Chapter Twenty-Four. Case

The second night, there's a scheduling conflict with a local Amarillo Summer Kickoff festival, so Winnie and Brody are the only ones who stick around to watch my final bull-riding event. It's the rare night Winnie doesn't have to watch Garrett, and I'm flattered she's spending it with her butt in the stands watching me.

I told everyone it didn't matter if they came tonight. It's just a local show. I've ridden in a hundred others over the last decade. What's one more? I meant it, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate looking up and seeing Winnie's encouraging smile. She's waving that same hand-printed sign with unbridled enthusiasm, blocking the view of at least four people behind her. It's a good look for her. No barn coat, no siblings, nothing to prove. Just Winnie being Winnie.

God, I love her.

I know I'm not supposed to. It wasn't on the list and things are complicated, but oh fucking well. I do.

Tonight, the nerves are less of the puke-inducing variety and more of the typical "I'm about to hop on fifteen hundred pounds of unpredictable bull." Brody manages to get Walker's song playing again, and this time, it spurs me on instead of gutting me. NFR or no, tonight, I'm just a guy doing something reckless to show off for the girl he secretly loves. As luck would have it, I pulled a dead ringer named King Kong. He plays by the rules, bucking enough to score us some solid style points, but not enough to cause me to bail ahead of the eight seconds. By the time I'm flinging myself off his back and safely ducking to the ground, I already know I've won.

Case Michaels is back.

For what it's worth.

I collect my prize, take some pictures, and answer a few questions for the local paper, keeping an eye on where Winnie is waiting for me. I can tell she overhears the reporter asking me about my "impressive return to riding," because she rolls her eyes.

Keeping it real. Like when I told her she could have ridden better yesterday afternoon. Hell, she rode great. For her first time, it was practically perfection. But I'll never say that. It's not what she wants from me. She can get that from everyone else, and so can I. But to each other? We don't flinch. We tell the truth. We press buttons and challenge the status quo.

I respect her too much for anything less, and she matches me in that.

Eventually, I make my way over to where she's standing.

I gesture to the sign in her hands and the bag over my shoulder. "Maybe we can drop these off at my truck? Unless"—I smirk—"you want to carry that around with you through the carnival?"

Winnie raises the sign and smacks me lightly upside the head with it. "Are we walking through the carnival?"

"I thought we could. If you want." Please want. I never get Winnie to myself.

Winnie lifts a shoulder, all casual, but she looks pleased with the invite. We walk through the dusty field turned parking lot and drop our things in the trunk of my SUV. I reach for a water bottle from a small cooler I keep for rodeos and pass her one before turning to sit on the tailgate in the twilight.

"How'd it feel out there tonight?" she asks.

"Familiar," I say. "Minus the obvious, of course."

She takes a sip of her water, holding the cap in the opposite hand. "You looked comfortable. Super relaxed. Is that something you cultivated over time, or have you always been that way?"

I consider that. "Been that way as long as I can remember. High-stress situations calm me, and straddling a bull is about as stressful as it gets. It's not that I don't take the danger seriously. I'm aware of the risks, but something in my brain clicks when the adrenaline kicks in and everything gets extra clear."

Winnie nods. "I've heard about that kind of thing before. It's rare, but not unheard of. Like fighter pilots. They have to be able to turn off the chaos around them and zero in on the target."

"Not that I would compare myself to a fighter pilot, but yeah."

"You're a good person to have around in a crisis."

"That's me."

She takes another sip and swallows, pressing her lips together.

"Go ahead."

"What?" she hedges, turning pink in the dim light.

"I can tell you're gearing up to ask me something. Just ask. I'm an open book." I point my bottle toward her. "With you, anyway."

"Okay." She stops and restarts. "Okay. It's only that… you don't seem… like… you've been training for months and months, like me, and you won top place tonight after all that hard work, and I guess… you don't seem very happy?"

I look away from her, staring off into the humid night. It's not supposed to rain, but heavy gray clouds cover the sky and smother the stars from sight.

"It's not that I'm not happy," I say softly. "I am. But maybe I'm not as happy as Walker was, or as you are. Or maybe happy isn't even the word. Enthusiastic? It's given me a lot to think about. This isn't me keeping secrets from you or anything. I don't mind you asking. I'm just not sure what my answer is."

"That's fair. I could tell, you know." She tucks a wave of hair behind her ear. "You were missing your spark."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I don't think other people would notice. You aren't obvious." She turns even redder. "I mean. You know what I mean. There's a difference. When you pay attention."

My gut instinct is to give her grief for being so tongue-tied, but somehow, I know I shouldn't. Not over this. The months of being Winnie Sutton's friend have taught me a lot of things. She's the capablest person I've ever met, and Winnie is not the kind of girl to get her words tied up over a guy.

I'm honored.

I know better than to say that, though. So instead, I wrap my arm around her and tug her close, planting a kiss on the top of her head. Then, before she can overthink it, I jump off the tailgate and hold out a hand. "Come on, Sutton. Let's go find some corn dogs. I'm hungry."

I drop Winnie off a few hours later, after I stop myself from kissing her at least four different times over the course of our night together:

I deserve a medal for my efforts.

Off the record, I'm 99 percent sure she's interested in more than friendship between us, but also, I'm 99.9 percent sure she doesn't actually know that.

Or maybe she does and we're both idiots.

My house is silent when I get home, except for the rumbling snores coming from my dad's bedroom. I creep up the stairs after dropping my rodeo bag in the laundry room to be dealt with tomorrow. My bedroom is dark and cool, and I decide against turning on the light. After spending the last two days surrounded by booming loudspeakers, flashing neon lights, and roaring crowds, the darkness and silence soothe the aftereffects of sensory overload. I change out of my jeans into a pair of old basketball shorts and switch my shirt out for something that doesn't smell like fried food. After brushing my teeth and scrubbing the sweat off my face, I collapse into my bed without bothering with the covers. I'm pretty wired right now, but I don't feel like Netflix or music, so instead, I pick up my phone and scroll aimlessly. Eventually, I wander to my inbox and, swallowing hard, click on an email I'd first opened this morning.

It's an acceptance letter to Texas Tech University in the fall. Early admittance to their nursing program. Pediatric nursing, to be precise.

I'm filled with a sudden feeling of peace. Of rightness. This is what I want to do. I want to help kids in the hospital. To take care of them and keep them comfortable and make them laugh or let them cry or whatever they need to do that they can't around their family and friends.

As Kerry pointed out, Texas Tech also has a rodeo team. This isn't the end of the line. I could probably qualify for a scholarship—likely will have to once my dad hears about nursing. And as an added bonus, the campus is close enough I can come home on weekends to see Winnie or, if she needs, help with Garrett and Jesse if she's touring. I can be around to keep them in line, so she doesn't have to worry.

I haven't told anyone about the acceptance. Pax and Kerry know I applied, but telling them about the acceptance makes it feel more real. And I haven't told Winnie anything yet.

I want to tell Winnie more than anything. Of everyone, I feel like maybe she would understand. I almost told her tonight, but I couldn't get the words past my lips. I don't want her to think I'm a quitter. Disappointing her would be hard to come back from, especially since I've decided I'm in love with her. And while I know she's nothing like my dad, I'm not super confident leaving the masculine world of bull-riding fame for a quiet job as a male nurse is especially attractive. Especially if she's spending all her time touring on the circuit with cocky, self-sure cowboys and I'm left back home learning how to put IVs into toddlers.

I know how toxic that sounds, and on paper, I know it shouldn't matter. But it does. Not enough to make me change my mind, but enough that, when my guard is down, there's this pang of awareness that keeps me from spilling the truth.

And then there's a part of me that worries Winnie might get scared away from racing, too. Like if I left and she was on her own, she might decide she needs to stay home after all.

After yesterday, those particular fears, at least, have been put to rest. There's no way she could walk away now. I'll have to convince her we have her back, but we have all summer to worry about that. Three months to get her to fall in love with me and trust she can follow her dreams without the rest of us falling apart.

One summer, and I plan to make the most of it.