Page 70 of Careless Hope
“Come on, Walker. I know that look,” he said, his voice even but insistent. “You’re about as transparent as mama’s picture windows. Spill it.”
“Nothing to spill,” I muttered, lying through my teeth. My shoulders tensed, waiting for him to call me out on it. But Gray just kept at it, flinging soiled hay with the steady rhythm of a metronome, giving me a silent nudge to open up despite my stubborn resolve.
“Alright then,” he conceded with deceptive ease, “but just remember, fences need mending before they fall apart completely.”
I huffed at the metaphor. The man could be infuriatingly wise sometimes.
“Fine,” I relented, figuring a little honesty might get him off my back. “It’s just . . . things are complicated right now.”
“Complicated how?” Gray asked, leaning on his fork like he had all day to get this out of me.
“Stuff’s changing,” I said, vague but truthful. Change was the one constant I couldn’t seem to wrangle, no matter how tightly I held the reins. My life had always been as wild and unpredictable as a mustang, but lately, it felt like I was the one getting broke.
I jabbed the pitchfork into the straw with less force than before, my anger ebbing away as Gray’s presence wore me down. The barn was quiet, save for the occasional snort from a horse or creak of the old wood settling—it felt like the whole world waswaiting for me to just spit it out. I couldn’t tell him the full truth, but I could tell him what it damn well felt like.
“Caroline and I . . . ” My words trailed off, and I busied myself with rearranging the hay I’d already tossed aside, anything to avoid Gray’s gaze. “She broke up with me.”
The confession hung in the air like dust motes caught in a shaft of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the stable walls. My chest tightened, bracing for whatever lecture was about to come my way.
Gray didn’t say anything at first, and I risked a glance at him. His expression wasn’t what I expected—no disappointment, no ‘I-told-you-so’—just a kind of understanding that made something knot up inside me.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of compassion that I hadn’t heard in a long time. “You know that doesn’t make you a failure, right? Relationships . . . they’re like working with a new colt. Unpredictable and sometimes they buck you off when you least expect it.”
“Never pegged you for a romantic,” I quipped weakly, trying to deflect the sincerity of the moment.
“Maybe I’m not,” Gray shrugged, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I do know that life’s messy, and love’s probably the messiest part of it all.” He paused, looking at me with those perceptive blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.
A part of me wanted to dismiss his words, to bury them under layers of self-doubt and regret. But another part, a part that had been silent for too long, recognized the truth in them. Love and ranching weren’t all that different—both required hard work, dedication, and a willingness to get back on the horse after being thrown.
I shoved another heap of straw with more force than necessary,the pitchfork biting into the packed bedding. Gray leaned against the wooden beam that framed the stall, arms crossed over his chest, watching me work myself into a lather.
“Look, Walker,” he began, his voice even but firm, “if you really want Caroline back, you gotta go after her.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, not looking up from my task. “She’s made her choice. What’s the point?”
“Point is,” Gray pushed off from the post and took a step closer, “life ain’t a spectator sport. You can’t win if you don’t play. And sometimes, you gotta risk striking out to hit a home run.”
“Since when did you start spouting so many damn metaphors?” I scoffed, but his words had weight, settling on my shoulders like a challenge.
“Since I saw my little brother moping around like a kicked puppy,” he shot back, a hint of humor in his eye. “If it’s really over, then fine, you’ll heal. But you owe it to yourself to try. And maybe this whole thing is a sign, huh? Maybe you’re worth more than you’ve been giving yourself credit for.”
His words hovered in the dusty air of the barn, mingling with the scent of hay and horses. I paused, leaning on the pitchfork, considering his advice. The truth was, I hadn’t been honest with Caroline, or myself. I’d never told her how her laughter could light up the darkest corners of my mind, or how her fierce intelligence made my heart race more than any rodeo.
“I never told her how I really felt. And then, she met someone else.” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I wrestled with the knot in my chest. “But I owe it to her—and to myself—to at least tell her the truth.”
“Damn straight,” Gray nodded, his approval clear. “You never know, she might just be waiting for you to man up and show her what you’re feeling.”
“Or she could tell me to hit the road.” I smirked, trying to mask the vulnerability that came with such thoughts.
“Either way, you’ll know where you stand. No more what-ifs.”
I leaned my back against the cool wood of the stall, and let out a long sigh.
“Gray,” I started, my voice hoarse from the dust and the rawness of my earlier emotions, “I reckon . . . I owe you a thanks.”
He leaned on the fence, arms crossed over his broad chest, the setting sun turning his eyes into pools of liquid amber. “For what? Telling you something you already knew?”
“Nah,” I shook my head, offering up a half-smile. “For listening, for . . . giving a damn. I’m not used to laying my cards on the table like that.”
