Page 44 of Colt
“Have you met him?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I’ve met him. He sort of came to one of my birthday parties one time. And I went to see him ride in the rodeo.”
“Is that why you became a bull rider?”
“Yes and no,” I say slowly. “I wanted to do it, because I liked it. But there was part of me that thought…This is the only thing you care about, and I can do it too.You don’t think I’m special, but I can do the thing that you think makes you special, andI’ll be better at it.Of course, the problem with narcissists is that they don’t really notice when you mount campaigns like that. Because it would require them to pay the tiniest bit of attention to someone who isn’t them. And that doesn’t happen.”
She slows her movements, hands buried in the sink. “Wow. That is so… Deeply unsatisfying.”
“You’re telling me. I was expecting to show up to the rodeo and be like: Hey, Dad, look at me.” I shake my head. “He didn’t even look twice at me. All the times we passed each other at events – he wasn’t riding anymore then but he used to make appearances and shit, and he just looked through me half the time. Or worse, would say hi casually like I was a fan. He just doesn’t care. That’s the thing. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anybody but himself, and he never has. I’ve accepted it now. It doesn’t add anything to my life to think about him. Not ever. So I just don’t.” I don’t consider my thinking about him when I was hopped up on pain pills to be me breaking that practice. It doesn’t count.
“At least my mom didn’tchooseto leave.”
“I guess. But honestly, that’s one of the things that makes me even matter. Your mom was great. She should still be here. My dad sucks. He should’ve had my accident. But no. He’s walking around on two good legs with absolutely no good scruples.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You think you have half-siblings?”
“I can’t imagine that I don’t. I’m sure if I uploaded my DNA to one of those websites it would go crazy.”
“Sarah says that she won’t do that for that reason.”
I nod. “I mean, I haven’t done it for a reason. I can’t say that I especially want to meet a whole bunch of other people who are related to my dad. Not given everything I know about him.”
“But maybe they’re like you.”
“Maybe. Maybe my dad had really good taste in women. And all of them made us into better people than he is. I’d like to think that’s true.”
Then I think about my behavior earlier, and I realize that Allison might think the idea that I’m a good person is sort of up for debate at this point. “I mean, I’m marginally better than my dad,” I add.
“You’re better than your dad,” she says, handing me the last plate. “Don’t… Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“You’ve been doing this whole guilt and sorrow thing, and I don’t like it. I’d rather you just be yourself. You’re annoying, you’re cocky, you’re a pain in the butt, but at least it’s normal. I don’t…”
She takes her hands out of the sink water and brushes them against her jeans, and then she turns away from me. Quickly.
I reach out and grab her by the arm, turning her toward me, and too late, I realize my mistake. I was focused on my guilt, not how I needed to watch myself around her. And now here we are, squaring off again, facing each other. And my heart is pounding hard. Just like it did out in the yard earlier.
“Allison,” I say. “What if… What if this is normal for me now? What if there’s no more of that guy that I used to be.”
She swallows hard, I can see it. “I don’t think that’s true. I’m sure that you’ll be back to normal.”
“I’m not sure that I want to,” I say. I don’t know anything. That’s the problem. My memories of getting thrown off the bull are terrible. I want to get back to my life, but I also don’t want to get back to it. I don’t want to be changed by this, but I know I have been.
“You kind of have to be affected by near-death experiences, don’t you?”
“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want.”
“I want… I want to be more like you. I want to take the bad things and make them into good things.”
“Colt,” she whispers. “You’ve always been the best one. The one that everybody’s drawn to. You’re the one that everybody loves. You know that.”
“I don’t know if that’s true.” I reach out then, and without thinking, I drag my thumb over her cheekbone. It’s like an electric shock, my skin against hers. She’s touched me quite a bit over the last few weeks. Assisting me. Helping me out. But like my hand on her hip last night, this is different. It just feels different.
“Don’t,” she says.
“You said that already.”
