Page 22 of Waiting Game

“It’s uncanny that they all have names starting with ‘C.’”

“Why?”

“Because my siblings do too.”

“No way.”

“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “Colt’s the eldest, then there’s Cody, followed by me, and then Callan.”

“Your mom didn’t mind?”

“It’s a family tradition.” She wouldn’t havedaredminding.

“Who’s the charming one?”

“I’m wounded that you have to ask. I’m also the cheeky one. Cody’s a cunning cunt, but he’s a fighter pilot so I figure that’s a part of his job description. Callan’s pretty cute. But he’s more curious. About everything.”

“What about Colt?”

“He’s an S-word.”

“A what word?”

“Stoic. He always looks like he’s in pain.”

She pauses mid-swallow. “Sounds sad.”

“Nah. He’s happy. Sort of.”

“If you say so.”

I’ve no idea why I decide to share an old family truth with her, but I rumble, “We’re ranchers. When I was fifteen and he was twenty-two, we had this big fire and we lost a lot of horses—he and I…wenever got over it.”

Her eyes grow round. “That’s so sad.”

I nod then pull up my hoodie, letting her see my stomach. Those round-as-a-penny eyes of hers widen even more.

“You tried to save the horses?” she rasps, taking note of my scars.

“We all did. Apart from Callan who was too young, none of us were spared from burns.”

Her fingers trace the pockmarked and puckered skin. I don’t normally like being touched there, as it’s both sensitive and numb so it’s uncomfortable, but I don’t stop her. Not when there’s sorrow in her eyes. Sorrow that’s so tangible, I can almost touch it. Sorrow forme.

“How many horses?”

“Eight.” Fuck, that still hurts to say out loud.

She releases a sharp gasp. “No!”

My pain feels like her pain and it makes it easier to share the fact that my grief is as raw as it was when I was a kid: “Lost my quarter horse, Betsy. I learned to ride on her. She was my BFF.”

“Cole, I’m so sorry.”

Her words are genuine and they choke me up, but it’s the glossiness in her eyes that hits me harder. Those tears are why, gruffly, I change the subject. “I have more family than the 3Cs though.”

“Jesus Christ, really?”

“Yeah, but they’re bros by choice. Eight of ‘em.”

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