Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(113)

He couldn’t argue with that. But she’d be surprised if he didn’t try.
“The guilt is eating at me.”

“Guilt that you’re alive and Ryan’s not?”

“No. Guilt I didn’t push him harder to wear a helmet. He’d be alive if he’d listened to me. Banged up, but alive. How can I live with that?”

Pointing out the obvious—there were no guarantees anything would’ve saved Ryan—would mean nothing to him right now.
“And here I am, wrecked because an eighteen-year-old kid I barely knew died. But I sure as f*ck didn’t act this way after my cousin Luke got killed.” His head fell back against the concrete wall. “Christ. I grew up with Luke. His death ripped our family to pieces. But I could only spare two days out of my life, out of my precious schedule to go to his funeral? And once I was back on tour, I didn’t think of him at all. Even when I knew his brothers were beyond hurting. Did I reach out to them? No. Did I make an extra effort to keep in better contact with my own brothers because I understood how lucky I was I still had them? No.
“In fact, I called them less than before. Same with my folks. Even now, when Jackie lost her only child and she’s devastated, I’m sitting here thinking about myself. How I feel. How it’s affected me. How f*cked up is that?” Chase squeezed his eyes shut against the tears trickling down his miserable face. “Don’t answer that. I’m a cold, self-centered son of a bitch. A shitty son, a shitty brother and a shitty friend.”

Ava silently cried along with him, her heart breaking for this man who only saw the worst in himself.
“None of this matters,” he said, his tone defeated.
“What?”

“The PBR, the PRCA, bull ridin’. It’s all bullshit.”

“Chase. You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t know what I mean. In all my years, I’ve never seen anyone killed on the back of a bull. Seen them hurt? Yes. Seen them seriously hurt and even paralyzed? Yes. But someone I know, someone killed right in front of me and hundreds of other people? That’s a first. That’s so wrong. So f*cking wrong. Ryan’s death, and the tragedy of it, will make papers across the country. But it won’t change anything. It won’t give his mother comfort. Christ. He was her only kid and now she’s alone.”

Chase broke down. His massive shoulders shook as he cried.
When the worst of it passed, and he’d taken the quiet comfort she’d offered, she stood. “Come on. You’re exhausted and need to sleep.” She held out her hands to help him up.
“Ava, I’m not three years old.”

“But you are three sheets to the wind.”

Chase turned his head away. “Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“All the more reason for you to let me help you.”

An eternity passed before something shifted in him. He struggled to his feet by himself, but allowed Ava to guide him back to the bed he’d barely left for two days.
Once she’d settled beside him, he twined his arms around her, tangled his legs with hers. “Don’t go,” he whispered thickly against her throat.
“I’m here. There’s no place I’d rather be than with you, Chase. You know that, right?”

His whole body relaxed as he expelled a deep sigh and passed out.
She trailed her fingers up and down his spine.
Ryan’s death had changed them both. Where did they go from here?
They kept a low profile during Ryan’s funeral. But so many people attended it was easy to blend. All in all, the service was nice. Sad.
Ava ran into Taz as cars loaded up for the trip to the cemetery. She almost hadn’t recognized him without his cowboy hat. His hair was shorter. He wore a sports coat.