Page 101 of Tame Our Wild

The question is, if roles were reversed, would she still be torturing herself to keep this promise?

Paisley was as wild as the breeze. She was unpredictable. Even when we were younger, she was blowing through life as if she were untouchable, never flowing in one direction. She always caught people by surprise with how pure mischief and grit can hide behind a soft smile.

I watched her grow up, and when we hit our teenage years, it was like a new era thrust a distance between us that we had never experienced. Our friend groups became different, and she started to take a fondness for other activities other than the ones I did. She would go out on dates and to dances with guys she was too good for—guys who tried to soften her tameless spirit. We were always attached at the hip until we weren’t, and life kept moving.

That’s why bull riding was ours.

Because even through all the changes life threw at us and our relationship, our shared love for the sport was our center. It was always easy to find our way back to it. Find our way back to each other.

If it were me, I would’ve wanted Paisley to chase her next goal, work toward her next dream, even if it wasn’t one I was a part of. I would’ve wanted Paisley to move on a long time ago, the moment she realized that it wasn’t what she wanted anymore.

That thought churns in my gut, grinding against all the sensitive places that inject a new dose of lucidity into my veins.

This isn’t what she would’ve wanted for me.

Meeting my mother’s gaze, I nod. “I would’ve wanted her to be happy—even if happy meant watching her move on without me.”

My mom gives me a soft, emotional smile. She stands, slowly approaching me. Reaching out timidly, she places her palms on the sides of my biceps, rubbing them up and down in soothing motions. “I think she would’ve wanted that for all of us.” Her admission is pure, but I still catch the hint of sadness there.

Healing is never instant. It’s messy. It takes time to adjust to the pothole in the road that was recently sealed but still has those visible reminders that it was there. Life is full of them, but the road still stretches into the horizon.

And as a flash of movement in the lower field crosses the corner of my vision, I realize that the one stop on this road that I nearly left in the rearview mirror is in front of me, riding across the field on the back of the horse that I thought was as lost as I was. My eyes linger on Harlow in the field with Cosmos, my heart smashing against my rib cage hard enough that tears burn in the corners of my eyes as I memorize this scene that I never thought I’d see.

I can’t take my eyes away as Harlow leans over, her smooth hands gliding across Cosmos’ neck. I can only assume soft whispers of praise are falling from Harlow’s lips.

I’m staring long enough that my parents follow my line of sight, a gasp leaving my mom’s throat when she sees them.

My dad stands and moves next to Mom. His raspy voice hits my ears. “Is that—”

“Cosmos,” I finish for him, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Since I offered to coach Harlow, Harlow offered to work with Paisley’s horse, since she hasn’t let anyone ride her since she witnessed the accident.”

My mom lifts her hand to cover her mouth, and we all turn to watch Harlow and Cosmos stroll across the fresh spring grass with the forest line beyond.

“Just like us, I thought that horse was hopeless without Paisley,” Dad exhales.

I tuck my hands into my pockets. “I’ve quickly learned not to doubt the things Harlow is capable of.”

“So, you’re coaching her, huh? Coaching her on a bull or in the bedroom?” My dad gives me a knowing smile to make the heaviness feel lighter.

“Richard!” my mother scolds.

I suppress my smirk. “Yeah. Harlow is one of my competitors, but her coach, Aaron, died at the beginning of the season, and I wanted to help her out.”

“We know who she is,” Mom mentions. “Such a remarkable story, especially after coming back from an injury.”

“Wait.” I pause. “If you know who Harlow is, that means—” My jaw snaps shut, and my brows draw together.

Dad claps my shoulder. “We’ve watched every ride you’ve had this season. Every interview. We’ve followed your stats.”

“We were wondering how she was able to bounce back as well as she has. And after walking into her carefree in the kitchen and you saying you’re coaching her, it all makes sense now.” My mom’s mouth curves.

What they don’t realize is that Harlow is the reason I’m starting to bounce back, too.

“Oh, we almost forgot,” my dad says, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a folded piece of paper.

He holds it out to me, and I grasp it with shaky fingers. When I open it, my eyes widen at the invoice. “You bought front-row seats for the event in Albuquerque?”

My parents nod. “We don’t want to miss anything else.” Mom slowly reaches for me, and I let her wrap me in her embrace. “We are so proud of you, sweetheart. We want to be there.”