Chapter 14
Blake
It was Thanksgiving, at least I was pretty sure of it just because there was nothing but football on the television. The television had become my life ever since I’d broken both legs.
When Silver left, I pretty much lost it. I felt deflated and listless and the only way I could lessen the sense of loss was to drink. And I did plenty of it. My morning juice was half vodka, lunch was two martinis, and dinner was the beginning of the night shift of the really intense consumption of whiskey, rum, and tequila. I looked forward to the nights, full of oblivion and absent of regrets. When these ended I fell into mindless sleep and hated to wake up and start over the next morning.
I never climbed aboard Cain again; the owners wouldn’t permit it after I’d fallen into this hole. Word spread that I was washed up; some said I’d found fear and others decided I’d never been much more than a fluke. I let them say it, and get away with it. Who knows … maybe they were right. Maybe I was never as good as everyone let me believe I was.
She was the only one who believed in me. She had gotten down to the roots of my soul and hadn’t flinched. She believed I could be the best in the world and was willing to stake her reputation and her efforts on it. No one had ever believed in me like that before. I didn’t take that lightly.
Jill hadn’t been able to find her. I went over there every week and although she’s hinting at wanting more money, I was not going to give her anything until I got something in return. She was liable to send me on a goose chase and that would only make things worse.
Jason came to the ranch and dragged me out to an event while I was still hung over. I sneaked a few gulps of whiskey to take the edge off and when I climbed onto the bull, he knew I wasn’t in control. The gate opened and the bull not only threw me off, but doubled back to stomp on me, particularly my legs. They couldn’t pull him off me.
I ended up in the back of an ambulance and while my body was broken into pieces, it was my soul that was really damaged. I no longer had any will to succeed, to compete, and often questioned whether I even wanted to live. I had completely given up.
Silver had represented so much more than just a woman in my bed. She believed in the part of me that was most vulnerable; most susceptible to public judgement. She championed me and the simple smile she had bestowed on me meant more than all the trophies and money I had earned to date.
So, there I was, stuck in bed and with a helluva lot of physical therapy in my future, and it wasn’t going to be the kind of physical connection I wanted. I was a shadow of my former self.
I had a private nurse to look after me and she confided in the doctor that I was fighting recovery with depression. She did her best to improve my mood and they brought in a therapist to analyze my childhood. It wasn’t my childhood that needed analyzing; all I needed was one woman.
Then came the day that changed everything. The nightstands were piled with get-well cards and flowers, but it was dots on a computer screen that got my attention. I was balancing the laptop on my quasi-lap, playing a game when an email came in.
I had to leave, and I have to stay away. You, on the other hand, have to pull it together. You not only owe it to yourself to take your own bull by the horns, but you owe it to me. Someday I might explain, but you’ll never know unless you’re standing on your own two feet. ~Silver
It was a cryptic message, but she was alive and well and out there somewhere. I felt a pain in my chest as strong as that first morning she left. One thing remained clear, though: she still believed in me.
My life changed at that point. The next morning, when the nurse came, I was awake and had pulled myself upright with the overhead bar. “Bring my breakfast, please and then get that physical therapist in here. I’ve got things to get accomplished and they won’t get done with me in here.”
She was shocked by the sudden turn-around in my behavior, but didn’t dare question it. I could see in her eyes that she wondered what had happened. She did just as I told her to do, though and within an hour, a therapist was by my bedside going through the motions of the recuperative exercises. Within two weeks, I was vertical and on crutches. Within a month, I was out of the casts and in supportive braces. A month after that, I was at the gym and had begun lifting weights with my legs.
There were no more messages, although I checked constantly. I tried to track the origin of the one she’d sent, but the header information just traced back to Google’s Gmail. There was no way to know where she was and it was killing me. But I knew she was watching, and for now, I had to settle for that. I would make her proud of me again.
My doctors had no clue of the impetus behind my drive to recover. I stopped drinking entirely; there wasn’t even a beer in my kitchen any longer. I was eating better and exercising daily. I’d begun hanging around the arenas and followed the circuit.
I wanted to get a message to her so I took a chance. I sponsored a banner that was hung right next to the chute at the next event.
Silver Call were the simple words I posted.
I’d waited for a month and there was no call. Was this a sign that she would never come back to the surface? Would I ever see her again? I vacillated between longing and anger with her. She owed me an explanation. She owed me my life back.
There was no call from Silver. I was forced to accept that her note to me had been meant as a kick in the butt and nothing more. She wasn’t coming back. I wondered where she was and what kind of life she’d made for herself. Was she working in something she loved? Was she happy? Did she have someone new in her life?
These questions tore me up. I felt it was my responsibility to look after her; had since the day I first saw her. Whether it was God or destiny, I just knew my role was to look after her welfare. I’d thought about hiring a detective to find her but then I knew there was nothing I could do to make her come home with me if she didn’t want to. I wouldn’t want her that way, regardless. If she was to come back to me, it would be because she wanted to.
After a few months, I gave up. I was back to full strength but I’d lost my nerve to climb onto a bull. Every time I thought about it I got dizzy and my legs felt weak, even though they weren’t. My incentive was gone.
I felt as though I was in limbo. I hung around the arenas and helped some of the other guys, almost going back to what I’d done as a kid. But I would not climb up onto a bull. Just to keep my hand in things, I tried my hand at calf roping and broncos, although these were child’s play compared to the bulls. I stayed on the fringes. I was stuck. I wasn’t happy.
The riders were leaving soon to travel a yearlong circuit. I thought I’d go along, just to do some bronco riding. It was, after all, the only life I really knew. It was not, however, the life I wanted.