Serenity Falls(34)
I never envisioned that professional bull riders actually made that much. Money has always been offered as a prize, but I never envisioned it could be that much. “Wow. I didn’t know that you were that good. I mean… I didn’t... That came out all wrong.” I shake my head sheepishly.
He chuckles at my chagrin. “I know what you meant. And not to sound conceited or anything, but I gave up my spot in the Professional Bull Riding world finals in Las Vegas this year. My manager advised against it. He told me I was throwing my career down the drain, and that I would never get another opportunity like this.”
“Do you regret the decision you made by coming here?”
“No. As I was saying, that night was the best and worst night of my life. Yeah, I rode great, and opportunities that I never imagined came knocking on my door. But I also got arrested that night, too,” he mutters softly. “I met up with some people from earlier in the night, and we went to an after party. After I got rip-roaring drunk, I wanted to leave, but everyone else decided to stay behind. That’s the last thing I remember. The next morning, I woke up in jail. The worst part is, I don’t even remember how I got there. I had bruises on my hands, but I figured it was from the previous night’s ride. The police had to show me the surveillance videos for me to actually believe it.”
With my curiosity peaked, I ask, “What did you do?”
He drops his head in only what I can imagine is shame. “I busted out the windshield of someone’s car with a bottle of Jack Daniels. I can still see it running on constant replay in my mind. My fists were raised high in the air as I beat the shit out of the hood of the car. The dents looked like it had rained down softball-sized hailstones. It wasn’t like someone pissed me off, and I took it out on their car instead of their face; I didn’t even know the person in that video.” He lifts head and takes a drink of his beer. “I was charged with destruction of personal property that morning. After I saw the Judge and my bail was set, I had to call my parents for them to bail me out. Mind you, I used my own money, but they were the ones who had to come and do it. They were so pissed at me when I explained to them what happened. But what really broke me was when I saw the disappointment written on both of their faces.”
This is so much to take in right now. Wes makes millions doing what he loves. He has a drinking problem. That much is obvious. And here he sits, drinking a beer. He destroyed somebody’s vehicle for no reason other than the fact that he was drunk. And now he has a criminal record that will follow him around for the rest of his life. Then I think back to the first night that I met him. He was drinking that night. “If you have a drinking problem, why did you drink the first night that we met at the bonfire, and why are you drinking now?”
He nods his head as if he knew that question was coming. “I’ve learned to control it. I no longer drink hard liquor and only limit myself to two or three beers at most. My mom and dad know this. They don’t like it, but they also know I never want to be the one to disappoint them again.”
The quiet around us builds as we sit there. Can someone who has a drinking problem be okay with having only a couple of drinks and not suffer a relapse? Is it possible to control that lingering urge? Does one ever really recover from drinking?
“I know you have to have some kind of questions.” The raw vulnerability in his tone catches me off guard. From what I know and have seen of Wes, vulnerability is not an emotion I ever thought I’d see in him.
“Huh? What... No… How long ago did this happen?” I stammer out.
“Last summer. My parents thought it would be a good idea for me to come home then, but I told them how I got myself into this mess and I would have to be the one to fix it. I quit going to after parties. Hanging out with everyone afterwards was just too tempting. The night of the bonfire, your first night here, that’s the first drink I’ve had since before I came home.” He takes a deep breath before looking at me. “Trust me; I get it if you don’t want to hang out with me anymore. I’m not exactly a good guy.”
Right now, I have a choice. I can walk away from what we’re building, from this amazing connection, or I can stick it out and explore this further. He’s given me a decision to make, and God, I hope it’s the right one, but I do have one question. “You’re not a bad guy either, Wes. You’re human. We all make mistakes. It’s whether we learn from them that will determine just how good and bad we all are. But I am a little confused as to why your life took that kind of turn? I mean, your parents are great, so I can only assume you had a pretty good childhood.”