Page 60 of Spurred On

“Well, she was there with your sister and her friend from her hometown. And I got stuck on a bull and kind of got my shit rocked.” Meaning, I for sure got my shit rocked. “It definitely looked worse than it was. And then she walked in on me in the medic’s station and…she wanted me to quit riding.”

Cold beer in hand, he flops down on the futon. “And you told her no.” He says it like a statement, like he has no doubt about which one I would pick.

Walking to the fridge, I grab my own beer, already knowing I’m not going to like this conversation. “I can’t quit rodeo.”

He looks at me like I am a complete idiot. “Why? Honestly, it seems like you enjoy the work here on the ranch more than you do being on the road all the damn time.”

“It’s just not my time to be done.” My voice comes out with more bite than I intend. At this point, with the amount of times I’ve said this, I’m starting to feel like a broken record.

“What more could you possibly need to prove?” He leans forward, rests his forearms on his knees, and holds on to his can with both hands. I lean against the wall closest to him, feeling too fidgety to sit.

“You know what I need to prove.” I look over to him, my voice quiet but firm.

“Mav, this can’t seriously still be about the shit with your dad anymore.” He rolls his head and his eyes all in one swoop motion. Clearly, annoyed with my response.

“You wouldn’t fucking get it.” I turn my head away from him. No one would. Dealing with this pressure, trying to beat the expectations of me. Trying to beatmyexpectations of me. It feels damn near impossible…

“Seriously?” His tone makes me look back at him. His expression looks almost hurt, and I feel like an asshole. Again. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? “Do you know how many people think the only reason I get by is because of my parents' money? Not all the work I put into this place, or all the dreams I have for it. If anyone is going to understand being the kid of a great, it’s me. We may not get belt buckles, but it’s all the same feelings at the end of the day.”

Trying my hardest to get him to understand, I respond, “I have to beat my dad’s records and get the one thing he never did. That’ll be the only way people will ever believe I earned this shit.”

“People, or you?” He points to me, and it feels like a shot fired. My mind recoils at it like it was a shot. “Because right now, it sounds like the only person you need to convince that this glory is yours alone is you.” His voice lacks his usual lackadaisical tone, and his words sound as harsh as they feel. Grating on me and slowly wearing me down.

“It doesn’t feel like just me.” My bare hand taps my chest twice. “Doug likes to tell me every day how I’m only here because of my dad.”

“Doug can fuck right off. The only reason he doesn’t want you to retire is because you are his personal bankroller. You quit competing and he loses the big fat checks from you. He doesn’t care about yourcareer. Doug has always been out for himself. Why do you think he didn’t want you getting close to Ava?” His words are an echo of what Ava said, making my heart thump in my chest, trying to fight off the reasoning because if the people closest to me can see it, it’s probably true.

“Because it would be a distraction,” I reason.

He shakes his head slowly, almost looking like he feels sad for me, and I hate the look of pity. “No, Mav. It’s because he was worried she’d be the reason for you to leave the sport. Are you really okay with choosing something like this over a girl like that? I’ve seen what you two have, Mav. You’d be a fucking idiot to throw that down the drain for something that will never last you forever. At some point, you’ll have to retire. And then what will you have?” He looks around my empty cabin, as if he notices how empty this place is without her too.

His questions leave me pissed off. Mad at Dad for leaving me here to deal with this shit alone, mad at my stupid fucking agent for putting shit into my head and mad at myself. Mad because I know that Weston is right. There will probably be nothing that will make it feel like it’s enough until I believe it was enough before it ever turned into this grand scheme. There’s now a crack in the glass of my resolve because deep down, I know he’s right. Ava was right too.

Realizing just how bad I fucked up, I ask the only question I can. “Well, what the hell do I do now?” I’m feeling more lost than I ever have.

He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s up to you. Have you tried talking to Ava?”

“She won’t answer me. She doesn’t want to talk to me.” And I hate it. I hate that I put this distance between us. Hate that I ever madeher think she wasn’t enough because she’s more than enough. She’s everything.

“Since when has that ever stopped you before? You have a couple weeks off after next week, right? If you want her, you have to prove it to her. You need to figure out what will make you happy. And if we are being blunt, you need to learn how to be happy and proud of yourself without either of them, Ava or the rodeo.” He keeps his eyes locked on mine. There’s no cushioning his words. He’s saying it exactly the way I need to hear it. And at this moment, I’m grateful for friends like him. Friends who are honest, regardless of if it’s going to piss me off or hurt my feelings. He’s telling me what I need to hear. “You’re a good person. That’s what matters at the end of the day.”

A few beers later, Weston leaves after completely uprooting every thought I’ve ever had. I sit back in the futon that smells way too much like Ava and close my eyes. A deep, longing ache makes my heart feel like it’s physically breaking.

Fuck, I wish my dad was here. He taught me how to do a lot: how to ride a bull, how to stack hay bales, and how to ride a horse. But he never got the chance to teach me how to be a man. To teach me what he learned from his failures. How to own up to the mistakes you make. That’s where all the real lessons lie, in the failures and what comes after. All I ever saw was my dad, the rodeo star.

But I wonder, if he was around now, what would he say? Would he have had any regrets? Or would he have been okay with the way he went out? I’ve asked myself that question more times than I care to admit. Would he have put me first if he had known it would be the rodeo or me?

My eyes dart to the closet against the wall. There’s a box in there—a bunch of his personal belongings. I was given all his belt buckles, andyou can catch me wearing those every ride. I’ve never worn any buckles I’ve won, only my old man’s. It makes it feel like a piece of him is with me during every ride.

I’ve never seen half of what’s in that box. It hurt too much to look at it when the accident happened. And then after that, I was scared shitless of what I’d find. So I kept the box hidden on the top shelf of my closet, trying to pretend it was not there. Grief is an ugly beast; every time you think you’ve handled your demons, it comes back to haunt you.

Maybe it’s time I exorcise some of those. Chugging down the rest of my beer, I set the empty can on the side table and walk to the front of the door.

I stand there for a second, steeling my nerves. My old man has been gone for fourteen years. What’s in that box is all I have left of him. I’ve shoved it all down, but if I ever want to be the kind of man that deserves a girl like Ava, it’s time I face what scares me the most. Grief. Loss. Being alone.

Placing my hand on the knob, I turn it and open the door. Reaching up, I pull the string to turn the light on. There it is, untouched on the top shelf. I reach up and grab it. Dust falls down like snow, so I blow the top of it off and make my way back to the living room. It looks like an old filing box. My dad never had a lot of belongings, kind of like me. He was always on the road.

Slowly, I lift things out of the box. His favorite denim jacket, straight from the 80s, sits on top. He always wore this alongside a trucker cap or a cowboy hat. I don’t think I ever really saw my dad without something on top of his head.

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