Page 41 of The Chances We Take

“Hey, Is.” He held me close.

“Now, who is this, Reid? I don’t think we’ve officially met.” An older man, who walked over with Reid, interrupted us. “I’m John.”

I shook his hand. “Isabelle.”

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Miss Isabelle. This young man here is a good one.” He leaned close to whisper to me, “Keep him around.”

I blinked, slightly taken aback by the last statement, but he wasn’t wrong. Reid really was a good guy. And I planned to keep him in my life as long as I could.

“Thank you for coming today.” Reid turned to John, nodding, but the older man pulled him in for a hug. It was a long one too; a hug that lingered.

“I’m proud of you, son. Keep doing what you’re doing.” A glimmer of what looked like sadness shone in the man’s eyes. “Well, I’d better get going. It’s a long drive back to Miles City.”

“Yes, sir. Be safe out there.”

“You too. Stay out of trouble, and I’ll see you the next time you come in!” John waved and went on his way.

“Isn’t he the one who owns the bar in Miles City?” I asked Reid once the older man was out of earshot. I’d seen him a couple times when we’d all been hanging out at the local bar.

“Yeah, that’s Rudy,” he replied. It all clicked. Of course. He was the bar’s namesake. “It means a lot to me that he comes to rodeos to watch—especially the ones that are a bit out of the way for him.”

“He’s not family, is he?” I didn’t think Reid had any family members named John or Rudy. He didn’t talk about his family a lot, but I was sure he would have mentioned him, because they seemed to have a good relationship.

“Not blood, no, but he’s still family to me.” Reid’s voice turned soft, as though he was drowning in a memory. “He’s an important person in my life.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

reid

LAST NOVEMBER

Happy Thanksgiving!” Isa’s singsong voice rang through the phone.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Isa,” I replied, my voice falling a bit flat.

“Are you doing anything fun today? Any plans for dinner? I’m planning on stuffing myself full of turkey and mashed potatoes until I can’t move.” She laughed, seemingly ignoring my lack of enthusiasm.

“Nah, Colter’s siblings are in town and they’re all having dinner at his mom’s place, and Jake, Mikey, and Hayden are all out of town visiting their family.”

“Oh. You didn’t go home?” her voice faded. She didn’t know how much I hated the big holidays, so it was a natural response to be sad. If one of my friends said the same thing, I’d probably feel for them too.

I’d told her earlier in the year that I didn’t like celebrating my birthday—after she gave me shit for not telling her about it. Plenty of people didn’t care about their birthday. And for a multitude of reasons. But holidays? Holidays were supposed to be the time families spenttogether. Holidays were supposed to behappy, not a time where everyone argued and tensions rose.

They weren’t supposed to be a time of loneliness—hopelessness.

The timer on the stove went off again, the sound cutting through the silence in the house.

“Reid! Turn that shit off!” Mom groaned from the same spot on the couch she was always in. She was still drinking; she wasalwaysdrinking.

I sighed, heading into the kitchen. I opened about five different drawers before I found the oven mitts. The smell of slightly burnt crust wafted out of the oven as I opened the door and grabbed the frozen pizza my mom had put in and clearly forgot about.

Normal kids got a big feast of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and vegetables on Thanksgiving. We got burnt pizza and whatever else was in the fridge.

“Is Dad coming for dinner?” Kacey pulled on my arm. At the age of eleven, this was all she’d ever really known for holidays. She would have been too young to remember a time when the holidays weren’t dysfunctional.

“I don’t think so, Kace,” I sighed, trying to ignore the defeated look that clouded her eyes. “Sit down and I’ll cut you a piece. Cooper! Ryker!” I called for my brothers, and they came tearing out of their bedrooms.

“Ooh, pizza, my favorite.” Cooper snatched a piece of pepperoni off the top as he skirted by the counter on the way to the table.

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