24. Sean

24

Sean

Lying next to Aubrey in the loft of the barn, surrounded by the scent of hay and the soft rustle of animals below, the moment feels almost perfect. Every laugh and touch from her sends a jolt of contentment through me, making everything else seem trivial.

As I shift to draw her closer, a sharp pang from my shoulder slices through the comfort, its intensity catching me off guard. I can't mask the wince that momentarily contorts my face.

“Sean…”

“It’s fine. Just hurts every now and then.”

Aubrey's not convinced, her eyes narrowing with a mix of worry and skepticism. "You shouldn't ignore it. Maybe you ought to—"

Before she can continue, my phone interrupts, buzzing urgently from my pocket. I grab it, grateful for the interruption, and see a text from Pops flashing on the screen. It’s Jane, our temperamental cow; she’s decided now’s the perfect time to start her labor, and Pops needs an extra set of hands, pronto.

"Looks like farm life doesn’t pause for anyone, not even for us," I chuckle, showing Aubrey the text. "Jane’s making tonight interesting. Pops needs me."

Aubrey sighs, her concern momentarily shifting to amusement. "Never a dull moment on the ranch," she quips, her tone light but still threaded with worry for both the cow and my unaddressed pain.

I plant a quick, meaningful kiss on her lips, a promise of return packed into the brief contact.

"Keep the hay warm for me?" I tease, swinging my legs to sit up, feeling the persistent throb in my shoulder as I move.

"Don't be long, or I might just start again without you," she replies playfully, a sparkle in her eye that tells me she’ll be waiting, no matter how long it takes.

"Back before you know it," I assure her, pulling on my boots and grabbing my jacket. The pain in my shoulder spikes as I reach for my gear, but I push through it, determined not to let it show too much.

“Really though,” she says, getting up. “I should get back to Luke. Kid’s not going to nap forever.”

“Good call. Later then, OK?”

“Sounds great.”

With one last grin tossed her way, I hustle out of the barn loft, my steps quick and purposeful. Even as I head down to deal with the birthing drama, part of me lingers back with Aubrey, already counting the moments until I can return to her side.

Racing off to the barn, each step sends a jolt through my aching shoulder, and I’m half-wondering if I’m about to fall apart before I even get there. Pausing, I fish out my increasingly frequent companions—the pain pills—and knock back a couple, hoping they’ll kick in fast. Pain or no pain, game time waits for no man, especially when it’s farm crisis o’clock.

Busting through the barn doors, I find Pops already in the thick of it with Jane, our usually placid cow who’s now mid-labor drama. “KIddo, you made it,” Pops grunts, not looking up from the laboring cow. “Calf’s breech. We need to get a move on.”

Great, just what I needed—a bovine emergency to spice up the day. “Let’s get this calf party started,” I say as I stride over, trying to ignore the sharp stabs in my shoulder.

Together, Pops and I dive into the delicate task of turning the calf. It’s a dance we’ve done before, albeit usually with less at stake. “Easy there, Jane,” I murmur, hoping my calm voice is more reassuring to her than it is to me.

With a bit of maneuvering that would make any contortionist proud, we manage to reposition the calf. “And for my next trick,” I joke weakly as we see the calf finally start to emerge the right way.

Pops chuckles, shaking his head. “You and your jokes,” he says, but the grin tells me he appreciates the levity.

“Someone’s gotta keep spirits high, right?” I reply, wiping away sweat and a mix of barnyard grime from my brow. The moment stretches tight as Jane, with a laborious push that seems to draw on her last reserves, finally brings her calf into the world. The barn air, thick with tension just moments ago, now fills with relief that's nearly as potent as the earthy odors enveloping us.

But as we hustle to ensure both mother and calf are stable, the physical exertion takes its toll on me. In the flurry to support the newborn calf, I make a quick, awkward move and feel a searing jolt tear through my shoulder. It’s a white-hot pain that rips a grunt from my lips before I can stop it. The world tilts a little, courtesy of the pain pills mixing badly with the strain.

The calf, wet and wobbly, is finally secure on the straw, a tiny, snorting testament to the ordeal we've just overcome. I try to steady myself, but the barn spins slightly, my vision swimming as the adrenaline that fueled me sputters out.

“Easy there, kiddo.” Pops’s voice cuts through the haze, concern lining his words as he catches my arm, steadying me.

“I’m fine,” I insist, though my legs betray me, folding under the combined weight of pain and dizziness as I stagger back into the nearest chair. It's a rough landing, sending another shockwave of pain through my shoulder. I clamp my mouth shut, riding out the wave of nausea and pain that threatens to knock whatever toughness I have left right out of me.

Sitting there, I press a hand against my throbbing shoulder, trying to mask the extent of my discomfort. Pops is eyeing me, his brow furrowed, not buying my bravado for a second.

“You don’t look fine, son. You’re white as the barn walls,” Pops remarks, his voice packed with that fatherly concern that's as subtle as a foghorn. He moves in to check my shoulder, but I’m not really in the mood for a hands-on moment.

“I’m just tired, Pops. Really, it’s nothing,” I say, my words a bit wobbly as I try to sidestep his old-school doctor routine. The barn spins a tick too fast, and I brace myself against a nearby post.

Pops isn’t buying it, his eyes squinting like he’s trying to read the fine print on a bad contract. “Those pills, Sean—are you hitting them too hard again?”

“Can we not do this right now?” I snap back, irritation spiking with each throb of pain. Here I am, trying to keep it light, and he’s turning into Dr. Phil.

He steps closer, all stern and stubborn. “You can't just brush this off. I'm seeing you about to fall over here.”

“Really, I’m fine. Just drop it, okay?” I attempt a dismissive laugh, but it comes out more like a snarl. “I’ve got it under control.”

“It is my business when my son is about to keel over in my barn,” he shoots back, his patience clearly running thin.

The more he pushes, the more I feel like a cornered cat. “I said I’m fine!” My voice rises, echoing off the barn walls, a rebel without a cause—or at least, a sensible one.

Our words escalate, sharp and reckless, like a car skidding on ice. Heat floods my face as the old man’s relentless concern clashes with my stubborn pride. Finally, having enough, I throw up my hands and storm out, my boots thudding a dramatic soundtrack to my hasty retreat.

As the barn door slams behind me, the anger fizzles out, replaced by a nagging guilt. Pops was just doing his fatherly duty, and here I am acting like he’s the enemy.

Stepping into the chill outside, the cool air slaps some sense into me. I rub the back of my neck, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it flared up. Damn, maybe he’s got a point. Aubrey, Luke... they don’t need a guy who can’t handle a bit of pain without popping pills like Pez.

Taking a deep breath, I glance back at the barn, regret twining with resolve. Pops is right; I can’t keep going on like this.

But what the hell am I supposed to do?