Ruin the chance of us finding a way to make this work.
Bull riding might have given me purpose all these years, but Honey and Noah have breathed new life into my veins. I’m not going to give that up so easily.
The thought kicks me into action, and I call out for him, marching over to where I last saw him.
Our steps are hurried as we trail the back area of the arena, weaving between riders and staff and pens to find Noah. The whole time I keep Honey’s hand clutched tightly in mine, squeezing every now and again to remind her I’m here, and we’ll find him.
Eventually, I catch sight of him and my stomach flips.
He’s balancing on the top of the rickety fence of one of the pens, trying to reach out to stroke one of the horses. Panic lances through me at the sight of him wobbling around and I rush forward, ignoring how my booted leg protests.
Suddenly, Noah loses his balance and falls headfirst into the pen, tumbling between the legs of the horses—horses that could probably crush him with one stamp of their hoof.
‘Noah!’ Without thought, especially not for my leg, Icharge forward and throw myself over the fence, straight into the pen. I wrap an arm around Noah’s middle, hoisting him up and near missing a hoof to the head myself as the horses panic, before climbing back out of the pen. We land with a thud, dust springing up from the dry ground.
I immediately drop to his level and survey him for any injuries, my racing heart finally slowing down when I discover he’s unscathed, bar a slight muddy mark on his forehead where I’m sure a bump will appear later. Sweet relief floods my veins, painting over the fear that had been there seconds before. I crush him to me then, giving him the biggest hug.He’s safe.
‘Buddy, you scared me!’ I hold him out in front of me again, checking him once more as Honey runs over. ‘You can’t be climbing up the pens like that on your own, okay? Those horses might look cute, but they’re big and dangerous too.’
His bottom lip wobbles as he nods. ‘I’m—I’m sorry.’
I brush the mud from his forehead, then filter my fingers through his bangs, tidying them up. ‘It’s okay. Just promise you’ll make sure you have an adult with you next time? You can always ask your mom or me.’
He nods, and then he goes and shatters my world by saying, ‘I promise, Dad.’
The arena around me freezes.
Or maybe I do.
All I know is that word blasts through my head over and over, rendering me completely immobile.
It’s a word I never thought I’d get the opportunity to be called. Never thought I’d deserve to be called it. Not when I’ve grown up and lived the way I have—no understanding of how to be a good father, no stable life to show I’m a role model worthy of that title.
But it would be a lie if I said Noah’s slip up didn’t hit me right in the heart. Didn’t have it pulsing with just a shred of hope and pride. That maybe he thinks I am worthy of being such. I sure know he looks up to me for some damn reason.
Still, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in this situation. I never know what I’m supposed to do with Noah—it’s always a shot in the dark for me, hoping I’m doing the right thing by him when I have zero experience with children.
Gradually, I find the strength to drag my eyes up to meet Honey’s, her lip dropped as she stares back. A split second passes as our gazes stay entwined, bodies unmoving, and I wonder if she might just brush over it. Let me have that moment.
Let me think maybe it’s possible to be that for him one day.
But then she’s crouching down beside Noah and turning him to face her as I just hover there, unsure what to do. ‘Noah, baby. You can’t call Sawyerdad. That’s what we call your real dad, okay?’
That hope kindling in my chest is put out as quickly as it ignited.
Honey continues, flashing me a brief smile over Noah’s shoulder that I struggle to return. ‘Sawyer is just Momma’s friend. And yours.’
Right.
Just their friend.
I force myself back to a stand then.
As far from the vulnerability of the moment as possible.
Noah nods in understanding of Honey’s words, then twists back to me, and my heart darkens that little bit more when he says, ‘Sorry, Sawyer.’ As if they think I’m uncomfortable with the accidental label he gave me. As if it isn’t something I’ve struggled not to dream about.
It takes a lot more strength than I’d like to admit to throw on a relaxed smile and reassume my usual nonchalant demeanour. To ruffle Noah’s hair again, completely unbothered, and respond, ‘That’s okay, buddy. Let’s go find our seats for the show, yeah?’