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I tilt my head, leaning on my own fork. “Not the PBR?”
His expression slips, and his eyes shift someplace in the distance. “That was all Walker. He lived and breathed rodeo.”
“I didn’t know that. I assumed…”
“Yeah. Everyone does. It’s okay.”
“So about last night,” I hedge. “Is that why…?” Because, okay, Iwaspissed when I heard Case’s name over the speakers, pulling from the competition. I would give anything to have half his resources and opportunities, and he’s just throwing them away.
He considers me for a long moment. “Yes and no. I know what everyone thinks, and maybe… I let them think it.”
Aforementioned grace or no, I’m dubious. “So you didn’t puke your guts out?”
He grimaces. “Oh, no, I definitely did. All over the ground. It was disgusting, but it wasn’t alcohol-related. Regretfully, I was sober.”
I frown. “So you pretended to be drunk? Because I spoke to Brody after, and he was pretty pissed.”
He wavers. “Yeah. He was.” Case rubs at the back of his neck. “I didn’t fake it. It was more like I would rather let Brody think I was drunk than the reality.” He hesitates for a beat before exhaling in a gust and continuing, “The reality being it was my first time in the arena without Walker, and I couldn’t face it.”
My stomach drops at his confession. It feels like a punch. “Oh.”
He frowns. “Yeah. Which, now that I admit it out loud, seems just as pathetic as it would have been if I’d actually been drunk.”
I quickly shake my head. “No! Definitely not. Don’t think that. You’re sad.” I rush to reassure him. “That’s normal. Human,” I offer, as if I know what the hell I’m talking about. My voice is barely above a whisper in the stillness, because suddenly, this feels like a secret. I guess because, technically, it is. “So what are you going to do?”
He scuffs at the concrete with his work boot, tucking his free hand into his coat pocket. “No idea.”
“Do you want to do rodeo at all?”
He doesn’t answer right away. I watch his face as he truly seems to consider his future, and I work hard to repress the jealousy that he’s even given the choice. Clearly, after what he’s confessed, now isn’t the time for pettiness. “I’m not sure. I thought I did, but I’m starting to wonder how much of that was wanting to support Walker. If he were alive and well, we’d be touring with the PBR right now, and I know he wouldn’t regret it one bit. But me?” His hand comes out of his pocket and tugs his hat off his head. He exhales. “Ilikerodeo. I love to ride. But… I’ve never been as fearless as he was. Walker did not give a single fuck, and I’ve never been able to pull it off the same way. I’mnot sure I want to.” He fidgets with his hat again. “I’ve never admitted that before.”
“Not even to Walker?”
He chuckles humorlessly. “Especiallyto Walker. I couldn’t. I knew I had my whole life ahead of me, and deep down, he always knew he didn’t.”
At once, I’m struck by how decent Case Michaels is. Sure, he’s a rich dope who doesn’t seem to have a clue about the real world and how stupid-fortunate he is, but he was a good friend to Walker Gibson.
It warms me toward Case a little. Like a teeny-tiny bit. But thereisa thaw happening. Walker was a special kind of human. Not because he was terminal—I didn’t even know until the very end. He never seemed sick to me, though I’m pretty familiar with the lengths we go to keep people from seeing our vulnerabilities. I’m fluent in the concept of denial, that maybe if we keep those scary parts of us hidden, we won’t ever have to face them.
But, eventually, Walker could no longer keep his hidden.
Case picks up his pitchfork and turns to the next stall, conversation apparently over. Which is okay. I turn off the podcast and scroll to find some Kenny Chesney, turning it on low enough so the old ladies in stalls 8 and 9 won’t get all worked up. At the first strums of Kenny’s guitar, Case sticks his head out and beams, damned dimple popping in his cheek. It’s one that says “Thank you,” I think. I roll my eyes and wave him off in a way that hopefully translates to “Shut up. It’s not for you.”
As I shovel, I remember. Walker and Case used to train in the same barn where we found Case and Brody last week. I never saw them working out or anything, but Walker would occasionally come by the horses when Case was drilling andvisit with me. He had this massive crush on a girl who went to a different school, and he would ask my advice on how to flirt with her. In retrospect, this had to be Walker’s way of starting a conversation, because I’m the last person on earth who should give relationship advice.
Walker and I formed a pretty casual friendship. Somewhere spanning the border of more than acquaintance and less than Case. Because no one was as close as those two. But we would sometimes eat lunch together, and he always waved in the halls at school. Then I graduated at the semester break, and not long after, Walker got really sick. He stopped coming around the stables, and I wasn’t in school anymore. By the time I learned he was dying, it felt too late to visit him—out of place, maybe. Presumptive. In truth, I was afraid.
I wish I’d been braver. I would have liked to tell him thank you for those moments of friendship. They were the closest I’d had to the real thing in a long time.
Case finishes up on his half of the stalls, and I see him leading a mammoth of a Thoroughbred named Moses toward the tack room. He notices my curiosity. “It’s okay. He’s mine,” he explains.
“Wait. Really?”
Case looks sheepish. “Technically. I don’t ride very often, but my dad had hopes. He bought him for my thirteenth birthday.”
I whistle low, too impressed to be annoyed. “A top-dollar beauty of a stallion for a thirteen-year-old who will never ride him.”
He winces. “Yeah. Well, to be fair, I did ride him a lot at first, but high school happened. Anyway, I’m fixin’ to change that. Wanna join us?”
