Something Else #3
“Of course. We’re completely in your hands, Mr. Navarro.” Mom grins at him, then looks at me again, this time with stern eyes soaked in responsibility. “Regardless, my son is simply not used to things that say no. He’ll have his way.”
Wow. Way to make a threat-slash-reminder sound like I’m a snotty brat. Thanks, Mom.
Growing up, I was a kid who excelled at a sport sponsored by kings, so yeah, it may have gotten to my head at some point. But I grew out of it. Like kids do, eventually. Hopefully.
And I know I did grow out of it, not because I cringe looking back at my childhood—don’t we all—but because what she just said makes my skin itch.
That’s not me anymore, and right now, all I want is for Eli to know that. That it’s Mom who’s not used to failure, to ‘nos,’ inside or out of conference rooms. And, yeah, that’s on me for not fighting her more, but what else was I supposed to do? Kids don’t say no to their mothers.
I want him to know I’m not some pompous asshole he’s right to keep out of his life. Which is stupid—why does it even matter what he thinks? He told me to back off. In his own magical man-myth way that makes people understand him even if the words aren’t clear.
It’s clear. I got it. Backing off.
“Anyway,” Mom goes on, giving the barn another once-over inspection. “I’ll be out of your hair. Just came to make sure everything’s in order.”
“It ain’t,” Eli says.
Mom and I snap to him, then glance at each other. What does he mean? Fuck, will this delay training? My palms instantly sweat at the thought.
She’s laser-focused on him, ready to solve the issue. “Oh? Any paperwork missing?”
“His name.” Eli looks at me. “What is it?”
“He doesn’t have a name yet,” I tell him.
“I know the breeder didn’t give him one. What’re you calling him?”
“Nothing. We haven’t decided.”
Eli stops brushing. “No name?” His tone isn’t loud or cutting, but something cracks in his expression, like I’ve said something offensive without realizing.
“No, not yet,” I repeat. “His paperwork just says ‘unnamed’, until—”
“No.”
It’s not just a word. It lands like a sentence. Like a guillotine.
“You think that’s a placeholder? It’s a message,” he says, quiet but intense, a low growl. “Treat someone like they’re temporary long enough, they’re gonna start believing it.”
I roll my eyes and mutter, “How the fuck would a horse know?”
Eli hears me—or senses it, at least. His jaw tightens as he steps out of the stall, and I know he’d slam that door shut if it wouldn’t spook the horse. When he stops, he’s so close I can smell the musk in his sweat, can feel the hot power radiating off his body.
“Wanna ride this horse? Work with him, ask him to give you all he has?” Eli asks, knowing damn well that’s why I’m here, why this entire career move even exists. “Then he needs a name. A real one.”
I don’t answer. Not because I disagree, but because something is lodged in my throat and, like the horse, I can’t name it either.
Eli turns back to the stall. Starts brushing again. Slower. Less about grooming, more about grounding. About taking comfort in the motion.
“Right then.” Mom clears her throat, then gets her PR voice back on. “The name is not a problem. It will have one by—”
“He,” Eli interrupts.
Mom just blinks. “He?”
“He’s a male, not a thing. Unless he gave you his pronouns, he’s a he .”
There’s a long pause where I swear I can hear her recalibrate, but she’s quickly back online. “As I was saying, we’re letting the branding team handle it. It’ll be part of the campaign arc. A name that hits all the right notes.”
Eli stares at her, for the longest time, as if trying to decide—no, hoping—she’s joking. “That how you named your son, ma’am?” he eventually deadpans. “Brought in a panel and a pitch deck?”
She laughs, tight and glossed. “No, of course not. But this is different.”
“It really ain’t,” he says, eyes back on the horse’s neck, following the brush up and down. “Neither one’s a product needing a logo.”
And I know he’s just making a point, but my stupid brain makes the connection anyway. That he’s wrong. That I am a product, to the point where I don’t know where the brand ends and I begin anymore.
Or if there’s still a me there, beneath the logo. A he , not an it .
And I want to say this is just some guy—one with raptor eyes that see things clearer—but no man I’ve ever known would step in front of what’s desperate and wild, just to give it another chance at peace.
No random guy would give a fuck about a horse’s name—no, about the horse’s feelings regarding not having one.
The quiet fury in him when something is mistreated. The conviction in his silence.
Damn... To be cared for like that.
Eli smooths his hand along the horse’s neck, his voice lower. “Quarantine’s two weeks. After that, we start groundwork. You can ride him soon as he’s ready.” He glances at me. “ If he’s got a name by then.”
Mom shakes her head, eyes closing for a moment as if computing this new information. “Okay, then. I can… I’ll switch some things around, get the team working on it.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of it.” She has sponsors to deal with, and I have two weeks of doing basically nothing. I can handle a name.
She smiles at me, thankful. I know how she gets anxious when new deliverables appear late in the game, shaking up the plan. Still, she gives me a look, and I respond with my own. Something strong and on brand—yes, I’m not new at this.
“That’s good, sweetheart, “ she tells me, nodding, gears turning again in her head. “It’s best if it comes from you, actually. More on point with your experience here.” Then she leans toward Eli. “We’ll get him a name, Mr. Navarro. Soon.”
“Good,” Eli says. “Something with weight. Meaningful.” Then he stops brushing and turns to me again, eyes locked. Intent and quiet and absolute. “Or else, I’ll be the thing that finally says no to your son.”