Page 52 of Chasin' Cole

Chapter 19 – Rose and Roots

Cole

My hotel room is cold and dank as I drop my equipment off. Clint wants to grab a beer across the street before we call it a night. We have a two-day filming break. I've been considering flying home for a day. But I don't want to show up unannounced. I don't want to confuse Rose. I don't want to knock on her door and tell her we only have 11 hours before I have to board another plane and fly back. That's not fair to her.

Instead of wondering what the right thing to do is, I've been carrying around my grandmother's ring. It's sitting in my pocket, a hopeful reminder that if I can survive this year, I can go home to Rose. I can go home and marry her.Ifshe'll have me.

I wander into the bathroom and flick on the light. I haven't shaved in two weeks and I'm in desperate need of a haircut. If Brock were here, he'd be giving me a hard time, telling me I've let myself go. In a way, I have.

Turning on the sink faucet, I cup my hands together and collect the refreshing water. I toss it onto my face, sucking in a harsh breath as the cold water hits my skin.

I stare in the mirror, hardly recognizing myself. I never meant to fall in love with Rose. I never meant to carry on the way we did. I just...it's Rose. The blond little girl who used to follow Brock and me around when she was barely old enough to ride a bike. The same girl who threw rocks at my head when I told her she wasn't allowed to tip cows with us.My Rose.I never thought of her as mine back then, but she is now. Maybe she's the reason I was never really interested in anyone else. Hell, what do I know?

I left small town Oklahoma a long time ago. I packed up my things and left because Kenzie pinned her affair on me. She was so convincing; Brock wouldn't listen to me. I ran. I ran and I never looked back. Oklahoma was just a stopping point to check in on my mom and then keep running. But Rose...Rose makes me want to put down roots.

Roots.

I haven't had any of those in a long time.

There's a banging on my hotel room door. I wipe my face off with a towel before I open the door and find Clint leaning against the wall. In shorts. The same shorts we hiked for miles in today.

"You're not changing?" I ask as I stare down at my pants. They're covered in dirt.

"When you reach my seasoned age," Clint scoffs, "you're not looking to impress anyone."

"You're 57," I argue. "I don't call that seasoned. I call that deteriorating."

"You say to-mat-to. I say tom-ate-o."

"Come in," I step aside. "I'm going to change my pants before we head out."

"Don't forget you have that ring in your pocket," he reminds me.

I stop walking and turn to face him. "How did you know?"

"I'm old, Son," he shakes his shaggy, grey head. "Not blind."

"It's..."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," he waves off. "Go change. I need something strong to help with the pain." He rubs his leg. "Haven't quite been the same since that hip surgery."

He shouldn't even be on this assignment with me. He should be home with his wife, living in a retirement community in Florida, soaking up the sun. Instead, he's trekking through dusty hillsides with me.

I change quickly, making sure to tuck the ring box in the front pocket of my jeans. "You ready, old man?"

"I fell asleep waiting on you to pretty yourself up for a bar full of women you won't give a second glance to," he raises an eyebrow at me.

"What are you inferring?" I narrow my eyes.

"What's the girl's name?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "What girl?"

"The one back home." Clint sees right through me.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie as I open the hotel room door.

"You planning on proposing to someone soon then?" Clint continues as he shuffles out the door.

---