of tears.
“No.” I don’t give her the choice.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I remember the argument from the night before. I can’t recall him hiding the journal in my bedroom, but when I woke up, Mom was in the kitchen, wiping her eyes, upset that Daddy had taken off for his morning ride without kissing her goodbye. It was because of me.
“I know. I know everything.” I hold up the book so she understands.
For a moment, she just stares at me, confused, and then understanding hits.
“For years you made me race because you said it was what he wanted. But it wasn’t. He wanted me to do whatever I wanted. He said he wanted me to grow up to be a veterinarian or to work with animals, but he didn’t want me beholden to this.” I swing my arms wide. “To this fucking ranch. I hate this place.”
She stands there for only a moment.
“Go to your room. We’ll discuss this in the morning, after you’ve slept on it and realize what is best.”
Reaching back into the truck, I give her the respect she’s due as I grab my backpack. As I walk past her, she tries to reach for me to hug, but I can’t do that right now. I don’t want what shewants, and I’ll stick to my guns. If I ever get back on a horse, it won’t be to race. It will be just to ride.
Walking past Jon, he nods at me as he walks toward my mother, and I step into the house I grew up in. It’s still decorated the way my grandmother did years ago, in a dark western style with heavy materials and wood, not the soft country blues my mother prefers. My mother says it’s out of respect for the true lady of the ranch, but I think it’s just her way of not rocking the boat with my grandmother.
My grandma is the toughest, most opinionated woman I know. For the longest time, she and my mother didn’t get along. I wonder if they ever will truly be close. The only thing they ever agreed on was me racing.
Coming to the large staircase that ascends to the upper level, I see Tiffany standing at the top of the stairs. She was barely a toddler when our father died. She doesn’t have very many memories of him. Now, at thirteen, she’s wild and pushes the limits all the time. I worry she’s going to hurt herself. She’s already been caught skipping school and trying to get onto the local university campus to go to parties.
“Hello.” She smiles, and I notice she’s dyed her hair an almost black shade.
“Hey yourself. Trying out for a grunge band?”
“It’s better than being the perfect daughter, except you’re now the one wanted by the cops. You trying to be me?”
“Never. I missed you, little turd.” I yank her into my body and hold her tight. She needs our mother to focus on her and not just indulge her.
“Missed you too, princess.” Her arms wrap around me. “Sorry to hear about your counselor.”
“Me too. She was a nice lady.”
As she pulls away, I see the smirk on her face. “So, an MC party?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
I think about what to say. I don’t want to share anything about Callum. I’m not ready for that breakdown. I’ll just keep acting like my life didn’t just fall apart. That my heart isn’t broken.
“Wow, does he know you loved him?” She catches on and grabs my hand.
I shake my head and walk past her toward my room, my hand slipping from hers.
As soon as I step into my room, I’m overwhelmed by everything. The walls are lined with posters of barrel racing. Some of me, some of my idols, and some just cool images. There are awards all over the shelves—ribbons, trophies, and belt buckles. The amount of horse statues or figures is ungodly. Everyone would get them for me, thinking I was happy, when it was all a cover. I hated it. I was just trying to make my mother happy.
I slam the door closed and drop my backpack. I can’t stop myself. The anger over my counselor’s death, the pain of leaving Callum and Ria, and the complete stupidity of someone stalking me and wanting me dead all clash inside me. My room becomes the victim of the latest crime.
I’m like a whirlwind as I rip, yank, tear, throw, and destroy everything in sight. I scream and no one comes to stop me. Tears roll down my face until I’m holding the final figurine in my hand, a girl hugging a horse as she pets its flank.