Page 92 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

“What’s that?”

“I can’t hold up my eyelids,” I whisper with a laugh.

A beat of silence passes before Griff speaks again in the same tired voice.

“Mickey has to wear pants because mice have dicks. Ducks don’t.”

“What?”

“The pants thing. It’s not bizarre. It’s dicks.”

“This conversation makes no sense. Of course, ducks have dicks.”

When he doesn’t reply, I roll my head his way and find him fast asleep with his mouth parted and his cheeks still flushed. Rather than wake him and force him to carry on with the conversation about mice and duck dicks, I decide it’s better to just let it go.

If anyone knows that kind of information, it’s Jackson. If I’m still awake in an hour, I’ll call him and ask.

After dragging the blanket over, I snuggle in next to Griff as best as I can on the couch and let the cartoons continue playing. One episode blends into the next until my eyes no longer stay open. I forget about the pants-less duck, and finally fall asleep with Griff in my arms.

In my arms, my heart, and my life.

As it should be.

twenty-nine

Epilogue

Two years later

Griff

“Did you check in at home? Everything okay?”

Jamieson sets a fresh piña colada in the cup holder of my beach chair before settling next to me in his. Jamieson in his swim shorts, stretched out in the Dominican sunshine, is a sight I’ll never tire of.

“Yeah. I spoke to Dad, and he’s doing well. Said he’s walking dogs with Riley today, and tomorrow your sister will drive him to therapy.”

He hums under his breath and sips his cocktail. A pineapple mojito, I think he called it. Something about needing to test the theory of copious amounts of pineapple.

“She’s good that way. She might end up taking him shopping, though. Maybe you should give your dad a heads up.”

Smiling at the thought of my dad shopping with Jamie’s sister, I lower my sunglasses and lean back. After Jamieson went to the National Finals and won, our lives moved almost too fast.

First, we hired help to finish the house renovations with his prize money. Then we moved my dad into his basement suite and sold his trailer in Fox Grove. It took a while to sell, but in the end, itgave me and Dad a chance to really mend a lot of our relationship. Sometimes just the two of us would make the trip to the trailer and pack up a few things while checking on the place. Other times, Jamieson would join us.

Dad used that time to work through a lot of the other relationships he broke with co-workers and friends. It wasn’t perfect, and some were happy he was doing well. Some didn’t care, and that was okay, too.

When Jamieson came with us, Dad would tell stories about me as a kid. Jamieson loved every single one.

We had our first Christmas together as a family in a home I could call my own. It didn’t matter if the mortgage was in Jamieson’s name. It wasourhome, and I knew that. Jamieson, with help from his sister, had personalized stockings made that we hung on the mantle.

It was a small thing, really, to have our names on brightly coloured stockings, but to me, it was yet another gesture from my best friend. If I asked for something, he delivered, and it wasn’t just tasty drinks on the beach in the Dominican. He was in this thing with me, and he proved it every single day.

This trip is a late gift for my graduation. I finally finished my master’s degree in social work. I landed a position at the rehab centre my dad still attends for therapy. It’s been a change from dodging bulls and keeping riders safe, but it’s filled the last crack in my life. I still work at the Kissing Ridge rodeo, though, and I probably will until Jamieson quits riding bulls. Which might be sooner than we both thought.

“Do you think we could look for seashells somewhere? The beach doesn’t look like it has much.”

Jamie smiles like he knew that question was coming.

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