Let It Go (28 page)

The first thing he did when he walked into his empty house was rip that damned portrait off the wall and throw it across the room. He had no memory after that. He just knew that those fucking ghosts wouldn’t be watching him and that’s all that he wanted. He fell onto the sofa and dragged the quilt off the back and that’s where he stayed. Because where else did he have to go? Just him all alone with all these fucking ghosts.

Chapter 20

“Watch what you’re doing, Eli, you’re dripping paint everywhere.”

Eli lowered the roller into the bucket and leaned on the long handle. Pink paint splattered the grass in his area while Randy’s section was remarkably drip-free. He swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Paint dotted his arms and his chest; the jeans he wore were trash now. He gave up on shoes days ago when he ruined his best pair of boots. “I’m watching what I’m doing. I’ve never painted anything before; give me a damned break.”

“At least it’s the outside and you can’t fuck it up too much. I’ll tell you this, when it’s time to paint inside, hire someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. The drywall fiasco is still very fresh in my mind.” Randy laughed. The sound grated on Eli’s last nerve.

“I got the job done. It looks pretty damned good and I did it myself.”

“It looks good because people who knew what they were doing came in and bailed your ass out.” Randy continued to smooth Pepto-Bismol pink paint on the stucco wall, ignoring Eli’s murderous go-to-hell looks. “And stop looking at me like that or I’ll leave you out here to finish this little chore by yourself.”

“Go ahead. I didn’t ask you to come around and mess in my shit.” Eli looked out over the pasture to the horses sunning themselves under the winter-stark oak. The foals followed their mamas around, and Kip—well, Kip just moped around as if he were human.
He’s not coming back, buddy
, was all Eli could tell him every time he brushed him down. He didn’t tell him he’d looked everywhere. It didn’t do to get the animal’s hopes up. He heard Randy mumbling and tuned back in.

“I said, how long has it been since you got laid? Because you are this close to getting your ass kicked.” Randy went pale after the words left his mouth. “Seriously? It’s been five months. You need to let it go, man.”

“I don’t think my sex life is any of your business. I’m always like this. At least that’s what you’ve always told me.” Eli wouldn’t comment on the rest. He didn’t need the lecture or the reminder.

“So it’s what, then? Being stuck out here in the country and not running around
the
country that’s making you mean? Then why stay?”

“What the hell else is there for me to do? I’m retired from rodeo. I don’t want to drive from town to town as part of someone’s crew. I have a damn ranch that needs saving. Should I just sell it? Would that make you happy?”

“If that’s what it will take to make you less miserable. Hell, I’ll buy it from you. Join the property to Dad’s and buy more cattle.”

“I’m not selling my land; just shut the fuck up about that.”

“He’s not coming back, Eli.”

Eli threw the paint roller across the yard and stalked away. It was either that or strangle Randy. He didn’t count on Randy following him into the stable and out of the warm sunlight. He shivered as he dragged on the shirt he’d left there earlier. “What does it matter to you anyway? You didn’t like him. You can’t stand knowing I’m gay. Why are we having this conversation? What does it matter?”

“Because you are miserable. And you love him. And I hate seeing you like this. It’s worse than when you first came home. It’s worse because I saw how happy you were with him. And it’s killing me seeing you like this.”

“He left. I know he’s not coming back. I can’t hunt him down and make him come back. He didn’t want to stay and he didn’t return my feelings. Just let it rest. You want me to let it go, but you keep bringing it up. Let it rest.”

“Eli.” Randy grabbed his arm as he walked past, his grip hard, his voice soft. “I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again. But for what it’s worth, I think he did return your feelings. I think he was in love with you.”

“Then why did he leave?” Eli yanked his arm away and leaned over the rail looking into one of the empty stalls. He could still see Creed slumped against the rail the day he nearly died. Turning tomato red as Eli watched. “You thought he was some bum just using me while he was stuck out here, remember?”

“I know, I shouldn’t have said that. I was still so angry and scared to death I was going to prison for killing your uncle… I thought it was all his fault. But Eli, that morning in the hospital when I came in, the way the two of you held each other, the look of perfect contentment on your face and his, I don’t think he lied. I think he was scared and did what came natural. Run. His type, Eli, he probably doesn’t know what safe is so he ran.”

Eli absorbed this little piece of news with a shrug. Did it even matter? Even if he’d stayed, Eli would wonder if it was all a lie. He knew that now. He closed his eyes but the image of him on his knees servicing Owen swam wavy and dark there. Words didn’t mean a thing. He’d told Owen he loved him. Creed was a whore. A lying whore. His old man—whatever the hell he was to Creed—said it.
He lies to your face.
Eli knew it was true. Creed had been screwed over by everyone he ever knew, and that now included Eli. Why the hell would he come back?

“It doesn’t matter, Randy, I know he’s not coming back. And even if he did it wouldn’t be the same. I’m not the same; how could he possibly be? It’s just the shock of it all. I can’t… Owen’s house was a shrine to the two of us. I can’t forget that. He had…” Eli couldn’t continue. He had to stop to catch his breath. “I tried calling my cell phone hoping he still had it. I left messages hoping he’d get them.”

Eli brushed the fleck of dirt from his eye. His house was a hoarder’s dream palace. Owen wasn’t like that growing up. He’d liked everything clean and organized. Eli hadn’t been prepared for what he found in Louisiana. His animals neglected, house stacked to the ceiling with junk. In Eli’s old room he found his missing Stetson along with Creed’s wallet. The walls were covered with newspaper clippings of their rodeo appearances. Pictures of them pinned all over the place. Some of them together from the early days when they competed head-to-head. And from later when they would meet up in a bar. It made him physically ill to see the room. He wondered if maybe Owen had substituted Creed for him. Before Creed came into the picture… Eli didn’t know what to think. Did Owen beat the hell out of him because he wanted to fuck him, was that what Creed became? His stand-in? Or did Owen have legitimate feelings for Creed? “I wanted to make sure he went for tests just in case, you know…the autopsy didn’t turn up anything, but I doubt they were testing for STDs, just drugs or brain rot or something, I don’t know.”

“Eli, you don’t want to hear it, but Creed knows how to take care of himself. I’m sure that’s the first thing he did after he left. And the two of you were safe so—”

“We weren’t. I went in for testing as soon as I could drag my ass over to Pensacola. I didn’t want the local hospital staff knowing I was worried about anything. Anyway, I’m finished talking about this. We have painting to finish before dark.”

“Except you threw your roller in the weed patch you call grass and it’ll have to be cleaned. And I’m not the one out here brooding.” Randy tried for cheerful and failed. Eli could hear the frustration in his sigh. “Look, I didn’t know. I know you’re hurting and I’m trying to be a friend. I can leave if you want me to. But dammit, Eli, I’m trying to understand. I’m trying to put all of my personal feelings aside and be your damned friend but you keep pushing me away. Just like you did when you came home. Let it go. Just for … just let the past go, Eli, and find some peace. You fell in love. Your heart is broken. It happens. It happens to everyone. There’s some guy out there somewhere just waiting for someone like you to come along and snap him up. I just know there is.”

Eli swung around to face Randy. “What the hell?” The look on Randy’s face was priceless, eyes wide, cheeks flame red. “Oh dear God, Randy, that is such a load of bullshit.”

“I know, I feel dirty just saying it.” His laugh turned into a cough. “I cannot be a girlfriend. That is just … no, okay, I tried to get in touch with my touchy-feely side but I’d rather just punch you and tell you to fucking cowboy up and walk away.”

“Then do that. Because dude, I might like dudes but I am not a girl. Okay, so I’m wallowing, and maybe I deserve it. Maybe I’ll drive up to Atlanta or over to New Orleans soon and have a long, gay, hedonistic weekend. After I get this damned house painted. Does that make you happy? Want to go?”

“Yes, that… Okay, I don’t know and no, hell no, I don’t want to go.”

“Come on, Randy, why not? Afraid you might like it?” Eli threw his arm in the air, snapping his fingers in time to nonexistent music, and danced over to Randy. “You know what they say, once you go gay—”

His phone vibrating in his pocket cut him off. He looked up at Randy as soon as he saw the number. “It’s my old cell.” His fingers trembled. The thing had gone missing when Creed had. He kept it turned on just in case Creed should ever need to call him. But Creed didn’t have this number. Creed would have called the house number. “Hello,” he answered, trying not to sound as if he was scared or anything like that.

“Go turn on ESPN.” It wasn’t Creed.

“Who is this?” he asked, even though he knew. “Sly?”

“Just go turn on ESPN.”

“How’d you get my phone? Did you find him?” The line went dead with no answer.

Eli stared at the phone in his hand wondering why the old man was being so cryptic and why did Sly have his phone? Did he have it all this time while Eli assumed it was Creed who’d taken it?

“What was that about?” Randy asked, his moment of humor over now that his cop instincts had surfaced.

“I think it was Sly, not sure, whoever it was said to go turn on ESPN.” Eli shoved his phone back into his pocket. The urge to hit Redial was strong, but he knew whoever had called wouldn’t answer.

Randy followed him into the house to the new flat screen in the living room. He found the remote under a drop cloth and fumbled through the channels looking for ESPN. “I don’t watch that much television.”

“Channel two-eighty-one. Damn, Eli, give it here.” Randy took the remote and they sat down during a beer commercial. The digital guide pulled up PBR live from San Antonio.

“I was supposed to ride in that one. I lost all my damned entry fees for this year.” Eli tried not to wonder why someone would call just to rub his retirement in when the program came back on and the announcers began a recap of the day’s events. The leader board made Eli gasp. Creed Dickson currently in third. “What the fuck is he doing riding fucking bulls? He’s not a … he’s going to get himself killed.”

“He’s third, Eli, looks like he’s doing okay,” Randy offered while Eli stalked to the kitchen to retrieve his laptop. While the final round played out he searched through the upcoming events until he found one where Creed was registered. “Dallas, Tuesday night. I can be there by then,” Eli said as Creed’s ride came up.

He couldn’t watch. He couldn’t look away either. Creed wore a new black hat that obscured Eli’s view of his face. His hair was long enough to pull into a queue at the back of his neck. At least he hadn’t shaved it all off this time. White shirtsleeves poked out from the black flak jacket covered with sponsor logos. He wore the same buff gloves he’d always worn. Probably something he’d left in Sly’s truck. He looked tense. His jaw tight. Eyes cast down to the back of the bull. He nodded, listening to the old man leaning over the rail. Sly. There were others checking his ropes. Creed nodded again. Arm in the air. And the gate flew open. The bull bounded sideways out of the chute, his feet barely touching the ground as he tried to buck the stupid human off his back. Eli stopped breathing. Creed’s head flung around like a rag doll’s, arm held high, but he held on. Six seconds. Seven, and then eight. Shit, he did it. And then he flew off the back, somehow twisting his body until he did a sort of flip and landed on his feet.

“He’s a natural, damn, what a ride,” Randy hooted from his end of the sofa as the bullfighters wrangled the animal away from Creed. He stood in the middle of the arena, hat in his hands. His face stern. No smile. Eyes dead.

“He’s going to get himself killed.”

“It was a ninety-one point ride, Eli, he looked good. It’s too late in the season for him to do much but damn, he did it and put that snot Jimmy Marquess in his place.”

“He’s not in it for the season. He’s not in it for the fun. He’s going to get killed.”

“He’s a grown man, Eli. What are you going to do? Run out to Dallas and start shit with him? He made his choice—”

“He’s challenging me. That’s why the old man called. He’s in my sport, not in his. It’s a challenge. And he’s trying to get himself killed. The ride was sloppy. He doesn’t know bulls. He knows broncs; it’s not the same. He held on. That’s all he did.” Eli was down the hallway in the room he and Creed had shared. The only bedroom left with any furniture in it. He dragged his duffel out of the closet and started shoving clothes into the bag. Enough for a week. He remembered to grab a jacket. Just because winter never really showed up here didn’t mean he wouldn’t run into it. “It’s Sunday. I can be in Dallas by tomorrow night if I drive straight through.”

“Are you crazy? Talk about killing yourself. Eli, just let it go, okay? He’s not challenging you. He knows where you live; if he wanted to be with you, he’d be here. Not on television thumbing his nose at you. He’s in bulls because there’s more money. He’s not stupid. And all you have to do is just hang on for eight damn seconds.” Randy followed him into the bedroom.

“Think so? Try it. I dare you. It’s more than just hanging the fuck on. It’s staying out of reach of its head, its horns, and its hooves. It’s about not getting dead. And even if he doesn’t want…” Eli stopped shoving clothes in the bag and turned to face his friend. “I need to hear him say there is nothing between us, Randy. I need that much. I need to hear it from his mouth that it was just fucking around. Because right now I can’t let anything go until I know the truth.”