Chapter 14: Brandon
Once I get to Wyoming, I find out very quickly why Jess isn’t responsive to my text messages. She lives literally in the middle of nowhere and gets no cell reception.
It’s nice to unplug, actually.
What’s nicer is seeing my sister happy and healthy. She’s an honest-to-God cowgirl. She repairs fences and herds cattle and sheep. She feeds and waters them and rides a horse and owns cowboy boots in an unironic way.
This is the best I’ve seen her since before the accident.
As we sit around a legit campfire, we talk about it for the first time in years.
“I let the accident define me for too long. It was a tragedy, but it happened to me. It isn’t me. It isn’t who I am.”
Her words hover in the air, floating away with the sparks and embers the fire spits out into the inky black night. I’ve heard encouraging words from her before. I’ve believed her before. I’m not going to be duped again.
“That’s great, Jess, but what happens the next time something bad happens? How are you going to deal with it?”
She shrugs, holding my gaze. That is something different. When she’s using, she avoids eye contact. Now her amber eyes are bright and clear. She couldn’t fake that. We’ll see how long it lasts.
We’re up at the ass-crack of dawn because it turns out ranchers really do get up with the sun. I make the drive back to Jackson Hole and return the truck I rented. Once again, I’m running late and barely make it before my flight takes off. I barely have time to doze off before we’re touching down in Denver where I change planes. I finally turn my phone back on.
Holy shit.
I’m viral.
That’s pretty cool.
Except all of ClikClak is speculating whether I’m involved with Andi Nichols.
Not if she were the last woman on Earth.
Not only is she not my type, but she’s also one of the most unfriendly human beings ever. It’s as if just standing in my presence taxes her. Whatever. I don’t know what I ever did to her to justify her attitude.
Lots of soccer players yell at refs. Other than being overly dramatic with injuries, it’s what we’re known for. I wasn’t going to back down simply because she has lady bits. If she wants to ref in the men’s league, then she needs to be prepared to accept how refs there get treated.
It wouldn’t be pro soccer without some dramatics. We’ve got to keep the people entertained somehow. Soccer simply doesn’t have the excitement that football does. Sure, it’s infinitely more athletic—you won’t see any pro soccer players with beer guts—but ninety minutes with only a few scoring occasions can make the crowd lose interest.
