"What if I'm not good enough?"
She’d laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Honey child, you ain't supposed to be good enough for them. You're supposed to be good enough for you. And you are. You always have been."
I lifted my head, wiping the snot and tears from my face with my shirt sleeve. The sun was dipping lower, casting long, golden shadows across the grass.
Nana was gone. But Elise—Elise believed in me. She believed $15,000 worth. Pops believed in me. And Beau... even if he was drowning in guilt, he was still here, fighting for me.
I looked at the check again.
I could let the fear win. I could let the reporters and the "Naomie" narrative make me small. I could let the imposter syndrome convince me I didn't belong in that arena.
Or I could take this money, buy the best damn boots in Oklahoma, and ride like the champion Nana said I was.
"I'm scared, Bandit," I whispered, pulling myself up on shaky legs. "I'm terrified. But I'm not quitting."
Bandit nudged my pocket, looking for a treat. I laughed, a watery, broken sound, but it was real.
I folded the check carefully, tucking it into my jeans pocket.
I wasn't just a throwaway. I wasn't just a scandal. I was Winnie Jameson. And I had a competition to win.
BEAU
Unguarded
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
23H40
"I won't give up on you so darling / don't give up on me / I can't promise nothing but the rest of me / I'll fight for you I'll fight for us a fight to never leave"
– Bailey Zimmerman
***
Heard the water before I saw her.
The soft hiss of the shower across the hall, the groan of old pipes, the familiar rattle in the wall above my headboard. I’d been flat on my back for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying my mother’s phone call on a loop.
A girl you barely know.
Three months.
Come home before you ruin your life—and hers.
She hadn’t raised her voice. She didn’t have to. That quiet, brittle desperation in her tone did more damage than any screaming match with my father ever had. And the worst part was the way some of it landed. Wormed in.What if she’s right? What if you’re dragging Winnie into this mess with you?
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Winnie in the barn earlier—pale, hollow-eyed, wrapped around Bandit’s neck like he was the only solid thing left in her world. Reporters on the drive. Pops with a shotgun. A rooster going feral to protect her because I hadn’t.
She was probably in there now, scrubbing at the feeling of being watched, while I lay here marinating in guilt.
Screw it.
I shoved the covers back and swung my legs out of bed, padding across the hallway in nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low on my hips. I had a drawer full of the damn things. They were comfortable, easy to pull on, and yeah, they framed my dick like they’d been designed by a pervert. Guilty.
The bathroom door was cracked. Steam curled out into the dark hall, warm and heavy, carrying lavender and humidity.
I slipped inside and clicked the lock.
