BEAU
Choose to stay
Oklahoma State Fairgrounds Parking Lot
13H34
"The hardest conversations are the ones where every word is a confession."
– Unknown
***
I’d been leaning against the concrete wall for forty-seven minutes, watching the arena exit like a man waiting for sentencing.
Riders streamed out—celebrating, loading horses, belonging. I didn’t belong. Not anymore.
The drive from Dallas had been a blur. Eleven hours straight through the night, gas station coffee and guilt. I’d watched sunrise paint the Oklahoma sky in colors that reminded me of Winnie’s laugh. I’d left the summer house at 3 PM yesterday, walking out mid-conversation with my father, his ultimatum still hanging.
Sign the papers by Monday or watch everything crumble.
I hadn’t signed. But I hadn’t refused. I’d just walked.
Z drove me to my penthouse, pleading the whole way. Beau, think about this. You can’t just walk away. But I’d already thrown clothes in a duffel.
“Tell my dad I’ll give him an answer Monday. Right now, I need to be somewhere else.”
The drive had been purgatory. Every mile marker an accusation. What if you’re too late?
But I’d made it. Slipped into the stands as they called her name, found that first-row center seat I’d promised.
Then I’d watched her fly.
Fifteen point three seconds of pure perfection. Winnie and Bandit moving like one organism, new boots gripping stirrups, new saddle gleaming. She’d spent Elise’s money on herself, finally. The result was devastating.
She’d been magnificent.
And when she rode past, when our eyes locked—I saw it.
The hurt. The armor. The vulnerability she was fighting to hide.
Then she looked away, and it felt like being erased.
Now I waited. Because running was what got me here. I was done running.
The arena door opened.
Cassie emerged first, phone to her ear. Then Winnie, leading Bandit, shoulders rigid. She’d changed into jeans and a gray tee, hair damp. She looked exhausted. Beautiful. Untouchable.
She saw me immediately.
Froze mid-step, hand tightening on the lead rope until her knuckles went white. Cassie followed her gaze, said something quick into her phone, and grabbed the rope.
“I’ve got him. Go talk.” Cassie shot me a look—part warning, part plea. “Or scream. Whatever you need.”
Winnie shook her head, backing up. “Cass—”
“Winnie. Go.”
