The Longest Ride

their own tour these days, but actually it’s two tours. You have the big one, which is the one on television all the time, and you have the little tour, which is kind of like the minor leagues. If you earn enough points in the minor leagues, you get promoted to the major leagues. In this sport, that’s where the real money is.”

“And last night?”

“Last night was an event on the little tour.”

“Have you ever ridden in the big tour?”

He reached down, patting Horse’s neck. “I rode in it for five years.”

“Were you good?”

“I did all right.”

She evaluated his answer, remembering that he’d said the same thing last night – when he’d won. “Why do I get the sense that you’re a lot better than you’re implying?”

“I don’t know.”

She scrutinized him. “You might as well tell me how good you were. I can always Google you, you know.”

He sat up straighter. “I made the PBR World Championships four years in a row. To do that, you have to be in the top thirty-five in the standings.”

“So you’re one of the best, in other words.”

“I was. Not so much anymore. I’m pretty much starting over again.”

By then, they’d reached a small clearing near the river and they brought the horses to a halt on the high bank. The river wasn’t wide, but Sophia had the sense that the slow-moving water was deeper than it appeared. Dragonflies flitted over the surface, breaking the stillness, causing tiny ripples that radiated to the edge. Dog lay down, panting from his exertions, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Beyond him, in the shade of a gnarled oak tree, she noticed what seemed to be the remains of an old camp, with a decaying picnic table and an abandoned fire pit.

“What is this place?” she asked, adjusting her hat.

“My dad and I used to come fishing here. There’s a submerged tree under the water just over there, and it’s a great place to catch bass. We used to stay out here all day. It was kind of our place, just for the two of us. My mom hates the smell of fish, so we’d catch them and clean and cook them out here before bringing them back to the farmhouse. Other times, my dad would bring me out here after practice and we’d just stare at the stars. He never graduated from high school, but he could name every constellation in the sky. I had some of the best times of my life out here.”

She stroked Demon’s mane. “You miss him.”

“All the time,” he said. “Coming out here helps me remember him the right way. The way he should be remembered.”

She could hear the loss in his tone, sense the tightness in his posture. “How did he die?” she asked, her voice soft.

“We were coming home from an event in Greenville, South Carolina. It was late and he was tired and a deer suddenly tried to dart across the highway. He didn’t have time to even jerk the wheel, and the deer went through the windshield. The truck ended up rolling three times, but even before then, it was too late. The impact broke his neck.”

“You were with him?”

“I dragged him out of the wreckage,” he said. “I can remember holding him and frantically trying to get him to wake up until the paramedics got there.”

She paled. “I can’t even imagine something like that.”

“Neither could I,” he said. “One minute, we’re talking about my rides, and the next minute, he was gone. It didn’t seem real. It still doesn’t. Because he wasn’t just my dad. He was my coach and partner and friend, too. And…” He trailed off, lost in thought, then slowly shook his head. “And I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m glad you did.”

He acknowledged her words with a grateful nod. “What are your parents like?” he asked.

“They’re… passionate,” she finally said. “About everything .”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d have to live with us to understand. They can be crazy about each other one minute and screaming at each other in the next, they have deep opinions on everything from politics to the environment to how many cookies we should have after dinner, even what language to speak that day —”

“Language?” he asked, breaking in.

“My parents wanted all of us to be multilingual, so on Mondays we spoke French, Tuesdays was Slovak, Wednesdays was Czech. It used to drive me and my sisters crazy, especially when we had friends come over, because they couldn’t