Maybe if I was a stronger person, or more compassionate, I could reach out, maybe even forgive them.
But if life with my mother taught me anything, it’s that people don’t change. After all, wasn’t it Maya Angelou who said to believe people the first time when they show you who they are? And she’s one of the most sagacious women in history, so who am I to question her?
That doesn’t mean knowing it makes living it any easier.
“Sometimes,” I answer honestly. “I sometimes wake up thinking this is all a bad dream. Or I imagine I live in one of those romance novels you like to read, and this is all one big misunderstanding, that what I heard on the phone wasn’t what happened, that somehow, I was duped into believing it. But then I remember I live in the real world, not in a fantasy world. Just because I wish something to be true doesn’t make it happen. Those stories you read don’t happen in reality for people like me. We get hurt, we cry, we figure out we don’t die, and then we move on.”
She’s silent for a while, and I think maybe she’s fallen asleep. I’m startled when she speaks next. “Believing and hoping for a happy ending doesn’t make you weak, Mon. What is left if we lose the ability to hope? Empires have been built on hope; people change the world because of their hope for a better future. It’s what makes people strive for greatness.”
She’s right. Hope is a marvelous thing, but sometimes it’s also the one thing wreaking havoc in your life because it leaves you unprepared. “Maybe for some, but all hope ever gave me was disappointment. It’s not about weakness, Kota, it’s about me finally realizing hope never gave me anything. It’s not what makes me happy, it’s not what gives me a roof over my head, or a bed to sleep in. All it does is give me unrealistic expectations of life.”
“That’s kinda depressing, babe.”
I shrug. “Maybe so, but it also means I won’t ever be back on that hotel room floor, sobbing until I pass out, while you keep me from completely shattering. If that means I’ll never have what you have with Mav, then so be it. Because the pain just isn’t worth it.”
“Montana, life should be more than just existing. It’s about taking chances, falling down and getting back up—”
“But that’s the thing, I don’t know if I’ll get back up the next time I fall down, or I’m shoved to the ground. I’ve taken so many beatings over the years I can’t do it anymore.”
She falls silent again, after so many years knowing when to not waste her breath trying to convince me of something I’m too stubborn to accept.
I get up and walk to the bathroom. Before I close the door behind me, I look at Dakota, who’s still sprawled across the bed. For a second I take in my best friend, her red hair fanned out around her head like a halo, her posture seemingly relaxed. She would have looked like she didn’t have a care in the world if not for the frown marring her beautiful face.
“Stop worrying, Kota,” I whisper, and her eyes find mine. I can see the doubt and worry shimmer in the depth of her green eyes, always so expressive. “I’m going to be fine. Eventually.”
A small smile tips the corners of her mouth. “I know you will, you’re the strongest woman I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t wish life would give you a break. It’s like…” I watch her brow crease as if an unsettling thought hit her all of a sudden.
“It’s like what?” I ask, too curious not to want to hear the rest of that sentence.
“It’s like there’s this force in your life that continuously keeps messing with you as soon as you find a sliver of happiness.”
“That’s a little dramatic. It’s just life—we all deal with the hand we’ve been given.”
She doesn’t respond as I close the door and continue to get ready for bed. But even as I wash my face and brush my teeth, I have this nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me I’m missing something.
An inkling I try to grab ahold of but is forgotten as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Whisky shifts underneath me, nervous energy running through him as we wait to be called into the arena. Noise filters through to where we’re standing as the rider in front of us finishes the course. The announcer calling out the time and penalties.
I don’t listen to the results. I never do.
Instead I close my eyes and focus on my surroundings. With Whisky beneath me, his muscles tense with excitement, I smell the mix of wood and sand, hear the foreign languages around me. Just like yesterday when I was standing here waiting to compete in the individual qualifier, this feeling of belonging comes over me. It only took a week for it to sink in that I’m here. That I’m at the Olympic Games, about to compete and prove to everyone I belong amongst the best athletes of the world.
An excited energy starts buzzing underneath my skin.
This is real.
It’s finally happening.
As soon as the bell rings indicating I may enter the arena, I can feel a sense of serenity come over me and Whisky. It’s always been like this, the bell rings and we both settle down, knowing down to our bones this is what we’re meant to do. It’s the one part of my life I have complete control over, never second-guessing myself because am secure in my own abilities.
As I walk into the arena, I don’t notice the stands filled with people, or the camera crews stationed around the
