Rein Ready
A COUPLE OF feed buckets. Empty and upside down, under a shade next to the arena.
Most ridiculous corporate boardroom ever. Messy. Improvised.
Can’t they all be like this?
Mom sits beside me, laptop balanced on her knees. On my other side, Eli leans against the fence, arms crossed, a solid warmth on my back.
“Remember, this is just a rushed prototype,” Mom says, tapping her password into the computer, glossy red nails clicking against the keys. “We’ll build from it.”
The screen lights up, and she turns it toward me. An obviously raw draft of a presentation opens, the first slide showing a simplistic logo of some kind. I squint at it. “A heart? What is it?”
“I know it’s shitty,” Mom says, “but an actual designer will do better. It’s—”
“Braided leather reins,” Eli says behind me. “A rein heart.”
Mom smiles. “Exactly.” Then she clears her throat, voice returning to that familiar pitch-perfect tone I’ve heard in a thousand marketing meetings.
“Visually represents control melded with connection, discipline with joy. Braided for that same dichotomy, something pretty made with precision, by hand. Natural warm leather, cool brass fixings.” She nods to herself.
“Still focused, fierce, a winner’s logo.
But with dirt on its hands, rugged and strong. ”
“Wait—wait. Step back.” I lift my hand up. “ An actual designer will do it better ? Who made this?”
“What? I can draw!” She turns the laptop away from me, her ruddy cheeks filling up like a chipmunk’s. “Simple stuff, at least.”
She drew this herself? A winner’s logo with dirt on its hands?
“Whatever, just pay attention.” She clicks the presentation, next slide.
“Okay, this is the Ruin Rehab Series. Documentary-style content. We’ll piggy-back on his flagged status and lean into it.
We can connect with other challenging horses—not just high-performance athletes, but rescues, anxiety cases, sensory-sensitive animals.
” She looks up at Eli. “There’s other cases here, right? And old ones I can get in touch with?”
Eli nods. “Loads.”
Mom nods too, once, decision made. “We’ll figure out logistics later.” Another click. “Behind-the-rail content: candid moments, training insights, setbacks as well as victories.”
No slide is polished or professional, just simple black font over white, with basic bullet point lists and photos and illustrations she simply pasted in, some with watermarks that she print-screened and cropped from some website somewhere.
Lots of notes too, like this color with a double-point arrow connecting to a but on this image.
Running thoughts, unfinished ideas.
She’s only been gone four days.
“Mom, this is…” I try to tell her.
She cuts me off. “There’s more.” Clicks again, new slide. “Campaign: Riverlight Open Days. Kids, basic care clinics, helmet fit checks, designated quiet hours for sensory-friendly sessions.”
My stomach drops a little. “Wait, I don’t want Eli’s work getting messier over my shit.” I glance back at him. “Riverlight is his space, his vision. I don’t want it turning into some Vale publicity machine.”
“We ain’t closed off to the community,” he tells me, and yeah, I know that much.
The equestrian center he had built in town is proof.
“Our priority’s the horses, is all.” He crosses his arms tighter, but he’s smiling, a pretty blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide by looking away.
“And Riverlight ain’t just mine anymore. ”
My chest fills up. Does he mean me? No, I just… Maybe? “Y-Yeah, Rey practically runs this place, right?” I try to chuckle.
Mom groans and punches my arm. “Oh my God, he means you , Romeo.”
My cheeks burn. I snap to her, rage-whisper, “You don’t know that.”
“I mean you,” Eli says.
And my eyes fly to him again, just for a second, then off to the woods because he’s still smiling but right at me, now.
And I know I shouldn’t be doubting myself or his feelings for me so easily like that, but sometimes he just says things, and he looks so cool saying them, that I kinda just swoon myself out of reason.
Because that cowboy dreamboat of my fantasies is even hotter in real life, and I’m the one who gets to kiss him.
So I get dumb, okay? Momentarily.
He leans off the fence then, comes to stand right in front of us. And for a moment, I think he’s doing that thing where he occupies all space in my vision so I don’t hide, but not this time. This time, there’s gravity on his face, a small but steady frown.
And that frown is on Mom.
“I’m assuming you’re gonna be renegotiating contracts?” he asks her.
“As soon as possible.”
He nods. “You gotta include clear opt-outs tied to his well-being, not just metrics.”
“Yes, that’s the plan.”
“And downtime blocks at least quarterly. Core deliverable, not an incentive. Events and media schedules need to be secondary.”
Now it’s Mom who frowns. “I got it, Mr. Navarro. I know how to take care of my son.”
And when he answers, there’s no room for questions.
“Respectfully, no, you don’t.”
Just like that.
Calling her out on years of jasmine wet wipes that covered something toxic, something wrong.
For a moment, my blood freezes, then it bubbles, so hot because that’s my mother and…and…
And nothing. Because he’s right.
It’s my fault for not having fought for my sanity until I had no more sanity to give. But it’s not my fault that this was all I knew. This so-called professionalism that became a self-imposed kind of slavery because I didn’t know I could escape it.
That was drilled into me. And I was a kid, so I didn’t drill it myself.
But she’s my mom. How can I just…hate on her like that? I can’t.
Except he’s not hating either. Eli’s demands don’t come from any hate but from love. His love for me.
That’s why he adds, “You don’t know. But I can see you’re willing to learn.”
And somehow, impossibly, my chest makes room, and I love him even more .
“You’re right,” Mom whispers, taking my hand. She’s not crying, but there’s a tiredness in her eyes that’s so complete, I feel her fading. In that way that erases something and leaves behind something else that’s been beneath.
She closes the laptop and looks directly at me, cups my face, traces my cheekbone. “He’s right. Maybe it’s best… Maybe I shouldn’t be your manager anymore.”
My heart jumps. What?! I cover her hand on my cheek. “I don’t want that.”
“But it’s—”
“No,” I interrupt her, bringing her hand down and encasing it in both of mine.
“We were just in it for too long. In a perfect loop that was brilliant and kept on giving, and would continue indefinitely if only I was…” Better?
Stronger? More capable? “Indestructible. But now we know better, and we’re out of that loop.
All that was missing was honesty, and it’s not just gonna come easy like magic, but it will come. I’m sure of it.”
She smiles. “You really enjoy making things hard on yourself, huh?”
I smile too. “Yeah, well. Genetics are a bitch because you’re the same.”
She shakes her head and wraps an arm around my shoulders, bringing me in. I hug her waist, rest my cheek on her chest. And it’s such a simple thing, but I was probably a small child last time this happened, so… I don’t know. Feels like we’re on the right path somehow.
“Do you like this plan?” she asks, stroking my hair.
“I love this plan.”
“Then I’ll make it happen.” She pecks my forehead and slips off me before getting up, placing her laptop on the upturned feed bucket where she sat, and then patting her slacks clean. I stand too. “Is it okay if we make content at the ranch?” she asks Eli. “Photos, video. ”
It takes him a second. “Gonna need an image release form for staff. Other than that…” He shrugs. “Hate staged stuff, just catch me paparazzi-style.”
“Done. We’ll shoot candid, long lens. It fits the brand much better anyway.”
Then she looks directly at him, her expression shifting to something more serious and personal.
“And for the record, I may be a lot of things, Mr. Navarro, but I’ll always admit to character misjudgment.
” She takes a breath, nodding to herself.
“I was frustrated, and I didn’t mean what I said about you. I’m truly sorry.”
My mouth drops open. Eli seems equally surprised, but he tames it down to a barely-there eye stretch.
Then he says, “Eli.” Softly, simply.
“Eli,” she repeats, words and tone, smiling. After a moment, she turns back to me. “Monday, I brief sponsors. If they balk, we walk. The ones worth keeping will lean in.”
I stare at her, something tight and hot building behind my eyes. “You did all this work in less than a week? Fucking wonder woman.” Okay that it’s just a rushed prototype, but stuff like this takes research, know-how, endless brainstorming and adjustments. It’s damn amazing.
She grins then, a real one that reminds me suddenly, jarringly, of photos from before I was born. Before she was Diana Vale, CEO and Brand Manager of the Vale Performance Team. When she was just Diana, with dreams and ambitions that had nothing to do with managing mine.
I’ll need to ask her what those were someday.
She reaches out, taking my hand in hers. “You’re harder to manage now,” she admits, no anger in it, just wry acknowledgment. “But you’re happy. That’s the metric I missed.”
I squeeze her hand, really looking at her. And for as long as I’ve known her, as far back as memory goes, I think it’s safe to say she’s happy too.
Mom’s eyes drift to our joint hands, to my wrist, where Eli’s heart circles my childhood scar, a copy of the one she erased. She holds it up, then thumbs lightly over the skin. Not on the ink itself, I notice, just around it.
“Why don’t you tattoo this on?” she asks. “You can’t just keep redrawing it over and over.”
I glance at Eli, who raises an eyebrow in silent approval of the idea.
To be honest, I kind of love the upkeep just as much as the actual drawing.
The way he holds my wrist and focuses to retrace it.
But she’s right, and I don’t want it to wash off completely when we’re apart for a long stretch of time while I’m competing.
I need to have it done before I leave Riverlight in five and a half weeks.
“Well, how about we get the ball rolling before Monday?” Mom asks, releasing my hand and fishing her phone from her pocket. “Better to apologize than ask permission, right?”
I’m not sure what she means exactly, but I’m not in the mood for questions. Or rather, I’m very in the mood to get the ball rolling, as she suggests. I did tell her I needed this change now , and she’s damn well delivering.
“Go stand near Ruin.” She points at him, gesturing with her phone. “Pet him. Back to the camera.”
We step into the arena where Ruin grazes peacefully on the grass patches along the fence line.
And I do as she asks, feeling his warm breath against my shoulder as I stroke under his jaw with a hand, hold the reins loose with the other.
The shutter sound of the camera app goes off, then Mom’s long fingernails, clicking rapidly on her screen.
“Progress, not polish. Hashtag ReinReady,” she says as she types.
“Rein Ready?” I ask.
She nods, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “That’s the goal. We’re done forcing the reins before being ready. Right?”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me—control versus connection, discipline versus trust. The principles Eli’s been teaching me all along, reframed through Mom’s marketing lens into something that feels surprisingly authentic.
She holds out the phone to me. “I’m ready if you are.”
I take it from her, looking down at the draft post on my official social media page.
The photo shows me from the side, Ruin’s head tilted down just enough to seem we’re looking into each other’s eyes.
Nothing too posed, not glamorous—definitely not on brand, by old standards.
The heart on my wrist is just visible. And if only for that, it feels so damn perfect.
Eli steps closer, looking over my shoulder at the screen. Our eyes meet, and we smile at each other because he sees it too, I’m sure. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining and clamping hard, solid.
I press to publish. And I breathe.
Because now I can.