“No,” he answers honestly, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“I married the wrong woman when I was about your age. Met her at a rodeo. Thought she was the one. Not two years into our marriage, I caught her fucking some random guy,” I explain.
I look out my door at Mikayla, who’s curled up on the sofa watching the television. She sits with a new blanket she just bought, draped over her small frame. And my heart tightens at the sight of her.
“Fuck,” Jason says. “So… but…” he frowns, his brow furrowed as he turns his head and sees what I’m looking at.
“That woman over there,” I say, pointing at Mikayla, “She’s my light at the end of the tunnel.”
“You two are like—for real?” he asks, sitting up straight. His head turns to her again and back to me.
“She was at my table, with my family. She cooked the food you ate. She’s funny, driven, crazy and kind. Smarter than me. She’s what makes my house a home,” I explain. “But I didn’t get her by way of a perfectly straight line. Granted, I have parents who support me, but even with that I managed to fuck up quite a bit.” I shrug, my hands opening.
“I always thought your life was perfect,” Jason says.
“You called me an angry old man!” I remind him, elbowing his shoulder.
Jason smiles then, a genuine grin that crinkles his eyes. “I just thought you were made that way.” He laughs.
“Maybe a little.But I was definitely pissed at the world.”
Jason and I just sit for a few moments in silence. I can see the wheels churning in his head. I want to give him time to process everything. When his hands comb through his hair, I can see them tremble. This is going to be a long night.
“I don’t want to be like them,” he whispers suddenly.
“Are they both alcoholics?”
He nods, his eyes downcast.
I clasp the back of his neck and rock him from side to side. “Let’s get you into rehab and then hopefully back in a bronc saddle.”
“You’d let me come back? You’d train me again?” he asks, his mouth open in surprise.
“If you want it and can clean your act up, yes,” I say simply.
Around midnight, the shakes turn into sweats and vomiting. Neither Mikayla nor I have any experience with someone going through withdrawals, a detox of sorts, so she calls Kyle.
We’re worried, and poor Sawyer, he’s a young kid—starts to cry at having to see his brother this way. The poor guy is clearly holding on by a thread.
“We need to get him to Penrose,” Kyle suggests. “It’s the closest place, and I think a good facility.”
“We ain’t got the money for that,” Sawyer says, his eyes sunken and bloodshot.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, wanting him reassured. They don’t need to worry about how he’ll get better, just getting sober.
“Caine,” Mikayla says, waving me over.
“What’s wrong, Mick?” I ask, threading my fingers through her hair.
“Those facilities cost upwards of ten to twenty thousand dollars. I mean, I know you mean well, but…”
I frown at her. “You want me to throw them to the wolves?” I ask in shock.
Mikayla’s eyes widen. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re committing to. I know your parents do well, but you…” she trails off, flushed. “Can you afford that cost out of pocket?”
I smile. This sweet woman doesn’t have a clue. How is it that she still doesn’t know? I shake my head, unable to believe it! She really doesn’t know.
And then it occurs to me. Why would she? We haven’t talked about it, and why the hell would she ask? My house is humble, tiny even. “Sweetheart, I don’t have to worry about money.”
