Page 14 of A False Start
Especially considering the way she’s looking at me right now.
* * *
“I love having you around.”My mother smiles at me like she’s worried she might scare me away.
We’ve always been close, my parents and me. But when things went to shit a few years ago, they let me retreat and lick my wounds. They didn’t force my hand or tell me what to do, but they gave me an ultimatum and have never given up on me, even when I’m sure they wanted to.
When I was spiraling down the drain, they were the ones who picked me up and gave me the ass kicking I needed. They didn’t judge me or make me feel like shit about my fall from grace. Their support—their love—was and still is unwavering.
I hate to think about where I’d be without them.
“It’s nice being close enough to pop in.” I lean close to my mother’s petite frame and wrap an arm around her narrow shoulders. “I love you, Mom.” My lips press against the black hair at her temple.
“I love you, too, sweet boy. Thanks for joining me for a coffee date. Can you believe how different pour-over coffee tastes?”
This is my mother’s new obsession. Pour-over coffee. Some fancy kettle. A scale to weigh the beans. Organic beans washed with love and positive energy or some shit. It all sounds a bit woo-woo to me, but she’s so pleased with herself that it’s almost impossible not to share in her fascination.
Plus, even I must admit the coffee is good.
“It was delicious.” I stand with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. “Let’s do this again next t-t-t...” My lips thin and I sigh, trying not to beat myself up. “When Dad golfs next.”
She doesn’t react. She knows me well enough to know how much the stutter pisses me off. Instead, she carries on like she didn’t notice, even though I know she did. How could you not?
“That would be perfect.” She claps her hands together softly as we walk to the front door of their spacious condominium. It’s nestled up into the base of Garnet Ridge, just one town over from Ruby Creek. When I sold the ranch, the one I purchased with my shiny new contract all those years ago, I bought them this place in a 55+ community. Beautiful views of the valley, and right on the golf course where my dad enjoys spending all his free time. I live on the mountain above them now and Dad likes to joke that if he squints real hard, he can see me moping around.
They’re happy, and that makes me happy. After everything they’ve done for me, I wish I could do more.
Feet back in my boots and arms slid into my jean jacket, I turn to give her one more hug.
“Any pretty girls on that farm?” She smiles into my neck.
Exceptthat. I don’t know if I can dothatfor them.
“Mom.” My tone is warning, but playful.
“Griffy, it’s the grandbaby-rabies. I’m sick. I can’t help it.”
I shake my head with a small smile. “Seek treatment, Mom.”
We share a look and then I turn to leave, knowing I need to get back to Gold Rush Ranch to start my new job. A job among people and a community that I’ve spent years hiding from. I grew up riding. My grandfather was a bronc rider and would sit me up on many a horse. I spent my days following him around and learning everything I could about colt starting. Until I found football.
Football was my universe until it wasn’t. But getting back into working with young horses has proven to be almost therapeutic for me. Taking on a few training horses up at my farm keeps me busy enough.
I cruise the winding roads under clear blue skies, the harsh sunlight bouncing off the brim of my hat. Just as I drop my concentration from the road to grab a piece of my favorite cinnamon gum, I catch a flash of gray out of the corner of my eye.
And then I feel a small thump under my front driver’s side wheel.
Fuck my life.
Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out I just hit something. My heart constricts as I pull over to see what I’ve done. Another thing for me to beat myself up about. Killed a fucking bunny or something.
But when I hop out of my truck on the quiet country road, I don’t see a rabbit. I see a filthy pile of matted hair whimpering in the ditch. My pulse ratchets up at the sight.
“Whoa, boy.” I hold out a hand as I scale the steep side of the ditch. “What are you?”
Small black eyes squint back at me, and I decide it must be a dog. A very worse for wear dog. It’s trembling, and the closer I draw, the more rigid it becomes. “I’m sorry, fella.” One of his hind legs is twisted at an angle that it should not be. “I got you.”
I reach out for the little dog, alarmed by how skinny it is when I pick it up. It just shakes and whines, clearly in shock, as I race back to the truck with it in my arms. At least I know where to take him. Luckily, I’m friends with one of the best veterinarians in the area.
