Page 108 of A False Start
I haven’t gotten one since Christmas but avoided thinking about why. Avoided thinking that he has probably moved on like I told him to.
When I peel it open, what looks like pure yellow daisies stare back at me.
Mountain Arnica
Used for healing cuts and bruises. Considered a love charm in some cultures. Reminds me of another wildflower I know who heals a bruised heart and wounded soul so fucking effortlessly—my love charm. My reason.
If you ever need some Mountain Arnica of your own, you can find these in the field where I fell. Cowboy is here too. We’re waiting for you.
In the field where he fell. The property between this one and Gold Rush Ranch? Where he first told me he loved me?
I’m back out the door and racing down the stairs before I even settle in.
My brother calls out, “See you tomorrow!” as I blow straight back out the front door and hop in my car, the small sheet of paper still pressed between my clammy fingers and the steering wheel as I speed down the back roads, trying to remember where the access is for that property.
Things are greening up in the valley. It’s pretty much the definition of spring out my window. Bright greens, flowers blooming, pollen floating in the air. When I finally find the back road I think will take me closest, I gun it down to the spot where the trail we’d been on that day spat us out.
It’s not until I throw my vehicle in park that I look out over the picturesque valley where Griffin told me the words I’ve spent my entire life desperate to hear.
And I sob, slapping a hand over my mouth in shock. Because the entire thing is full of wildflowers. A mosaic of bright spring colors. White. Pink. Red. Orange. Blue. Yellow.
Every single kind of flower he sent me in his notes.
On the top of the hill overlooking the field is a silver trailer and a pretty new barn. Small and picturesque. Blue and white. Freshly painted.
I’m certain I see my shiny, dark bay horse grazing up there behind a bright white fence.
Without another thought, I’m out of my car, ducking through the fence and walking through the field of flowers with my stomach in my throat.
And my heart in my hand.
40
Griffin
I knowNadia is getting home today at some point, but I’m not positive when. Which is why I’m sitting on the steps of the Airstream trailer I’ve been living in, staring at the freshly paved driveway on what was formerly a completely untouched piece of land.
Basically, I’m stressing the fuck out. I chuck a stick and watch Tripod rip after it with a gleeful bark. And I wait.
For her.
Earlier today, Stefan let me up to her room to put the final envelope on her pillow and then he told me not to let her walk out of my life again. He’s been a steadfast friend these past several months. He’s watched me crumble over my life, my career, and his sister.
He’s watched me be heartsick with every ounce of my being and hasn’t shied away a single time. He visited me in rehab. He took care of my horse for me that month. And he gives me updates on his sister that definitely don’t fall neatly into the ‘clean break’ category.
I didn’tneedhis approval to love her. But knowing he supports us definitely feels good.
It’s been six months since Nadia walked away from me. And they have been hands down the most agonizing months of my life, but also the most enlightening.
I finally got the support I’ve always known I needed but avoided addressing.
I finally had a reason.
Tripod drops the stick at my feet and then bounces on the spot, tongue lolling and black button eyes bulging in anticipation of my next toss. But then his focus shifts, and he bounds past me, yapping like a goddamn squeaky toy. As I follow the sound, I do a double take. My stomach flips, like I just dropped off the highest point of a rollercoaster.
She came.
I unfold myself from the aluminum steps, heart thudding loudly in the cage of my chest. Pre-Super Bowl jitters have nothing on this. All the words I’ve wanted to say to her for the past half-year are at the tip of my tongue, but when I take her in, every one of them dies on my lips.
