Bucked

“And your girlfriend too!” says Damien.

“My girlfriend—”

That bastard! If he could do that to me and an innocent bull, what is he going to do to Chastity?

“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” Joe asks. “Girls are icky!”

“Nah, they ain’t,” Ricky says with an air of maturity. “Kanen probably does have a girlfriend.”

I try again to sit up but my ribs hurt too much and I end up lying back, trying not to show my pain to the little ones.

“Are you okay, Kanen?” asks Joe, ever perceptive. “You don’t look so good.”

“Maybe we should go, guys,” says Ricky. “Give him some time to rest.”

Damien hugs me again, a little too hard for physical comfort, but just right for my heart.

“Bye Kanen. Get well soon!” Ricky yells, trying to hurry the little ones out.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Damien says, pulling a card out of a plastic bag. “We made this for you,” he smiles, and puts it in my hand and then runs out after the others.

Kanen, get well soon, it reads, and there’s a picture of what I can only assume is me riding the bull. On the inside, I’m on the ground with X’s for eyes. Thanks kids. I laugh, and cringe at the pain in my ribs. But it’s worth it. A bright spot in what’s become a very dark world.

Twenty-Nine

Chastity

Lacey’s in shock. “Are you serious? What an asshole. So he fucks you over, and then maybe tries to kill Kanen?” She shakes her head as she drives.

“Or just hurt him,” I say. “I don’t know what got into this guy, but he sure does hate us. I mean, he hates me because I spilled a beer on him. That’s not exactly a reason to get someone deported. But he hates Kanen because of who he is.”

“Yeah, wow.”

“I really don’t know what to do. And after I heard those cowboys yelling about all the women who’d be happy to sit on Kanen’s lap, so to speak, it’s hard to be sure about anything.”

“Cowboys are dogs, generally.” Lacey nods to herself. “They have this honor thing, but it only applies to some aspects of their lives. Not necessarily to anything else.”

“What are those things?”

“They have an honor thing with the women they love, but the women they don’t love are fair game.”

“Yeah.” I don’t know. I’m not sure which one I am. “I mean, he said he loved me, but who knows?”

“Hold up!” she turns to me. “He said he loved you?”

“Well, yeah. A few times.”

“Was he in his right mind?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Was he in possession of his faculties,” she says. “But either way, if says he loves you...”

“It was after he fell off the bull, and probably hopped up on some crazy painkillers, so who knows,” I say. “Probably didn’t mean anything.”

“Hmm. Still,” she says. Her eyes are calculating. “It’s not a bad sign. Definitely not a bad sign.” She pulls off the road. “Do you want an ice cream? We should celebrate!”

“Celebrate what? Getting deported? Having the guy you’re seeing in the hospital?”