At least I’m brave enough now to admit it to myself.
“Beau?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you be okay here if I was gone sometimes? If sometimes I had to go be with Nathan wherever he was competing for a few weeks. Would that be okay?”
“Of course it would be okay. Why do you think you have to ask me that?”
“Because this place is our home, and it’s all we have. I don’t want to leave you to deal with everything alone.”
“It’s okay, Candice. I know you’ll always come back here, and that’s all that matters.”
I shrug and look down at the photo Beau is paused on. It’s one of Gramps with Maggie when she was just a few years old, about a month after we found her. I remember that day well—she was finally warming up to us, and she came over to him looking for pets and treats.
Beau follows my gaze and says, “You’re not lettinganyonedown if you need a break from this place occasionally. I promise.”
The next day,the only thing I can think about is Nathan. And how he left without knowing that I love him.
How Ilethim leave. I didn’t fight for him, or for us. I was weak, and scared, and I hate myself a little bit for it. Especially since I never, ever settle for weak or scared with one of the horses. I fight for them. I have hope for them. I do everything in my power to save them, to heal them, to give them a good life.
Whatever is between Nathan and I deserves that same kind of fight. Frustrated with myself and my idiocy, I leave the barn office where I’ve been doing paperwork and head over toMaggie’s stall, where she’s eating her warm morning mash. It’s cold enough outside that she wants to be in her stall some of the time these days, and I’m grateful for it.
“Hey Mags,” I say as I let myself into her stall and perch down in the shavings. “Do you mind if I hide here for a bit?”
She’s nose deep in mash but flicks her ears towards me. The best part of being with horses is that they’re perfectly happy to let you sit with them and talk, or be completely silent. I scroll through social media, and see that Western Horsewoman has posted a teaser of the interview with Nathan and I, which is going live next week. It’s a shot of Nathan’s face in profile, with Ballantine next to him, and a quote about his plans to keep competing.
I feel sick to my stomach looking at it.
Next week, when the article goes live online, he’ll scroll through it and see the part where I say there’s nothing going on between us. He heard me say it out loud and now he’s going to have to read it in print.
And it’ll be a lie—a complete and total lie.
One thing I am definitelynot, is a liar. Even back when Nathan and I hated one another, we never lied to each other. I might be weak willed and scared of love, but I’m not a liar.
I exit the app and then hit call next to the number I have for Shane’s office.
“Shane Mercy’s office, how can I help?”
“Hello, this is Candice Wilson. Is Shane available?”
“She has meetings all day, sorry,” the person on the other end of the line says.
“Tell her it’s Candice Wilson and that I changed my answer to her last question. She’ll want to hear what I have to say. I promise.”
I hang up resolutely. Now all I can do is wait and hope that she calls me back in time.
42
NATHAN
The day of the show,all I can think about is Candice. Her smile. The way she used to look at me when no one else was around. Her hair. How it felt to thread my hands through it and cradle her head.
I should be clearing my head to focus on the competition. I should be thinking of nothing but Ballantine, the ring, and the pattern. Instead, I woke up in the afternoon after drinking alone last night, had coffee at the hotel, and then got to the stables with only an hour to spare. Ballantine, at least, seems happy and calm.
The Western Horsewoman article is out today, but I can’t bring myself to look at it. I don’t want to read about me and Candice—it hurts too much. I’ll read it after the competition, I tell myself, and then I turn off my phone.
I decide to groom Bally myself, hoping that it will put my head back on straight. I’m in the middle of brushing out his mane, when someone clears their throat behind me. I turn and see that it’s Brad Thomas. Fuck. I do not want to deal with this right now.
