Page 1 of Saltwater Cowboy

I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY NOW

If looks could kill, the couple sitting at the other end of the bar would’ve been dead thirty minutes ago.

They’re so in love. Hugging. Kissing. Brushing shoulders. Laughing.

Disgusting.

Four hours ago, I was that kind of hopelessly in love. Now, I’m sitting at a dingy airport bar, shooting eye daggers at a couple just living their lives. They say your world can change in an instant—I used to think that was just a cliché. But after today? Finding out my ex-boyfriend was dead would’ve been easier to stomach than the bomb he dropped on me.

I press my elbows against the worn wooden bar, my head sinking into my hands. The tears I’ve been bottling up claw at my throat, threatening to break free.

Keep your shit together.

Don’t cry in an airport bar.

You’re not weak.

I shook off the emotions and poured the rest of the red wine down my throat, swallowing it with the lump that formed when I sat down alone. It burned as it went down, the only feeling I had in my body at the moment. I felt numb. This is not how I saw my afternoon going when I woke up this morning. I had so much hope for the future, and now I have… nothing. I haven’t even had a chance to process today’s events.

“You’re just… you’re just too hard to love, Rose.” The words played on a loop in my head. Each time, it ripped my heart further to shreds.

“Hello?” The bartender waved her hand in front of my face.

I snapped out of the dark place I was heading. “Hm?”

“I asked if you wanted another glass.” She nodded towards my empty wine glass.

“Oh. No, thank you. Just the check would be great.” I offered a pitiful attempt at a smile.

The quicker I pay, the faster I can get the hell out of Seattle. The bartender slid the check over to me and I slapped my debit card down. My nails bit into my palms as I waited for her to come back so I could get out of this claustrophobic bar. I don’t know why all the restaurants in these god-forsaken airports are the size of a New York bodega, but I needed fresh air.

I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here now.

“Have a safe flight and enjoy your trip.” Her words were flat as she made eye contact with another patron and handed over my card.

“Thanks.” What if I wasn’t going somewhere fun? What if I were going to my Aunt Lucille’s cat’s funeral? Yes, that was an actual family affair I narrowly avoided earlier this year. My family celebrated everything—even death.

I shoved my card into the depths of my tote bag and made a beeline for my gate, small suitcase in tow.

The woman at the check-in desk earlier thought I was crazy as I loaded up three massive suitcases.

“Moving?” The older woman with kind eyes asked.

A humorless laugh came out of my mouth. “More like running away.”

I found my gate before locating the wine, so I could remove one bit of stress. I couldn’t miss this flight. The events of this morning have rattled me to my core. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I glanced down at my watch; I had twenty minutes before my boarding group was called. I could either sit amongst my fellow passengers or buy some snacks at the convenience store.

Snacks will always win. Any type of sour candy is my guilty pleasure and after the day I’ve had, I deserved a damn treat.

My eyes scanned the wall of snacks that would probably kill me early, but I didn’t care. At this point, my world had been turned around. The script of the life I thought I was about to have has been turned upside down. My stomach sank as I automatically reached for a chocolate bar, Thad’s favorite. The familiarity of what I had hit me like a ton of bricks. I no longer had to think about “us”…now it was just me.

I haven’t been alone for the better part of two years. I don’t know how to be alone. Which, in itself, sounds so sad. I am a thirty-two-year-old woman who has lost my sense of identity. I don’t even know what I like to do on my own.

I shook off the suffocating thoughts and grabbed a bag of sour Skittles before heading to the checkout. There was a couple in line in front of me. My blood boiled. I guess I was past the first stage of grief and have moved onto the second—anger. The sugary sweet couple paid, and I moved up.

I’m not sure when airports implemented self-checkouts, but I wasn’t mad about it. The less I had to interact with people today, the better. Just because I’m in a foul mood doesn’t mean I need to take it out on innocent bystanders trying to enjoy the beginning of their trip.

I swiped my card and tossed my snacks in my bag, ignoring the man who told me to have a good day as I walked out the door. Usually, I try to be friendly, but I think that version of me died a few hours ago. The blood coursing through my veins now had a chill.