Page 183 of Ride the Sky

Dry mouthed, I take it from him. When he disappears into the lodge, I tear it open.

Dear Wyatt,

This is stupid, writing you a letter. But lately, that’s what everything feels like. Stupid.

Which means I’m probably stupid for leaving. But I have to. And before you go and blame yourself, don’t. It’s my bright idea.

I figured a few things out the last few months. I feel like I’m not me these days, and you’re not you.You should be pissing me off on the daily, instead I see you, watching me. It’s sweet in an annoying sort of way, but I don’t want to bring you down, Wyatt.

You’re not my protector or my savior.

Fuck.

I don’t know if I’ll even give you this.

I want to go somewhere where I can ride the sky. Wild horses, desert, dust, maybe margaritas, if I’m lucky.

Now I’m rambling. I’m skipping over everything I should be saying, delaying. Because that’s us, isn’t it? We fight instead of saying what we really mean.

But anyway.

This time, I go first.

I love you.

Those three words end me. I grip the letter in my hands and breathe heavily.

Loves me. She fucking loves me.

I force myself to read the rest of the letter, ignoring the rock in my throat and the heat behind my eyes

I really do. I shouldn’t, but I do. I think I’ve been so angry with you (I’ll save that for another letter) for so long, it snuck up on me. Now all I do is think about it. I think I’m an idiot.

But here goes, here’s hoping, because I truly have nothing to lose anymore. At least, that’s what this hole in my chest feels like.

The only thing that’s kept it from swallowing me alive is you.

I don’t know if you feel the same way. If you don’t, pretend you never got this letter. We don’t even have to speak of it again.

If you do…

If you want to come find me and maybe tell me you love me, too, I’m at El Toro Ranch in Arizona.

Fallon

p.s. Keep killing it on the rodeo. If you quit because of me, I’ll kill you.

The fairgrounds are packed. Every last local, every tourist determined to soak in the nice weather and catch a glimpse of thrashing two-ton beasts. It’s what the rodeo is all about. Dirt. Death. Defiance.

I move through the crowd. There are cameras everywhere. The smell of hot dogs and peanuts lingers in the air. A Weston Whiskey banner hangs on the galvanized fence.

Coming to a stop near the livestock exit, I watch Cole Weston spin on his huge bull, Whiskey Business, known for stomping many-a cowboy’s head in.

The arena explodes into applause at the buzz of the eight-second timer. Perfect scores. Against my better judgment, I smile. Cocky bastard. Still, it’s his last ride. I suppose he can go out in a blaze of glory.

I scan the stands where my friends, Dakota, and my father sit. My gaze drifts. A group of little girls wave signs with my name.FALLON MCGRAW IS BACK.

My stomach flips over.

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