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“I’ve cried twice in my life.”
The smile falls from her face. “I miss your Grandma Allen.”
“I do too,” I reply.
“I also miss Mugsy,” she says, referring to my beloved dog.
I take her hand, running my thumb over her wrist. “You know the important things. You know what makes me smile, what makes me mad. You know my soap boxes—those haven’t changed. You know I’m a stickler for punctuality.”
“It’s a virtue,” she whispers.
“It is a virtue.”
She smiles. Turning her hand over, she links our fingers together, pulling them to rest on her thigh.
“You know how hard I worked to get where I am today. You were with me through all of my amateur rides. I could go on and on, Mo, but it all boils down to the same thing. You know me better than anyone else. Yes, there are things in my life that have changed. There are things you don’t know, but you’ll learn them over time.”
“You’re right. I guess I just want to know other things—like who your best friend is, where you hang out after an event. Who’s there with you, watching out for you when you get on a bull? What do you do on a lazy Sunday when you don’t have to train?”
&nbs
p; “Lincoln Bennett. He’s a surly son of a bitch, but you’ll love him, and he’ll think the world of you. The Broken Boot is about the best bar in town. My dad is always with me, and if he can’t make it, I’ve got Linc there to watch out for me. On Sundays, I do what I’ve always done…”
“Watch movies,” we both say.
“See? Not much has changed. I’ve spent the last six years passing time.”
“Passing time, huh? What were you waiting on?”
“Didn’t realize it at the time, but I was waiting on you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?”
Monroe leans across the bed and kisses me. “For being the guy I fell in love with all those years ago. For giving me a second chance. Should I keep going?”
“You should probably kiss me again.”
“I can do that.”
Monroe
“Honey, I’m home.” I shoulder my way through the front door, only to come to a freezing halt when I look across the living room and see my dad and Sharon sitting at the kitchen table. Dad’s wheelchair is pressed as close to Sharon as it can get. Their joined hands rest on the table and—are they kissing?
It’s a soft kiss, the mere touch of her lips against his, but it’s still a kiss. I didn’t even know my dad could kiss. He can barely smile. Feeling like a third wheel in my home, and unsure what to do—because they clearly didn’t hear me come in—I kick the door shut with enough power to make a loud thud.
Sharon’s head pops up, but my father’s a little slower to react. Her eyes are wide as she slides away from the table, easing her hand out of my father’s.
“Hey, Monroe,” she stammers, wiping her hands down the front of her shirt.
“Y-you’re home early,” Dad says, backing his electric wheelchair away from the table. “It’s S-Saturday. I thought y-you had to b-b-bartend tonight.”
“I do.”
Sharon looks like she’s going to be sick, and my dad is acting as if nothing happened.
I set my purse down on the table. “I wanted to take a quick shower before my shift, but I can do that at Coop’s if I’m interrupting something.” I wave between the two lovebirds.
