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“Your contract says you can’tride,”Mom challenges me with a cocked brow.
“That means you have a list of chores for me?”
“I pay good rates.”
“Lord knows I need the money,” I quip. Well, it’s a joke but isn’t. I haven’t run on such low accountssince I was a rookie. Thank God I made my final payment to Chloe last month. I’ll be fine when my rental property in Manhattan Beach sells and I get another paycheck. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about money after so many years of having more than I could spend.
My mom mumbles something, and I’m guessing it’s a litany of expletives because she never liked my ex-wife, even when I used to. “You need to keep yourself busy.”
“Trust me, I’m not grieving.” I wanted a divorce from Chloe for a long, long time. I was just too lazy to approach what I knew would be a traumatic, drawn-out process. And maybe it’s weird to some, but I didn’t give a shit that our marriage was lame in terms of love. She had her focus in trying to climb Hollywood hill, and I had mine trying to win a cup. We weren’t the worst partners. Mostly because we stayed out of each other’s way.
That is until she crossed the line. I was loyal to our unspoken arrangement, she was not. Humiliation can be a serious ignition switch for action, and now that I’m back in Starlight Canyon, I’m trying to look at the silver lining.
I won’t be able to handle living at my parents’ for too much longer, but for now, it’s nice to be around my mom and dad, the horses, Shay’s carrot cake, and… Jolie’s ass flashes in my mind again.
“The press doesn’t bother you?” my mom asks, stopping my imagination from sliding up Jolie’s curves and around those luscious breasts she grew while we were apart.
We tie the horses onto o-rings on one side of the arena where six other horses await. I’m silent and not quite ready to answer Mom’s question.
Does the press suggestingIwas the one who did something wrong since I gave my ex a huge-ass settlement bother me? Sure as hell it does. But I know I shouldn’t tell my momthat. I don’t want anyone prying. Especially not those close to me. “I just want to move on with my life. We’ve been split for over a year. And before the split, I was already wasting time with someone I knew wasn’t right. It is what it is.”
We walk toward the edge of the arena where the enormous doors are open to the autumn afternoon.
Mom takes my crumbs and tries to make a cookie out of this conversation. “She sure was a waste of time. You’re in your mid-thirties. Time to crack out some kids.”
Here we go…“Are grandchildren all you and Joy Hunter think about?” I shake my head.
“That and our pelvic floors.”
“Too much information, Mom.”
I smear my hand down my face, but she does draw a smile. And a laugh. I missed Mom's jokes. Dad’s jokes. The fresh mountain air…
I lean against the door of the barn when Logan’s fancy-ass rhinestone cowboy RAM truck pulls up. The back door opens, and Dash’s dog, Memphis, hops onto the dust followed by his owner’s well-worn cowboy boots. And then, the other door opens, and out comes Jolie Hunter.
She’s less put together than she was this morning at CCs, and thankfully her hourglass is covered by a wax jacket, smoothing out the brain blip I had when I first saw her. Blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her coat and jeans are dirty. She must have been out on a call somewhere. In many ways, she looks even better now to me. It reminds me of good times like when it was my brother’s turn to groom the horses—me, Jolie, and Logan used to bareback ride as many of them as we could if it was a muddy day. We’d get them, and ourselves, dirty as hell. Dirty like my mind is watching her enter the arena.
Logan comes over and fist bumps me,followed by Dash. Jolie approaches, but she’s less enthusiastic than earlier today, bumps fists with me, then quickly joins my mom who would never settle for a fist bump from Jolie Hunter. Mom never had a daughter and scoops Jolie into her arms and plants a pink lipstick kiss on her cheek that Jolie quickly rubs away.
Dash and my mom get to talking, Jolie starts inspecting the horses for health issues, and Logan and I wander deep into the arena, our feet moving mindlessly until we reach the last horse in the line. We do what we do. Talk hockey.
“Did you hear Sutten is hanging up his skates?” Logan asks. “The Barracudas just did the press release. Another one bites the dust.”
Logan and I are ancient in the NHL. The foot speed even in the last five years has been remarkable, new players come in with athleticism that didn’t exist in our day. We used to, at best, have chicken for protein; now kids start whey at thirteen and know more about training than we did in high school. Rookies are more developed than they used to be. And guys in their thirties are goddamn geriatrics.
“Yup. Saw that.” I wanted to retire a few years ago. I have a shoulder that hates me, a knee in constant need of icing, and an ankle that is more like an Achilles heel. I know I should get out before my body is useless and I can’t get up off the floor anymore. “Sutten did the right thing. Better to quit than be let go.”
Logan strokes his hand along the back of Fred, the chestnut horse to our side. “True,” he says, his voice far away.
His mind is elsewhere and yet, I know exactly where it is. Retirement. It’s all about striking the perfect balance. You don’t want to leave when you can keep making moneydoing what you love but you sure as hell don’t want to be forced out.
Fred noses my pocket. I slip my hand inside and give him the horse treats he was sniffing around for. His velvety lips tickle my palm. I missed this. The simple feeling of caring for an animal that is happy with so little. All this… it’s the polar opposite of Los Angeles.
Logan’s thick eyebrows are knitted together.
“What’s up? Sutten has you second-guessing next season?” I ask. “You need to be focused on the one at hand.”
“Just thinking about how you’ve been with PT a lot lately,” he says.
