Page 20 of The History Between Us

“This looks nice,” I offer, coming to stand beside him. “Where are you going to put it?”

“In the dining room,” he murmurs as he picks up the rest of the garbage and spare pieces. “These were all in storage bins in my spare bedroom closet up until a month ago when I got a hankering to do some building. I got them out and put them in my dining room, fully meaning to buy and build this right away, but time got away from me.”

“Here, I can help you move it into the dining room.”

“Uh, no, the hell you won’t,” he barks. “I told you, I’m not going to be responsible for you re-injuring yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoff. “I can use my free hand to lift it.”

“No, you will not. Besides, I need to vacuum and move some stuff around in there before I can put it in there, and that’s not happening today. I’ve used all of my energy just building it.”

Chuckling, I say, “Fair enough.”

“Want to stay for dinner?” he asks. “I don’t know what I’m having, but I can whip us up something.”

“Nah, I should get home. My mom said she’s making my favorite tonight.” I grin.

Nodding, Whit asks, “Do you know how long you have tostay there?”

“At least until my sling can come off.” Glancing down at my arm, I say, “I can’t do a whole lot for myself, like drive, until that happens, but it should get to come off soon, I would think.”

“Think you’ll be back on the circuit next year?”

“Shit, I sure as fuck hope so.”

The text Cope sent earlier, that I never responded to, comes to mind. It’s not the first time one of my buddies has checked in and I left them on read. It makes me feel like shit, because I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to respond. I appreciate them checking in, but I feel like some sort of… I don’t know, wet blanket or something. They’re off having the time of their life, competing every weekend, as they should, while I’m home, injured and unable to do shit. I can’t face them and see their pity.

I’ve tried not to think too much about it lately. The circuit and the time I’ve lost. All it does is pisses off, the fact that I’m at home while all my friends are on the road. I can’t help but feel like I’ve been robbed of my entire season, and then I start to ask myself why it had to happen to me, or why it happened this early in my career? Why couldn’t it happen later on when I’ve had time to make a name for myself?

I can’t rush my recovery time, or I risk making everything worse, but I pray like hell that by the time the next season starts, I’m in good enough shape to compete again. I need this. Without bull riding, I don’t know who the hell I am.

There is no Colt Bishop without the rodeo.

10

William Andino

“Come on, Winnie. Time to go.”

I pat my thigh, trying to get Winnie to come to me, but she’s rooted happily on my dad’s lap where he sits in the recliner in the living room. She’s going to the vet this morning for her first check-up—well, first in our care—and I told my dad I would drop her off on my way to work. Grabbing the leash off the hook in the kitchen, I stroll through the house toward the living room. They’ve been sitting there together as he watches the morning news since I got out of the shower an hour ago.

“Are you sure you’re okay to pick her up in a few hours?” I ask my dad as I hook the leash onto the loop on her collar. “If not, I can probably swing by and grab her on my lunch break. We shouldn’t be too busy today.”

“No, I can do it.” He waves me off. “I said I would do it, so I’ll do it.”

“Okay, well, if you change your mind, just give theoffice a call.”

Grunting his response, he returns his attention to the TV mounted on the wall, and that’s that.

With Winnie in hand, I leave the house and climb into my car. The clouds are dark and gray this morning, letting me know it’s probably going to rain soon. I much prefer to start my day with some sunshine. When I got in the car, I set Winnie in the passenger seat, but she has since climbed into my lap, standing with her front two paws on the door so she can look out the window as I drive. We haven’t even had her for a full week yet, but I have to admit, I’m growing fond of her. She’s a sweet girl, and as far as small dogs go, she’s not nearly as loud as I expected her to be. She also seems to make my father happy, which is a plus.

Every night when I get home from work, he tells me about what they did during the day. They’ve gone to the dog park, they play fetch in the backyard, he’s even taken her to the trail that runs through town. They can’t walk too far because of his hip, but the fresh air and the light exercise are good for his spirits. Maybe he was right about getting the dog, after all. Not that I’d ever admit that to him; I’d never hear the end of it.

Taking a right into the parking lot of the vet’s office, I pull into a spot right out front. There are only a few cars here at this time of day, but I believe they just opened. I don’t have to be at work for another half an hour, so I’m doing good on time. My first patient is later in the morning than usual, which is a nice change of pace.

A bell sounds as I push open the front door, and Whit looks up from the computer he’s typing at as I approach the front counter. “Good morning, Whit. Didn’t expect to see you up here.”

“Hello, Dr. Andino. Yeah, our receptionist is out today,”he murmurs, eyes right on Winnie. “Oh my gosh, look at this sweet girl!” Coming into the waiting room, he gives her a few chin scratches, her tail just a wagging at the attention she’s receiving. “She’s even cuter in person. I saw her on the schedule today, but I figured Roger would be the one bringing her in. What a…nice surprise.”

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