Page 71 of Swift and Saddled

Ada shook her head. “No, not at all.” She was staring blankly ahead. “The last time we talked, I told him good night. When I woke up the next morning, he had left. I got the divorce papers in the mail a week later.”

Shit. That was brutal.

I wrapped Ada in my arms and felt relief wash over me when she leaned into me. “You didn’t deserve that,” I said into her hair.

“I know,” she said. “Thank you for saying so.” I rubbed my hands up and down her arms. I didn’t know whether I was trying to soothe her or myself more. “Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Anything,” I said.

“That day we went out, you told me you wanted to know something no one else knows.” I remembered saying that. I wanted to know everything about her. “When I woke up and he was gone, I felt relieved. I was deeply sad afterward, but not because I was grieving the relationship. I was grieving all of the parts of myself that I lost or gave up in the name of comfort because I would rather have been comfortable than happy. I chose to prioritize my false sense of security instead of me.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “I was ashamed of myself. I let him control every aspect of my life because I didn’t have the confidence to do it. I didn’t have a sense of ownership over anything in my life, so the fact that I was completely dependent on someone else didn’t matter to me. I didn’t even know our debit card PIN.”

I tried to imagine a different version of Ada—one less fierce and fervent—but I couldn’t. Now I admired those qualities even more because I knew that everything she was, was on purpose.

“I think”—she sighed—“I think Chance wanted power over somebody, and I mistook that for being cared for.”

My chest ached. All I could do was hold her tighter, so that’s what I did. We stayed in our bed awhile longer, and I tried not to think about how empty my arms would feel without her.

Chapter 26

Ada

Ryder Day was shaping up to be one of my favorite days ever. After an unexpectedly emotional start, Wes and I reluctantly got out of bed and started our days. He was going to check on Loretta and help Gus with a few things around the ranch before both of them came back to the Big House to celebrate the Ryder family holiday.

While Wes and I were getting dressed, he asked me if I wanted to call Chance back, and if I wanted him there while I did. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about why Chance had called me, but I wasn’t curious enough to call him back.

I told Wes no.

If there was something pressing or urgent—I couldn’t imagine what—he would call again or text or find some other way to get in contact with me.

A few months after everything went down, I thought about what I would feel if Chance ever reached out to me. I’d tried to get in touch with him in the weeks immediatelyafter the divorce papers showed up in my mailbox, but I was never successful. He didn’t want to talk to me—until now, apparently—nearly two years later.

Back then, I thought I’d be comforted by some sort of closure from him. Now I thought the closure that I’d established for myself over the last year was more important.

So what did I feel about the unexpected phone call? Shocked. And I had every right to be.

What did I feel about the man making the phone call? Nothing. It wasn’t an empty nothing or a hurt nothing, it was an…indifferent nothing.

It was the opposite of what I felt when I thought about Wes, but I wasn’t ready to dive into that train of thought yet, especially with the Arizona offer looming over me.

I walked into the kitchen and saw Amos. He was reading the paper and drinking a smoothie that I assumed was healthy based on the fact that it was the color of dirt.

When I walked in, he said, “Good morning, Ada.”

It was rare for me to see Amos in the mornings—I swear the man woke up at three. “Good morning,” I replied. “Or should I say happy Ryder Day? Is that a thing?”

Amos chuckled. “Happy Ryder Day.”

“What made you decide to create your own holiday?” I asked with a smile. I was genuinely curious, and I liked listening to Amos talk.

He smiled back, and it was warm and kind. He slid a cup of coffee across the counter to me. “You know,” he said, “you’re the first person who’s ever asked me that.”

“Really?”

Amos shrugged. “My kids don’t know a life without Ryder Day, so I don’t think they’ve ever thought about the why—maybe just the what and the who.”

I sat on the chair next to him and took a sip of my coffee. “I’m listening.”

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