A Good Human #2
@KatieMatthews85: Still shaking. When your son is at his lowest after a tough ride, and his absolute hero @CassianVale appears like an answered prayer to sit with him.
.. That’s a core memory. That’s kindness.
That’s everything. Just, wow. #MyHeroCassianVale #RealMen #KindnessMatters #GratefulHeart #BarnMom
Zane’s mother. She posted it the day after.
And tagged my official account.
Fuck.
“Kellan sent me last week,” Lena says next to me. “To you, too. You not see?” No, I haven’t checked social media in forever. “Anyway, people loving very much.”
People. Loving it. Floating through social media now, algorithms connecting dots, tying this image to every other mention of my name. To my sponsors. To my results. To my everything.
That smile on my face is not on brand. I can’t be crouching either—always tall, even when sitting. I have no makeup on. The perspective doesn’t catch my eye bags, but my skin isn’t glowing, my eyes aren’ t defined.
Just the fact that there’s a kid in the same photo as me… Kids and elite performance don’t match.
10,143 likes. 2,836 shares. Almost a thousand comments.
This will go viral. Soon.
I hand the phone back to Lena. Get up, take the drawing, fold it.
I should say something. “Tired. See you tomorrow.” Can’t fake a better lie. Can barely look at the soup I didn’t touch.
Lena says more. I hear her voice, the high tone, the worry, but I’m already walking away, stride even, posture perfect, exactly as it should always be. Out through the cafeteria doors, out of sight, my ankle falters. I catch myself on the wall, crumpling the drawing in my fist.
“Shit,” I mutter, carefully smoothing out the creases. I hold it against my stomach and rush to the deckhouse. The wind cuts against my cheeks, stabs my eyes. It’s dark out, cold too. My skin is burning.
Deckhouse. Courtyard. My room. Thumb on the lock, a short buzz, then inside. I don’t turn on the lights, just close the door behind me and slide down against it, landing hard on the floor.
And I sit there, in the darkness. Just breathing until it’s not dark anymore, until my vision adjusts to the moonlight washing in through my window.
And Mom’s face creeps in, right along.
The photo’s not viral yet, but it will be. Someone will catch the buzz, inflate the news—a pro-equestrian blog, or a reporter from a bigger town than this one. Then a bigger outlet, a wider reach. It’s only a matter of time.
The drawing is still flat on my stomach. I press it harder against me. Then slip out my phone and sandwich them both between my hands.
My finger hovers over the app icon. Can’t hold off the inevitable, so I press it.
I navigate to messages, get Kellan’s—it’s right here, like Lena said.
I don’t read what he wrote, just click the link.
The post loads, the photo appears. I unfocus from the figures, from the colors, keep my eyes on where I know the share button will appear.
The second it does, I tap it, choose Mom’s contact, then press the text box for my message.
My thumbs slide across the keyboard as I craft it, then read it three times to make sure it strikes the right tone. Not panicked. Not defensive. Proactive. Professional. Like I should’ve been from the start.
FYI, this is circulating. Just wanted to get ahead of it.
Proper punctuation. Short and definitely not sweet. But enough.
I send it.
Three dots appear immediately. She’s probably in some fancy hotel, excusing herself from a sponsor dinner so she can scowl at the screen in peace.
Three dots, and then, a message.
You know better than to let this get out.
Why did you take off the face mask?
I don’t answer. What could I answer? Did it on purpose, just felt like bombing my whole career. YOLO.
The phone buzzes again. Another message. Then another. I don’t read them. Instead, I tap back to the original post. It has even more likes now, more comments. I skim through them.
@JumpingQueen22: This is more impressive than any clear round. #Respect #TrueChampion #BehindTheAthlete #MyHeroCassianVale
@BarnGurlVibez: It’s easy to forget there’s a real person behind the perfect record… #MyHeroCassianVale #TheRealDeal #KindnessMatter s
@FernOnTheSaddle: This is how you mentor the next generation. Incredible. #RoleModel #Respect #MyHeroCassianVale #RealMen
@DigginTheHooves: My daughter has his poster on her wall. This is a hero a father can get behind. #ClassAct #RoleModel #HorseDad #MyHeroCassianVale
How the fuck am I a hero? And a role model? For what, repressed emotions and trauma responses? Yeah, I nail those.
But people are nice. They really are. Like the real me was a sighting, a double rainbow, or worse, one of those meteor showers people gather up on a mountain to watch and awe at.
Mom’s messages keep popping up. I slide each notification away, keep scrolling, comment after comment. All the same, all too much.
There’s a knock. I feel the door rattle on my back.
On instinct, I check the time—shit, almost midnight.
I turn off my phone, take the deepest breath of the last three hours, and stand. My legs prickle, my back cracks like I earned sixty years, my butt hurts even worse. Then I open the door.
It’s Eli. Hair all mussed, wearing those soft pajama pants I love on him, and a band t-shirt so faded I can’t tell the actual band. The moment I see him, the second his natural scent reaches my senses, I feel the tears come. Slowly, from my chest, through my throat, locking up my jaw.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says quietly. “Needed to know you’re okay.”
The words just make everything come faster. Make my eyes blur, my chin tremble.
“I’m not sure I am,” I whisper, pressing my phone and the drawing against my sternum. They stab like a knife, wedging in, cracking open.
Why did I go to Zane? I didn’t want this.
Eli doesn’t say anything else. He just grabs the phone and drawing from my hand, tucks them away somewhere. His palm is too warm on mine, too good. Why the fuck did I ever take it? All those months ago on that round pen, after he told me his name.
He leads me out of my room and down the deck. Inside his, he doesn’t turn on the lights either, just pulls me toward the bed where we lie down over the comforter, fully clothed—my sneakers still on. His arms surround me, his hands clamp me closer. I curl against his chest.
When I breathe in, it hurts, but when I breathe out, it’s easier, just a bit. Eli means safety, and eventually, after a dozen more breaths, my brain remembers.
Then a loud buzz. I flinch. Another message from Mom—I know it. I clench Eli’s shirt, my knuckles white. I want to close my eyes, ignore everything, and just breathe and hopefully fall asleep.
But my wrist is in front of my face. And Eli’s heart around my scar is starting to fade.
Don’t fucking cry!
“My phone,” I mumble against his chest, lifting my hand so he gives it to me. I need to answer, to focus. Hiding in his chest will solve nothing.
His hold just tightens around me. “You don’t need it.”
I feel his voice through his ribs, a low rumble that’s more of an incantation, making my hand drop again, making my next exhale take along some of the dark tendrils already slithering into my thoughts.
His body shifts as he reaches for something. Then a soft electronic tone—my phone, powering down.
“Breathe. Sleep,” Eli whispers against my hair. Yet another incantation.
It’s the last thing I remember.