Junior Year #4
The crowd erupts again, louder this time, and he raises one hand to acknowledge he’s okay, but I can see the tightness in his jaw, the way he's breathing too carefully.
"He's fine," Hollis says beside me, but his voice sounds uncertain. "He's walked off worse."
I can't look away. Can't stop my hands from shaking where they grip the bars. Can't stop the flood of relief and terror and…something else—something I've been trying so hard not to feel—from crashing over me all at once.
The crowd starts to disperse as the next rider gets ready, but I can't move. My eyes track him as he disappears through a gate on the far side of the arena, one hand still pressed to his chest.
"I need to use the bathroom," I say suddenly.
Hollis glances at me. "Now?"
"Yeah, now. Unless you want me to go in the dirt like everyone else here seems comfortable with."
He snorts. "There's a building behind the main barn. Can't promise it's clean."
I'm already walking, weaving through clusters of people, my heart still hammering. I don't know what I'm doing. Don't know why my feet are carrying me toward the back of the arena instead of toward any bathroom.
The area behind the chutes is darker, less crowded.
A few riders mill around, and I spot him immediately, leaning against a post, his vest hanging open, breathing shallow.
There's dirt streaked across his cheek, his hair a mess from the helmet.
I've always known Trigger was attractive in that infuriating way that made hating him more complicated than it should be.
But this is different. Maybe it's the adrenaline still coursing through me or the panic that gripped me when I thought he might not get up.
Whatever it is, I can't stop staring at the way his chest rises and falls, the exposed skin at his throat where his shirt collar's torn, or the flex of his forearm as he grips the post for support.
He looks wrecked and alive and utterly unaware of what watching him almost break did to me.
My pulse hasn't settled when he sees me coming.
"Come to tell me how stupid that was?" he says, wincing as he attempts to stand straighter.
"Yeah, actually." I stop a few feet away, crossing my arms. "That was incredibly stupid."
"Noted." His jaw tightens as he shifts his weight. "You can go now."
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like you got kicked by a two-thousand-pound animal."
"Seventeen hundred, actually." The corner of his mouth twitches, that insufferable almost-smirk. "And I said I'm fine."
I take a step closer, and his expression shifts as he starts to place his guard up. "What are you doing, Asha?"
"Making sure you're not about to collapse and make this my problem." I move closer still, until I'm right in front of him. Close enough to see the tightness around his eyes and the way his breathing falters as I close in. "Let me see."
"It's just a bruise,” he attempts one last time to stop my advances.
"Then you won't mind showing me."
I want to be a vet. I've known since I was a little girl that's how I wanted to contribute to the family business.
I also know animals and humans are two completely different species, but I'm certain I can diagnose a broken rib or, God forbid, an internal injury that needs immediate attention.
He stares at me for a long moment then sighs and lifts the edge of his shirt.
Even in the dim light, I can see the angry red mark spreading across his ribs, already darkening.
"You're an idiot," I whisper. And then, before I can think better of it, before I can remember all the reasons I'm supposed to hate him, I step forward and wrap my arms around him.
Carefully. So carefully. My arms slide around his waist, avoiding the injured side, and I press my face against his shoulder.
He goes completely still. "Asha—"
"Shut up." My voice comes out muffled against his shirt. "I'm making sure you didn't crack a rib. If you collapse later, Hollis will blame me."
"That's not…" He stops. His hands hover at my sides, not sure what to do with them. "You're checking for broken ribs by hugging me?"
"Do you have a better method? Should I poke at it? Press on it?"
"God, no." His hands finally settle, one at my lower back, one between my shoulder blades. His heart is racing under my ear. "This is…this is fine. Hug me. Hug me until I smell like you."
"Did you hit your head?" I ask, and I feel him huff something between a laugh and a breath. He was wearing his helmet. This is something else.
"Maybe," he answers softly.
We stand there in the shadows, and I can feel him breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest. He smells like dirt and sweat and something else, something that makes me want to hold on tighter.
"You scared me," I say quietly before I can stop myself.
His hand moves slightly against my back. "Yeah?"
I pull away. His words, his touch, all of it overwhelming me. The cool air rushes between us. "Because if you'd gotten seriously hurt, Hollis could have gotten in trouble for being an accomplice."
He's looking at me with something unreadable in his eyes. "Right. Of course."
"And because Headmaster Trejo would probably expel you, and then I'd be student body president by default, and I don't want a handout. That would be worse."
"Much worse," he agrees softly.
"So don't do it again."
"The bull riding or scaring you?"
"Both." I'm backing away now, putting more distance between us. "Just...be more careful."
His hand is still pressed to his ribs, but he's smiling now. Really smiling. "I'll try."
"Whatever." I turn to go then stop. "Ice it. And don't tell Hollis I came back here."
"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."
I make it three steps before reality hits me. None of those reasons were why I came back here. Not Hollis, not my spot on student council, none of them were even close. I came back because seeing him on the ground scared me in a way I can't afford to examine, which means I'm in serious trouble.