Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Holy fuck! It’s the billboard cowboy!”
Oh. Right.
My smile dipped for a beat, but I shoved it into place, ignoring the curious patrons at the Black Horse, including a couple of mill employees.
“Hank Cunningham.”
“Trinsky.” He crushed my fingers, nodding as he studied me as if I were an endangered species he hadn’t counted on running into. “You are a fuckin’ celebrity, dude. Fuck hockey. Do you know who this is? This is the billboard cowboy!”
“Ah, that was a long time ago.” I thanked Bill for the beer he slid toward me and glanced at Denny.
His lips tilted at the corners and then…he winked at me. I was used to the constant yearning now—the head over heels, how did I get here, dizzy feeling whenever he walked into a room. The insta butterflies shouldn’t have been a surprise, but they were.
“Denny told me you were here,” Trinsky said, ripping me from my reverie. “The team freaked out at the selfie he took a few months ago. You’re a goddamn legend in our neck of the woods, dude. Like wow. Jakey baby, do you know who this is?”
Jake gritted his teeth and elbowed Trinsky in the stomach. “Don’t call me Jakey, asshole. And yes, of course I know Hank. His family owns the mill nearby.”
“Mill, shmill. No one cares about the mill. Trust me, they don’t care about it in Denver either. He stops traffic on I-70 on the daily. They talked about the billboard on a podcast I was listening to last week about the natural habitats of beavers and river otters and somehow, they brought up that billboard.”
“River otters? Really? What the fuck is a river otter?” a hockey player whose name I couldn’t remember piped in.
“It’s an otter that lives in the river, dumbass,” Trinsky huffed. “What the fuck else would it be? They’re little and cute and they hold hands when they sleep. Oh, and they’re super furry all over.”
“Like you?” someone called out.
“Well, yeah,” Trinsky countered.
Our section of the bar burst into laughter while the other half looked up to see what was so funny. I took the opening to slip to Denny’s side.
“Sorry about that. I knew he’d be excited, but I forget how hyped Trinsky gets after a beer or five,” Denny whispered, brushing his arm against mine.
“No worries. Now you know why I’d like to see that thing gone for good.”
“The billboard? No way,” Denny huffed, narrowing his eyes. “You guys don’t ruin the natural habitat of river otters, do you?”
“Absolutely not. We don’t harvest near the river at all. Sustainable harvesting means—”
“I know what it is. If you guys are protecting little critters, you should put them in your ads,” Denny suggested.
“Dude, that’s a great idea. Do one of you standing next to your horse with a river otter in the saddle,” Trinsky chimed in, frowning when someone laughed. “Yo, it’s a good idea. Come on, do it, do it, do it.”
Whether anyone knew what he was talking about or not, Trinsky soon had the entire bar chanting “Do it, do it.” Someone called for shots and soon after, a tray was passed around.
I set my glass on the bar untouched and melted into the shadows, content to watch Denny interact with his peers. He was more engaged and at ease than I’d ever seen him in a group setting, laughing at silly jokes and outrageous ribbing. I supposed it made sense.
He was home, and now that he’d finally begun to face his grief and fundamental truths about himself, he seemed lighter. This place cleansed him, made him whole.
This was where he belonged.
I envied that. My life had been in a state of flux for years. Denver was home, but I wasn’t settled there. My closest friends lived in the suburbs of Boulder or had moved away after college. The only one left was my father. And while I was grateful that he’d orchestrated a job that would enable me to establish myself, money couldn’t buy what Denny had here. A sense of community, a connection, home.
I inclined my chin to the guys from the mill, set a twenty on the bar for Bill, and lightly tugged Denny’s arm in a wordless good-bye before stepping outside.
The night sky was awash with stars, layer upon layer. I walked with my head held high, key fob pointed at my truck.
I slid behind the wheel and started the engine just as the passenger side door opened.
“I’m coming with you, cowboy.”
I snorted. “Billboard cowboy to you.”
He chuckled. “Now you see why I needed that selfie?”
“Feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah.” Denny stared up at the stars for a beat before climbing into the truck. He fastened his seatbelt and twisted to face me. “I’m leaving for New York in two days. They want to talk to me in person…and so does Denver.”