These last few weeks, since Libby had shown up with Deidre and the subsequent aftermath, he’d felt lost, like he didn’t know who he was anymore. Or who he could be.
He thought rodeo had settled that. He was the guy on the bronc who could be a world champ. But Libby had unsettled it. Had given him a glimpse of a bleaker reality. Because one day he could be nothing but an ex–world champ and wondering if that was all there was.
He didn’t want to be that guy—the guy who relived glory days ad nauseam. He’d met enough of them at rodeo confabs and among the trailers. Guys who’d had a decent run—and then nothing. And now, alone and forgotten, they traveled the circuits looking for answers, looking for another chance to grab the brass ring.
He reached the end of the walk. This was when the throbbing usually started. Only not today, not yet. He nodded to the sports doctor in attendance to signal he was okay and drew back the curtain to the locker room.
“You stayed on,” JT announced as if surprised.
Chance moved to his bag in the corner. “Better believe it. And don’t go looking any prettier up on those horses, JT. I need this win.”
JT smirked. “You’re closing in on the top fifteen, so what are you jawing about?”
“I need to be in the top fifteen.”
JT shook his head, then popped his hat on. “Keep going like this and you will be,” he said as he walked out the door.
If he could just shake off his feelings for Libby, maybe he could keep going. She said she wanted to be his wife, the mother of his children, the support he’d never had. Libby had a habit of jumping into things without thinking. Their marriage had been proof of that.
She’d met his mother and hadn’t gone running. But she’d never met his father. Never knew, thank God, the beast that lay within that man’s chest—and might be lying inside of his. Did she really know who he was?
Hell, he didn’t even know who he was anymore.
Libby had called him a few times and left messages. He’d texted her to say he was doing all right. She’d text back asking him to call. He hadn’t.
At least this time he hadn’t fallen apart, and his scores these last few rides attested to that. But, despite using those meditation techniques that had once worked so well, he hadn’t been able to turn off his mind as easily as he avoided her calls. After every rodeo, he had wondered if she’d be waiting for him again, surprising him. He imagined her running into his arms, but his imagination never moved beyond that point. His dreaming had never flash-forwarded to the home they would make together or the children they would have.
He had to face facts. When he left her at the bar, he’d effectively closed the door on any future with her. And besides, she had her hands full, no doubt, with nursing her father.
He’d just have to come to terms with that solitary existence she had warned him about. He was never meant to be the object of someone’s love. Not a mother’s, not a wife’s, not a child’s. Some men were made to be family men. He was destined to be a loner.
Looking around the nearly empty locker room, a question drummed through his head—why had his mother come, and why hadn’t she tried to see him?
*
Chance’s heart was pounding like he’d been running a race instead of walking up a few stairs to her apartment. It hadn’t taken more than an Internet search and a check through the phone book to find out where his mother lived. As he stood outside the door marked 205, he looked around at the small complex tucked between a convenience store and a gas station.
The place contained about thirty units. Paint was peeling from the sides of the clapboard building where the Portland rains beat on it. White railing was strung along the outside, defining the second-floor porch-like walkway, which no one would mistake for a balcony. Still, there was no litter strewn across the parking lot, which had been recently paved, if the tar smell was any indication. And the neighborhood seemed reasonably safe and well tended, with bigger condo complexes dotting the sides of the two-lane highway.
Chance took a deep breath as he asked himself what he was doing there. Or, more importantly, what he hoped to gain by being there. His mother had already told him her story. He’d been thinking a lot about what she had said. And whether her version mattered to him.
She hadn’t wanted to leave him. Or so she said. She’d tried to protect him. Or so she told herself. Did he believe her? Or did he just want to believe her? Was that why he’d come?
Never one to run, Chance tapped on the door. Maybe she was at work that Monday afternoon. He could tell himself he tried.
The thud of footsteps told him someone was home. He braced himself.
The door flung open.
“Chance!” It was more of a scream than a heralding. The tears in his mother’s eyes that mingled with pure joy said it was more from surprise than fear as she cradled her head in her hands.