Page 114 of Dirty Cowboy

The dam inside me breaks. “I lied to you. I did it all wrong. The engagement… It started as just a way to keep the ranch. But then…” My voice shakes. “I love her, Grandpa. I love her more than anything. And now… I think I’ve lost her.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. He stares at me, his brown eyes—eyes I inherited—full of something I can’t bear to see. Not anger. Not disappointment. Something worse. Loss.

His breath catches. His hand flies to his chest, fingers clutching at his shirt.

"Grandpa?" I lurch forward, grabbing his shoulders as he sways.

The stack of photos slips from his grasp, scattering across the porch like shattered pieces of my past.

“Grandpa, stay with me! Please.” My voice cracks, but he doesn't answer. His face pales, his chest rising in ragged, uneven gasps.

“Someone help!” I shout, my pulse hammering. “Annabelle!”

The front door flies open. Dad rushes out, eyes wild with fear as he drops to his knees beside us.

Annabelle appears next, her breath hitching. "CPR! You need to start CPR!"

My hands move before my brain catches up. I lower him onto the porch, pressing my palms over his chest. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. Breathe.

The cold digs into my knees, but I ignore it. My entire world is reduced to the frail rise and fall of my grandfather’s chest beneath my hands. The same hands that taught me how to rope cattle, how to fix a broken fence, how to be a man.

I press harder. One-two-three-four. "Come on, Grandpa. Please."

Memories flood my mind. His laughter as he tossed me into the air. His steady hands guiding mine on my first ride. His voice—warm and certain—telling me I was meant to do great things.

"Please don’t leave me,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

Dad grips my shoulder. "The ambulance is coming."

Grandpa's eyes flutter open, and for a brief, fleeting second, hope sparks inside me. He exhales slowly, his lips parting, his final words barely a whisper.

"Make it right."

His hand slips from Annabelle’s, and his chest stills beneath my hands.

“No,” I gasp. "No, no, no."

I keep pushing, keep pressing, but he’s gone.

My father gently pulls me back, but I fight him. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I press harder, the weight of failure crushing me.

"I'm sorry," I sob, the words falling apart in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Grandpa. I never meant for this.”

Mom drops to her knees, her tears soaking into his shirt as she whispers his name over and over, as if saying it might bring him back.

The world tilts again. Emma is still out there. Misty is still missing. And Huntz—Huntz is waiting.

I push to my feet, staggering blindly toward the road. I don’t think. I just run.

A train whistle shrieks through the morning air, and I veer toward the sound, my gut screaming at me to hurry.

As I crest the hill by the river, my stomach drops. Emma’s sunflower anklet blinks in the faded grass. I pick it up and lift my head to see three figures standing on the bridge, their silhouettes black against the steel tracks.

Even from here, I recognize Emma’s small frame. Her hair whips in the wind as she stands next to Misty, their hands clasped. And at the other end of the bridge—Huntz. The train’s whistle screams.

“Emma!” My voice is lost in the wind; she doesn’t turn.

I sprint faster, the cold air tearing through my lungs. Every step feels like running through wet cement, dragging me down. My ribs burn, and my body screams, but I push forward.

---