Chapter Thirty-One. Case

I wake up early Sunday morning because I'm used to it. I don't remember the last time I slept in, but it hasn't happened since the start of summer. I pull my phone off its wireless charger, noticing Winnie never texted back last night. She must have gone right to bed after I dropped her off.

I allow myself a few minutes of lying there, replaying the highlights from our night together until I'm startled out of bed by the sound of a car door slamming. I walk over to my open window and shove aside the curtain. Speaking of my gorgeous girlfriend, what the heck is she doing here at 7:00 a.m. on her day off?

I quickly throw on a clean shirt and a pair of dirty work jeans I'd flung over my desk chair and hop down the stairs, pulling on my socks. Sunday is Kerry's day off, too, so I grab a couple of apples off the counter and slip out the front door. The early-morning summer air is humid and comfortable, which will translate to insufferable in a few hours. Winnie's no longer at her car, but I can hear movement in the stables and head in that direction.

I make my way to the entrance, leaning against the door and placing the apples on a shelf. Winnie marches out of the tack room without noticing me. She looks kind of terrible. Objectively still good because she's Winnie, but her tangled hair is loose around her shoulders instead of braided and tucked away like usual. Her dark eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. She's making a sloppy attempt at saddling up her newest trainee, Pistol Annie, rushing through the steps. I gently clear my throat, and she jumps three feet clear into the air.

"Jesus, Case! You scared the shit out of me!"

"Hey," I say softly. One of the horses nickers. I move to turn on the giant fan because it's there and I'm here and I'm not sure what else to do with my hands. "Everything okay?"

She seemed okay when I dropped her off. More than, if I'm honest. But what if she's changed her mind or has some regrets about the things we've done? Of course I'd respect that, but the idea it could bring on this reaction feels like acid churning in my stomach.

I've never been happier. That she might not feel the same…

Doesn't matter right now. She matters.

Winnie sniffs loudly, working on a tiny buckle with trembling fingers. With a frustrated sob, she drops it to the floor and rushes toward me. I meet her in the middle of the aisle and catch her with an oof, wrapping her tightly within my arms. Silent sobs rack her tiny form and, fucking alarmed, I hold her even closer.

"Shhhhh," I say. "It's okay. You're okay. What's wrong? What can I do?"

She cries even harder.

I'm trying not to freak out, because she sounds like she's being torn apart. I mean, hell, her little sister was nearly gored by a longhorn and she was the one calming me down.

"Winnie, please. Did I do something? Are you hurt?"

She pulls back, swiping at her face with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"My dad got promoted," she says, looking down at her tear-stained sleeves. "He's taking a day shift."

I blink and swallow. "That's… good, right? Long overdue, even?"

She nods, taking a shaky breath and hiccupping. "He's telling me I can leave now. He's letting me go so I can race on the circuit."

I let that sink in for a beat before a grunt clears the back of my throat. Christ. I think I know where this is headed.

"Ten years, I've been holding them together. I finished school early and got a job the minute I could. I've practically raised Garrett, and he has the fucking nerve to tell me, ‘I'm the dad. I'm the parent and you aren't. It's time for you to be the big sister and live your life.' He made it out like I've been some self-sacrificing martyr all these years!"

I cup her face, stroking her cheek with my fingertip. "On the one hand, you do deserve to be able to focus on your own career. You never should've had to be the parent."

"I know that!" she insists.

"But—" I step closer, looking deep into her eyes, still welling with tears. I wouldn't be surprised if this was an entire lifetime of tears pouring from them. Saved up from years and years of toughing it out for the sake of her family. "He never should have said it like that. He never should have made you feel that way. He should be thanking you on his knees and kissing the ground you walk on. He should be offering you the world on a platter. And above all else, he should have done this ten years ago."

Her head tips forward onto my collarbone, and she breaks into another round of silent sobs. I stroke her back over and over. I'm relieved she's not feeling regret over us, but I'm pissed her dad is such a complete idiot.

"What am I supposed to do? He's practically kicking me out."

"Move in with me?" I offer, only half joking. "Free muffins anytime you want?"

She sighs, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing once before stepping back. "You're moving away in like a month, college boy."

"True. I've heard dorm twin beds are even smaller than regular ones. If you have to, you can sleep directly on top of me. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

She snickers, and I'm triumphant at the change.

"I could move into the Cook Shack," Winnie says, deep in thought.

The Cook Shack is anything but a shack. It's a modest, newly renovated two-bedroom cabin on the other side of the farthest pasture. Camilla and my dad talked about using it as an Airbnb, but it's sat empty because running an Airbnb requires someone to keep track of it. "Camilla brought it up months ago, but there was no way I could afford it at the time."

"You could probably work something out now."

"If I'm not paying for two kids, I could make it work."

"Would you be okay with that? I mean, it's a short drive home, but it's also space. And you'd be close to train and ride the horses whenever you want."

"I'd also have my own place right on the other side of that hill," she says suggestively, but sobers almost immediately and sighs. "I don't know. I've wanted my own space for a while. The chance to only think and worry about myself. But I don't know if I can turn it off—the worrying over Garrett, especially. What if she feels like I've abandoned her? Like our mom? I promised them I would never leave them like that." Her voice falters at the end.

"Then you have her over," I say. "She can come spend the night whenever you're in town. You can still do your movies or whatever. And I'll still be around, too. If you're gone, and I sincerely hope you are, because that means you're killing it on the circuit, and one of us is going to need to be the breadwinner at some point," I tease in a rush, and her eyes light up with a ghost of humor again. "I can come home that weekend if she needs. Or if Jesse needs. Or if you need. You're not alone, remember?"

Winnie brightens slightly. "Maybe I could get her one of those prepaid phones so she can reach me whenever she needs to while I'm on the road."

"There you go."

"And the sleepovers do sound fun."

"It will be different and the kids are so dependent, it might be a challenge for a while, but I don't think this is a bad move."

"Maybe not."

"The real question is, are you ready to chase the national buckles?"

Winnie shakes her head in wonder. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I thought I was, but I also thought there was no way I ever could, at least not for years."

"Fair." I lean back against a stall and smirk. "Know who is sure, though?"

"You?"

"Well, yeah," I agree easily. "Of course, but I meant the Queen. Mab was born ready."

Winnie straightens, sucking in a huge breath and releasing it slowly. "Guess I'd better start practicing, then, huh?"

"Maria's gonna lose her shit."

The news I'm no longer aiming for the Pbr and am, in fact, leaving for college in a month to attend a nursing program goes over with my dad better than I'd anticipated.

"Texas Tech?" he asks me. His blue eyes crinkle under his hat. He's sitting on our wraparound porch at sunset, mostly still for once, swirling a large cube of ice in a glass of straight whiskey. He watches the ice continue to spin and clink the inside of his tumbler even after his hand stops moving. Eventually, his eyes meet mine. "They have a first-rate rodeo program there, if memory serves."

Of course he's gonna fixate on that. "They do. Already recruited me. I committed to ride bulls this fall since I'm still aiming for the NFR this winter. But I was thinking to maybe try bucking broncs in the future. Or maybe roping."

The corner of his mouth quirks in a knowing grin. "Switching to equine events, huh?"

I shrug a shoulder, all casual-like. "I wouldn't mind the challenge of something new."

"Boy, you could chase all the challenges in the world, but you ain't got a chance in hell of besting that girl of yours on horseback."

I snort, easing back into my chair and looking out over the ranch. Thank God for Winnie. At least she's a real cowboy he can be proud of.

"I'm not stupid. I just told you I got accepted into nursing school, didn't I? That's why I said bucking broncs or roping. Not racing. Winnie'd beat me up for trying."

Junior laughs low in his chest. "Did you see how fast your girlfriend whipped Pistol Annie into shape? Shheet. That girl's fearless."

I smile to myself. At least we can agree on that. "That she is."

"So." My dad clears his throat after a minute, swirling the cube again. "You want to be a murse. Sure you don't want to be a doctor? Or a surgeon or something?"

I swallow back a hundred different retorts, but I've planned for this. Let him get it out of his system. He can say whatever he wants. I know myself.

"Nope. I want to be a nurse. A pediatric nurse. You think you know what tough is. Not you, specifically," I clarify, though, yeah, him, "but you've never seen tough like a twelve-year-old kid starting his fifth round of chemo after remission. Or a five-year-old who's spent more time in hospitals than out, still finding a reason to smile every day. Or a seventeen-year-old who's been told they're going to die before they've had the chance at accomplishing any of their dreams."

"And you want to be around all of that? Relive what you went through with Walker over and over with each new kid?" Junior shakes his head. "Why the fuck would you want to do that?"

"Because I can," I say.

"We'll see," he says, tipping back his drink. I bristle at the skepticism in his dismissal, but then I see it. The slightest tremble in the hand holding his whiskey. A shake in his composure. And it hits me for the first time. I think Junior is afraid of sick people.

Because he came home one day to his young wife dead on the ground of the ranch they shared, without even the chance to save her.

Holy shit. No wonder he kept Walker at a distance when things started to look bad.

Being a nurse, seeking a job where I would be surrounding myself with vulnerable kids day in and day out? That's his worst nightmare.

Junior doesn't think I'm too weak. Not really. Junior thinks I'm too brave.

He's wrong on like a thousand levels, and he'd never admit it, anyway, but I know I'm right. It makes so much sense.

For a moment, I let this revelation settle in my bones and try to think of something I could say or do to ease his mind. But everything I come up with would rattle the equilibrium. No matter what his reasons are, my dad isn't going to change any time soon. So I do the only thing that makes sense.

I settle back in my chair and change the subject.

"Did you see that write-up on Mab and Winnie in Rodeo Times?"

"The one that called our ranch ‘paradise on earth'?"

I snort. "Clearly, they haven't been around these parts in January when everything is a muddy mess of clay and cow pies."

"I doubt you'll miss that when you're away at school."

"Maybe I'll come back to visit just to remind myself why I moved away."

"Kerry'd make you her muffins and you'd never leave again."

"True…"

Equilibrium restored.

One down, one to go. If I'm honest, I've been dreading this visit more than anything else. I've long suspected Brody has been using me as a stand-in for his little brother, and this is gonna sting.

I raise my hand and knock on the door of the Gibsons' home early Sunday morning. It's the first time I've knocked on this door in years, and it feels wrong. Like something from an alternate universe. Walker and I were encouraged to wander freely between our homes. We were family. I know his family still sees me as a second (third) son and they always will, but I don't think I can just walk in and invade their space the way I used to. Family, always; familiar, no longer.

Brody answers, and I'm a little relieved. I've seen Mr. and Mrs. Gibson a few times since the funeral, but I know I make them sad. I'd been hoping by coming on Sunday morning, they might be at church and I could save them the setback.

"Hey, did we have practice?"

"Nah, I was hoping to talk to you about something. Can I come in?"

Brody shuffles backward, opening the door wide and letting me in. I'm hit with a wave of nostalgia. It smells the same. The laundry is off the side of the foyer—Mrs. Gibson does a load every morning without fail. She used to say two teenage boys kept her up to her ears in sweaty socks.

I swallow hard, and Brody leads me to the kitchen. We pass the sitting room no one sits in, covered in years of school pictures and fresh flowers. I try not to get stuck on the reminders of Walker's young face through the years. I see a picture from our last rodeo, Walker and me sitting side by side on the fence in our full getup, arms flung around each other's shoulders. First- and second-place buckles like always.

Brody offers me coffee. I decline the caffeine, doubting they have enough oat milk creamer for this conversation.

"I've been accepted to Texas Tech. I leave in a month."

He blinks, putting his cup down on the counter. For a minute, he stares at the mug, but then his shoulders slip and he sighs, sitting down on a stool and gesturing for me to do the same. "How long have you known this?"

That's not the question I expected.

He shakes his head, continuing, "I'll tell you how long I knew. I knew that first ride that wasn't, when you nearly puked all over my boots."

"Shut the fuck up."

He cracks a half grin. "You weren't drunk."

"No," I confess. "I wasn't."

"I knew it, but I wasn't sure what the deal was, so I figured I'd let you work it out in your own time. Then you showed up more determined than ever, so I went along with it."

"I'm not him," I say in a strained almost-whisper.

Brody's eyes grow bright, but he doesn't crack. "No one could be. I'm sorry you thought you had to try for my sake."

I shake my head. "It wasn't like that. I thought I had to try for my sake and maybe for his. He left me this list—know what?" I choke on a laugh. "It doesn't really matter. The point is the Pbr was his dream, and I wanted to make it happen for him. But I can't live my life for him, you know?"

Brody nods thoughtfully. "He wouldn't want that."

"No! He wouldn't. God, he would be so pissed at me if he knew I was still being such a bitch about the decision nearly a year after the fact."

He laughs and drinks from his cup. "So what are you thinking of doing?"

"Well, I've still got a scholarship to ride. And the NFR this winter. I owe Walker one last gold buckle. But after that? I'm thinking of maybe branching out into broncs and roping."

"You'd be killer at broncs. It's dangerous as fuck, but you've got a good head on your shoulders for that kind of thing."

"I like horses."

He smirks. "I'll bet you do."

"And I'm planning to go into pediatric nursing," I say, holding my breath. It only now occurs to me how much Brody's opinion on this means to me. More than my dad's, more than Winnie's, even. My big brother, coach, mentor: I want so much for him to understand.

Brody's inhale is sharp, and this time, his stoic eyes blink against tears.

"Fuck. That's…"

"Stupid?" I guess. "A female profession? Because it's not—"

Brody sets down his cup and rounds the counter, pulling me in for an embrace. "Shut up."

The hug is brief, and he clears his throat, returning to his coffee. "Bro. That's incredible. Are you sure? That shit is so hard. To watch kids fight for their lives—"

"I know. I'm sure."

"You'd be great. You will be great."

"Thanks."

Brody is still shaking off his emotions, and I almost crack a smile, but I don't, because it means too much.

"Well, hell, I guess this makes things easy. I was gonna tell you I'm joining the Pbr, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about competing against each other. Not that I was gonna let that stop me, but…"

"What? You are?"

He nods, scratching at the back of his neck, clearly proud. "I never shook the dream, and anyway, this place is suffocating. The memories, you know? It's great for Mom and Dad, and I know they need it, but I gotta get out of here. Chase some sunsets, break some records, whatever. Walker always gave me shit for quitting, and he was right. I don't regret it for one second, but it's time I get on with it."

"That's incredible. I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks." He laughs low. "This worked out."

"How long have you known?" I ask.

"Too long. We're both fucking idiots."

I shrug one shoulder. "We were sad idiots. There's a difference."

Brody nails me with a long look. "You're going to be a great nurse."

"You're just glad I'm not going to get in your way in the Pbr. You know I'd kick your ass."

He flashes a grin. "Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Michaels."

The following Friday night, I'm under the lights, getting ready to jump in the chute. It's not the last time, but it feels like it. I've qualified for state, and from there, it's a hop, skip, and surely painful jump to Vegas this winter. I'm almost at the end. I've wondered how it felt for Walker, those last hours he was alive. Did it feel like the end? Did he know the timer was winding down on his last breaths? Or did it feel like falling asleep, only to wake up to a dream?

For me, Vegas feels like the inevitable conclusion. Even when I compete in rodeos in the future, it won't be like this. I'll be a part of something Walker never touched with his life.

But Ranch Rodeo was the competition I first met Walker, which feels all the more poetic. This is where it began. I'll do new things, accomplish new goals, make new friends and relationships, but I'll never replace Walker. This, tonight, is my memorial for him.

Since Brody is competing tonight, I take care of my own arrangements. Might as well get used to that. I pull my bull and give the management my music (while making a special request for Brody's turn). Then I warm up and drink my water. Honestly, I don't feel nervous. In fact, I'm buzzing with excitement. I'm not mourning tonight, I'm celebrating. Winnie's in the crowd, sitting somewhere alone. Her event's not until tomorrow afternoon, so she came with me, gave me a searing kiss for good luck, and then sauntered off to the stands. There're video crews here tonight, some cable sports shows hoping to catch early glimpses of favorites, and I know my girlfriend is on that list. Which is why she's wearing my old ball cap. Lying low so as not to be seen by anyone but me. I pick her out after a beat of looking, and she gives a piercing whistle before blowing a kiss and ducking her head again.

Brody goes first, and after easily hanging on for eight like the professional he is, he finds me and flips the middle-finger salute, laughing as he jumps the fence back to the waiting area. He's gonna kill me later for the AC/DC, maybe even try to say I was hoping to throw him and give myself the advantage, but we both know I wouldn't. The thing is, Walker was his brother first, and they're the ones who shared the dream, in the end.

Brody should be the one to inherit Walker's shitty intro song.

Two more riders go before my name is called, and when it is, the opening piano chords of "Don't Stop Believin'" pulse over the speakers. I see Winnie's head pop up. I doubt she sees my wink before I slip in my mouth guard, but later, she'll see it on the footage and laugh. I still think '80s rock is the worst, but I hate this song the least. And it makes me think of all the good things I have—the new, good memories I'm creating.

I straddle the bull, an oldie named Titanium, and reach for the clutch, wrapping my gloved fingers around it. The chute boss passes me my rope, and I work it tighter and tighter in my grip while the boss steadies me. Titanium is practically vibrating, and I have this uncontrollable urge to laugh. The lights, the sounds, the fifteen hundred pounds beneath me, the girl I love in the stands… it's a fucking gift.

Walker's laugh echoes in my head, shouting, Giddyup!

I nod at him in my mind, slapping my chest with my free hand. "Let's ride, brother."

And the chute opens on the rest of my life.