Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NOW
I t’s about a four-hour drive to Fort Worth from Saddlebrook Falls, and I’m squeezed in the middle of Kasey’s two-door bench seat between him and Wells for the whole thing. Not that I mind—at least I get to spend the next thirty-or-so hours out of the confines of my bedroom.
Mom was beyond pissed when I returned home with her dusty Mercedes the other day, demanding to know where I’d gone and who I was with. It was almost as if she’d forgotten everything I’d been through in the last week and a half, thrusting us both through space and time until I was fourteen all over again and my life was hers to commandeer.
Needless to say, she didn’t take kindly to my blatant disregard for her questions as I disappeared into my room, shutting the door hard behind me. I couldn't help the tears that rolled down my cheeks as I tucked myself back into bed, wondering how my life had turned into such a nightmare. But then thoughts of Stardust grazing in the pasture flitted to the forefront and I let myself become immersed in the frenzy of thoughts surrounding Wells and all that he’d done for her—all that he’d done because of me .
It was never a secret that Wells and I didn’t have the easiest friendship. Our dynamic consisted of quiet negotiation and semi-forced compromises as it related to Jason and the space I took up in his life after we started dating. I, of course, always wanted more of it—more of him —and Wells didn’t want to lose his best friend to me. We shared an eagerness to find a way that we could both be the Most Important Person in his life, especially after learning that working against each other only made things worse for everyone.
The only ultimatum Jason ever gave me was after a particularly petty spout of my whining about Wells in the early days of our relationship, when I felt like the too-cool and reckless best friend of the boy I liked was out to get me. Jason was undoubtedly the glue that held us all together, and without him I’m not sure any of it would have stuck.
But somewhere inside of all that, Wells was quietly working to protect something important to me. Not that horses weren’t important to him —his family’s entire livelihood revolved around their dedication to them. But something tells me Wells wouldn’t have been so eager to give Stardust the freedom he did if not for that evening so long ago.
Now, as I sit so close to him, I can smell the wintergreen gum he’s chewing, and I sink into the moment. It was a sheer stroke of luck that Mom had just left for the grocery store when Kasey pulled his truck up to the house, a silver horse trailer in tow. I hadn’t told her about the rodeo—I knew she’d raise hell about it. So I wrote her a quick note on the back of an envelope and left it for her to find on the kitchen island before throwing my old cheer duffle over my shoulder and beelining it out the door.
For the stretch of road between Fairfield and Richland, I find myself imagining that I’m in some sort of alternate universe, one where Jason didn’t die. One where he never existed in the first place. I know I’m dissociating, but for nearly thirty minutes I feel . . . content. And man if it isn’t a relief.
We get into Fort Worth around ten, and Kasey finds a strip mall with a big enough parking lot to safely park his rig. “You guys hungry?” he asks as he expertly backs the trailer alongside the far edge of the lot.
“We should probably eat something,” Wells answers, eyes bouncing to me. He’s wearing an olive-green pearl snap button-down and dark jeans, his black cowboy hat resting neatly in his lap. Apparently, rodeos call for dressing up. “Not sure we’ll have another chance.”
Kasey shifts the truck into park and nods toward the other side of the lot, reaching for his own hat from where it’s tucked between the dash and windshield. “There’s a Waffle House,” he says. “I could eat some waffles.”
Both of them look at me like I’m the deciding factor in all this. “Sounds good.” I shrug.
Inside, Kasey and Wells order the All-Star Special (Wells asks for the pecan waffle, and Kasey opts for chocolate chip) and I ask for the bacon, egg, and cheese hashbrown bowl. For another small stretch of time as we quietly sip our coffee—or, in my case, orange juice—life feels normal again. But as if on a timer, Jason’s face floods my mind and I remember why all of this is anything but normal, and I start to feel a bubbling panic in my gut at being here.
“You okay?” Wells asks from where he sits next to me, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts as Kasey pretends to watch something out the window.
I nod. “Yeah, I just . . .” My heart fumbles as I work to figure out what to say.
But he seems to understand, because he nods and looks down at the table. “Let yourself feel it as it comes,” he murmurs, so gently and carefully that the corners of my eyes begin to burn. Luckily I’m saved by the waitress who brings us our food, and we all quietly dig in.
We make it to Dickies Arena just before noon, and Kasey parks the trailer in a dirt lot that holds hundreds of others. I hop out of the truck behind Wells and look around at all of the people who are here to compete—the only rodeo I’ve ever been to was the small circuit at the county fair Jason took me to five years ago, and it was nothing like this.
There are horses everywhere, and at their sides are cowboys who look like they know how to rope and ride—and not just for sport. Even in December, they have sun-kissed faces from days spent beneath the wide-open Texas sky, and the dirt on their boots is proof of the hard work they put themselves through. My gaze snags on Wells and Kasey as they lead Kasey’s horse, Ghost, out of the trailer, and I’m suddenly struck by the realization that they’re real cowboys, too.
Wells’s eyes catch mine, and for the first time since I’ve been home—since everything’s changed—I see that spark in his gaze, like a burst of lightning, the same one that was there at the last rodeo I watched him compete in. I can’t help the small smile that grows, a whisper of something good that I’m desperate to cling to.
I’m about to ask when his event starts but three girls cut between us from the front of the truck, their attention wholly focused on the guys. “Kasey!” one of them shrieks, a beautiful Black girl with long braids that drape across the back of her plum tank top. She throws her arms around his neck and her tan cowboy hat knocks against his, sliding back across her head and almost falling off.
Kasey lets out a huff from the impact, lips curving into a smile as he reaches up to press her hat back down. “Madison, always good to see you.” He pulls back to look at her. “How’s Jeremy?”
Madison shrugs. “He’s still out for at least another six months, but he’s working through PT, trying to keep his head up.”
Kasey nods, his dark blue shirt wrinkling as he folds his arms across his chest. “Good. It’s been a few weeks since I talked to him. I’ll give him a call soon.”
Madison smiles. “He’d like that.”
Kasey turns to Wells. “You remember my brother?”
“Yeah, of course, how could I not?” She reaches to hug Wells, who leans into her embrace.
“Hello,” he says, eyes catching mine before dropping to the ground.
“Good to see you,” Madison says, and turns to her friends. “This is Riley and Nicole . . . I’m mentoring them this season.”
Kasey whistles. “You ladies must be good if you have Maddie here overseeing your training.”
Riley, a tall girl with freckled skin and auburn hair, flashes a wide smile. “Who better to learn from than the best?” Madison playfully shoves her on the shoulder.
“You riding today?” Kasey asks Riley.
She nods. “Our event is up soon. We’re headed to get our horses.”
“Good luck.” Kasey grins.
Riley makes a point to let her gaze linger on his arms before looking back up at him. “Maybe we’ll see you after?”
He gives her a small shrug and a devilish grin. “Maybe.”
Madison rolls her eyes. “And that’s our cue. Good luck out there, guys.” She leads Riley and Nicole toward another trailer, and Kasey gives Wells a shit-eating grin. “Fucking barrel racers,” he laughs, slapping an open palm against Wells’s shoulder before moving to the end of the trailer to unload his horse.
Wells shakes his head. “You okay?”
I’m surprised by the question. Sure, those girls didn’t notice me standing here next to Kasey’s truck, but I don’t mind. It’s actually nice to be around people who don’t know me and couldn’t give two shits about the emotional turmoil I’m going through. “Definitely.” I nod, then gesture toward the other cowboys meandering around parked trucks, some leading horses deeper into the arena. “So . . . how does all of this work?”
Wells’s brow furrows. “The rodeo?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Like, how do you know when it’s your turn?”
Wells leans back against the side of the trailer, hooking his thumbs in the front pocket of his jeans. He lifts a single, brown boot to prop up against the metal trim. “There was a draw three days ago for certain events, including saddle-bronc riding. It’s what determines which horse each rider is paired with and what order we go.”
“Luck of the draw,” I say.
He dips his head down, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Literally.”
I consider this as Kasey leads Ghost out of the trailer. “Why did Kasey bring his own horse if they assigned you to one here?”
Wells turns to look at his brother. “He’s also competing in the calf roping event, and he can use his own horse for that one. Ghost’s his favorite.”
My eyes widen. “Calf roping? Like, baby cows?” Wells huffs out a low chuckle and nods. I glare at him. “Does it hurt them?”
His amused expression falters. “It shouldn’t. The goal isn’t to hurt any of the animals here, just like it isn’t the goal to hurt any out in a pasture or on a cattle drive. It’s to showcase the everyday skills needed in cowboying.”
I nod, squinting at the big arena in front of us. There’s a hustle and bustle here that feels a lot more structured and formal than the last rodeo I saw Wells compete in—but that was an amateur circuit at the fairgrounds. This feels much more official. Many of the competitors here are a little older than the strictly early twenty-somethings at Foxborough, and they wear their best pearl snaps, bolo ties, and Kerry Kelley spurs.
“What’s your draw?” I ask Wells.
“Third,” he says.
“I’ll be cheering for you.”
His eyes come alive. “I’ll try to give you something to cheer for.”
And he does.