Page 60 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

We don’t talk much more after that, both of us caught in our own thoughts. The sign for his town comes into view, and Griff’s fingers grip the steering wheel harder.

He makes a series of turns until we’re driving down a mixed neighbourhood of houses, fourplexes, and mobile homes. He pulls into a driveway at the oldest mobile home on the street. It has to be a 1960s model with a rusted tin roof and windows that look original. The only thing on the outside that looks new is a small wooden platform deck off the side.

“Well, this is it. Hard to believe it looked better when I grew up here.”

“But you had a bed to sleep in at least, right?”

If I don’t find something bright about this, I might crack and not provide the support I came here to provide.

Griff nods before opening the truck door. “That’s true. Could’ve been worse.” He waits for me in front of the truck, and when I reach him, he takes my hand. “His steps were rotting last year. I looked up a DIY video and made this new deck with a step so he wouldn’t trip and fall. I think it turned out pretty good.”

“I love a man who’s good with his hands.”

Griff snorts before puffing another long breath.

“If you want to change your mind, just take the truck and I’ll text you.”

“I’m not changing my mind, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

The open emotion in his eyes leaves no room for words.

“Okay. Let’s meet my dad.”

nineteen

Griff

“Dad? It’s Griff.”

Jamieson lingers behind me as we step into the trailer, and my eyes immediately land on the bin filled with empty beer cans and a 26-oz bottle of rye. He usually sticks to beer, so that’s new, and I don’t like it any more than I like the number of empty beer cans.

The air is stale in the trailer in this late summer heat, and I smack the window air conditioner unit that’s usually running. It probably costs more than it’s worth to run, and I should look at replacing it.

“Son?”

My dad’s voice sounds from his bedroom, and I whisper to Jamie. “Let me go check on him. I’d say make yourself at home, but…” I gesture to the mess. “I usually clean up a little while I’m here, but I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

Jamie presses a kiss to my cheek, and I walk down the hall to Dad’s bedroom. I almost gag when I step inside. The scent of urine is overpowering, and I wonder how long he’s been lying in bed.

“Dad? You okay?”

I crack the old metal slat blinds on the window. The dust floats in the sunbeam as it tries to lighten the room and the atmosphere.

“I lay down for a nap after the Roughriders game, and now you’re here. This is a surprise.”

The Roughriders game was two fucking days ago. He’s been in his own piss for two days?

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get here this week, so I didn’t want to disappoint you, just in case.”

Dad pushes himself up. He’s a little wobbly, but stronger than I expected if he hasn’t moved in two days.

“Why don’t I help you with the shower, Dad? It will wake you up a little, and we can have lunch. It’s warm in here, too. You should get some water into you.”

“Oh, I don’t need help in the shower. I’m a grown man.”

His voice still carries that tone I hate. It’s a mix of denial that nothing is wrong with him and pride that he’d need help. It makes me want to scream. To yell at him that grown men don’t spend the day drinking and pass out in a bed full of piss, but that anger would get me nowhere. Instead, I push away his words and root around for clean clothes for him.

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