Chapter 19
Ellie
Inevitably, I’m back in the ring the next morning. The vets didn’t find anything wrong with Remi, just as I—and my mother—knew they wouldn’t.
Dr. Constantine advised some light exercise outside of the dressage ring, but I haven’t discussed exactly what that might look like with Coach yet.
The riding crop cracks through the air, and I’m drawn out of my own head as I feel Remi tense beneath me. The sound sets my teeth on edge and it’s an effort to look to where my mother and Coach stand in front of the gallery section.
Remi and I have been a little off kilter this morning and it has my mother in one of the worst moods I’ve seen her in. It’s my fault, of course, I had a small panic attack after breakfast when she told me she believed the Olympic scout would be here within the week.
Remi and I aren’t ready, I’m not ready. I can’t fail, I just can’t. There’s so much to work on and so little time, it feels like the walls of the arena are closing in, swallowing me until I can’t breathe, can’t think—
The crop cracks again, this time hitting the wooden railing in front of where Peter and the twins are observing. The loud noise grounds me in a sickening way and I collect myself just in time to see my mother striding for me. “What are you doing, Eleanor?!” She shrieks. The riding crop is pointing directly at me, an extension of her index finger as she says, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but fix it, and fix it quickly .” She glares at me, the unspoken words clear as she steps forward.
One week, maybe less.
My throat works, “Yes, mother, I’m sorry—”
“Save me your drivel,” She hisses into the silence, clutching at her lower back.
Just minutes ago, I heard Edmund and George laughing on the other side of the arena as they ran away from Colton and his lasso. Now, even they’re silent.
“I don’t want excuses, I want results. I want you to perform, to practice, with an ounce of competence—just one ounce! I could pull someone in off the street and have them do what you just did, it’s a fucking embarrassment.” She finally lowers the crop, turning towards the exit, “An embarrassment!” She shrieks as she gingerly strides out of the arena.
Remi and I have only been in the ring for half an hour, which means I’ve still got a good hour left of my session... But she left because she can’t bear to watch me practice any longer.
A muffled scoff of laughter echoes through the space and I look up to find Peter and the twins giggling amongst themselves, stealing glances towards me to fuel their sniggering.
I am embarrassing .
All the resources in the world, the best tuition, the best facilities, an Olympic medalist as a mother and I’m still embarrassing.
Will I ever be good enough?
What is wrong with me?
I feel the tears sting the backs of my eyes as Coach turns and hisses something to the giggling trio.
I feel worthless, like mud on the bottom of a shoe and I should just—
“For what it’s worth,” A familiar honeyed voice says from beside me. I hadn’t heard him approach, but Colton sits atop Sweetie just a few feet from me. “I think you guys looked great.” His voice is low and quiet, just for me in this arena full of vultures.
I look down at my reigns, gripping them tighter in my palms as the tears threaten to spill down my cheeks.
“Don’t let them see you cry,” He sidles closer, Sweetie huffs to Remi as if she’s also consoling him. “Me and the boys are about to go for a ride, you should join us—only if you’d like to.” He adds with a smile.
I begin to open my mouth to decline, but something in my chest soothes instantly at the thought of riding around the untouched countryside. Colton jerks his head toward the exit with a smile, blue eyes locked onto mine, and I think I feel something else in my chest—but now is most definitely not the time to explore that.
I should say no. I should stay in this arena and work out the kinks in this routine until my mother isn’t embarrassed to be within twenty feet of me, but my anxiety has truly ravaged me, and my mother’s words make me want to be as far from this dressage ring as possible.
The little voice that’s been extra loud this summer, telling me to work harder, stay longer, is silent right now. And all I want to do is slip out of this arena and not think about this horrid practice session for the rest of the day.
“I think I’d like that.” I blink away the tears that came so close to spilling over and muster up a weak smile.
Coach walks up to us, and I tell him about Dr. Constantine’s request for Remi to be gently exercised outside of the dressage diamond, and that I think I should take him for a short ride. He agrees before asking me to let him know how Remi gets on, and to try to perk myself up a little.
I grit my teeth and nod to him as Colton and I follow Edmund and George out of the arena—the boys offer me little smiles as they ride past us.
The sun is high in the sky as George and Edmund lead us past the grazing paddocks and onto a bridle path that takes us through some lush, green meadows. There are dozens of rolling hills in the background, each a different shade of green than the last. It’s truly beautiful out here, but I’m struggling to shake the tightness in my chest, the thundering of my heart as my mother’s words play on a loop in my mind.
Colton hasn’t spoken since we left the arena, but I can hear the boys chatting away from where they ride ahead of us on the bridle path.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He finally breaks the silence, and I’m not sure if I’m grateful or disappointed.
“Not... really.” I manage, focusing on the sound of Remi’s hooves as they brush through the whispering grass. “I just—I know she wants the best for me, but...” My eyes start to burn, “I don’t know what to do.” The tears begin to pool, and I know it’s just a matter of time before they escape.
Colton whistles, short and high pitched, and I open my eyes to see the boys turn their ponies around. They look at him intently as he says, “I think I see a lamb in distress up ahead, on that hillside. Y’all think you can go investigate that for me? We’ll follow on this trail but report back when you’re done.”
The boys lift their hats and take off towards the hill in the far distance. It brings a small smile to my face to watch them canter away, despite the deluge threatening to fall from my eyes.
“I don’t see any sheep on that hill.” I sniffle, squinting through my tears.
“There isn’t any,” I turn to find him smiling at me, “It’ll take them a while to investigate though, and in that time, you can talk freely about anything and everything that’s troubling you. ”
“You know I have a sickeningly expensive therapist for that, right? Besides, I really don’t want to burden you with my—”
“Ellie, you’re not burdening me with anything, you hear?” His face is serious, and he waits for me to nod in acknowledgment before he continues, “If it makes you feel any better about the whole talking thing, we can turn it into a game—and not the strip poker kind of game, so get your filthy mind out of the gutter.”
I laugh, surprised at the sudden change in my mood. “What kind of game do you have in mind?”
“A truth for a truth, I ask you something—you tell me the truth. You ask me something—I tell you the truth. If either of us doesn’t feel like answering the question, we can pass it, no pressure. My moderately expensive therapist played the game with me when I was younger, for us to get to know each other better and to talk about whatever was on our minds.”
I’m silent for a moment as I take in the brawny, handsome cowboy next to me.
He’s been nothing but kind from our first encounter, he named his horse Sweetie , he seems to be open about mental health and therapy, he uses a pink tasseled saddle , and he’s taken time out of his days to get to know me better—to be my friend . In truth, there’s no one I’d rather play a silly game like this with. Of course I would like to get to know him better.
He wants to hear my truths , and I would love to hear some of his. He isn’t shying away from hearing what I have to say, doesn’t appear to want to push anything under the rug.
I’m still staring at him as I say, “I’m up for it,” And there’s that dimpled smile again, “Who goes first?”
“Ladies first, ask away.” He taps Sweetie’s shoulder, and I watch as the mare swings her head back with an open mouth to accept a sugar cube from his outstretched hand.
“Oh my—did you teach her that?” I blurt.
“Yes,” He says matter-of-factly, “And there goes your first truth.”
“You’re joking.” His dimpled smile is growing by the second.
“No, ma’am. My turn.” He rubs the stubble on his chin and hums in thought before asking, “You’re real anxious about that Olympic Scout, aren’t you?”
My back instantly stiffens, and my grip tightens on the reigns.
“It’s written all over your face, has been for a week now—the anxiety, I mean. I know it might not be easy to talk about, but that just means that you probably should.”
I consider passing on the question, but the words are on my lips ready for me to breathe life into them, so I take a deep breath.
“Yes, I’m anxious about the Olympic scout.” It feels relieving to say it out loud. I could never utter the words within a mile radius of my mother, never even let them cross my mind in case she scented them on me. “I... have never enjoyed or coped well with competition. I thought maybe I would grow out of it, that the anxiety I felt around any kind of high-stakes competition would fade away with time but... it never did. It was one of the main reasons I started seeing a therapist—mother originally had me seeing a sports psychologist but she... told me I needed more generalized care for my mental health.” That had been an awful day. The way my mother looked at me after I was effectively dumped by my sports psychologist, it was like I had three heads. “For context, when I say I’m an anxious wreck—that’s not an understatement or a cute attempt at self-deprecation, I have generalized anxiety disorder, and it has this really fun way of kicking my arse in high-stress situations.” He nods as if he’s taking in each and every one of the words that fall from my mouth. “Is there a part of this game where you give feedback on the truth that you extract from the other person or do we just fly into the next question?” After speaking my truth —yes, it sounds cringe, and I don’t care—I feel twenty kilograms lighter.
There’s something about Colton that makes me feel safe to share, makes me want to give extra context and supporting anecdotes that could help him to understand my story a little better.
He tips his head back and laughs, lowering it with a grin, “Let’s make feedback mandatory, doesn’t have to be too crazy but we can share our own thoughts, maybe?” I nod in agreement, “Alright, well, I think it’s super admirable that you’ve been able to make it to this level of horse dancing with a mental health condition that usually makes it that much harder for people to achieve the things they want to, so—bravo.” He claps his hand against his leg, “Secondly, my brother Wyatt also has anxiety, so while I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, I have a pretty decent idea. Here if you need an ear or a shoulder.”
“I appreciate that, cowboy, I really do. But now, it’s my turn.” I give him a menacing grin before asking, “How did you get this job? It’s so random, I just can’t get my head around it.”
“Well, that’s a good one, and one I’d be happy to answer.” I watch him scan the horizon for a second, checking on the boys as they continue their investigation . “I was a rodeo rider, been doing it since I was fourteen and I just loved it. The thrill, the winning, the cash.” He smiles down at his saddle, shaking his head. I wonder if he’s flitting through memories of his younger self, of the silly things he spent his winnings on as a teenager. “My daddy loved it too, him and my momma used to take me to all my events, supported me in just about every way they could. But, uh... I messed up one day, pushed myself too hard and took a real nasty fall.” He pats his right leg, the one with the long, wicked scar. “Doctors pinned it and stapled me back together but no more rodeo riding after that. I was indicted into the rodeo hall of fame the year before my injury, though. Youngest cowboy in history, made the news and stuff—y’know, real big time.” He winks and I can’t help but giggle. “Lord Chamberlain contacted me just before summer, begged me to come over and teach his kids all about being a cowboy.” A smaller, somber laugh leaves his mouth, “And I needed money for the ranch, it fell into some disrepair and, well—a poorly ran ranch will bleed you dry, so I really had no choice. Lord Chamberlain is paying me quite generously, and I enjoy the work—if you can even call it that. I just miss home, is all. This place is beautiful... but—” He turns his head to survey the lush green fields, the outcroppings of trees that polka dot the fertile land.
“It’s not home.” I supply, earning a solemn nod from Colton.
“And where is home for you?” He asks as he turns his head towards me again.
“I live just south of here, about an hour’s drive. It... looks and feels pretty similar to this estate though. I live on my mother’s property, our family home. Sanya lives there too, has done since we graduated from university together—I commuted for the whole three years. The place is big enough that we can go days without seeing each other if we wish. The house has always felt more like a hotel, in a strange way—and not in the sense that we have house keepers and such, though we do...” I hear him scoff a laugh and I shoot him a wincing smile, “It just never felt permanent, like it was my own. I never decorated my room, I did put up a One Direction poster once but somebody took it down and never returned it.”
“Must have been big fans.” We look at each other for a split second before bursting into laughter. As our giggles subside, he asks, “You don’t seem to talk about your dad all that much—not another truth that I’m requesting, I know it’s your turn. Just a general observation.” His smile turns mischievous.
“Let the record show that you’re cheating, but I’ll oblige you. My father died when I was twelve—you don’t have to apologize or anything, he was old when mother gave birth to me, so it wasn’t really much of a surprise. I don’t have many memories of him, but I think he was a kind man. I was away at boarding school for ten months of the year, and he traveled a lot for work, so our paths rarely ever crossed. He would write to me, though.” I smile as I remember the colorful postage stamps on all the envelopes that would arrive at my boarding school, “Just little post cards and short letters, but I loved to receive them. He never forgot my birthday, or Christmas, and he’d send me coloring books. I’d always loved to draw, to paint—ever since I was a young girl and added a little of my artistic flair to the white sofa in our living room.” I hiss through my teeth at the memory, “I’m still not entirely convinced it’s not the sole reason mother had me sent off to boarding school. Anyway, the point is, I believe he did love and care for me in his own way. I found one last letter on the day we returned from his funeral, it had arrived in the post that morning, addressed to me in his handwriting. He’d set up a trust for me, to be accessed on my twenty-first birthday...” The day is so vivid in my mind, it’s like it happened this morning.
I can feel the bed beneath me as I collapse onto the duvet, clutching the letter in my hands. “I wasn’t expecting it, his financial advisers had already been in touch and transferred all his assets into mother’s name. The note he left was short and sweet, like all of his letters had been, but at the very bottom he wrote do not inform your mother of this trust, burn this letter. This money is yours alone. Live well, Eleanor. ” I turn my head sharply in his direction, a little disbelieving of the information I’ve just divulged. “I’ve never told anyone about this, not even Sanya—”
“Your secret—or your father’s secret—is safe with me.” The look in his eyes is soothing and I nod in thanks.
“I never really understood why he wouldn’t want me to tell my mother—she doesn’t have a spending problem, that I can tell, and she lets the advisers handle her wealth. But I’ve honored his wishes, she doesn’t know about the fund.”
Colton whistles, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. He takes a breath before saying, “It might not be my place, but—I, for one, am real happy you kept it quiet. I’ve only known you and of your mom for a few weeks but... well, let’s just leave it at I’m happy .” He purses his lips together slightly, as if he’s fighting to keep his mouth quiet.
“She’s not as bad—I mean, she’s having issues with her back and...”
Who am I kidding?
Why am I making excuses for her when she is so intent on treating me so miserably?
I don’t have the answers, but I do know that I don’t like this—
“Hey, it’s OK,” He says reassuringly, and I’m wondering how many of my inner thoughts are written on my face, “We don’t have to talk about this right now, if you don’t want to, just know that I’m here to listen if there comes a day when you do want to talk. And just so you know,” he leans closer to me, looking directly into my eyes as he says, “You’re not an embarrassment. I think you’re amazing, and I don’t know why she can’t see that.”
I feel like the breath has been knocked from me as I let his words sink into me. I didn’t realize just how badly I needed to hear those words, how I haven’t heard words like that in such a long time.
Sanya praises me and says wonderful, sugarcoated things to me all the time, but these words... They’re so incredibly heartfelt and soothing.
I’m grateful, painfully so, but there’s something deep, rooted somewhere within me that doesn’t like to see my mother as the bad guy—that always wants to justify her actions, no matter how awful, no matter how she makes me feel. And as I come to that realization, the root of that feeling becomes a tangible thing that I would very much like to remove—like a rotten, festering tooth.
“Thank you.” I say quietly, feeling an overwhelming sense of clarity for the first time in years.
“What are friends for?” He smiles, and in that moment I know.
I know he’ll rip that root clean out if I let him.
I suck in a sharp breath, needing to steer this conversation in a different direction, “Right, my turn, I think.” He makes a proceed gesture before giving Sweetie another sugar cube, “Can I ask why the ranch is your responsibility? It seems like a lot of pressure to put on your shoulders.” I pause, instantly regretting the words as he stiffens in his saddle, “Feel free to pass if that was wholly insensitive of me, I haven’t ever played this game before—”
“It’s a great question.” He says softly, turning his head and capturing me with those blue eyes. “Wyatt and I were born on the ranch, our daddy built it with his bare hands and we were raised in the dirt. Used to help him with everything, we’ve both been riding and handling livestock since we could walk. Running a ranch is usually a whole family affair, there’s always something to do and it’s easier when there’s a team of you. When I started getting into the rodeo scene, my parents supported me wholeheartedly—but I still got all my ranch chores done every day,” He winks, “There was a big show happening in Fort Worth, about an hour from the ranch, we’d been preparing for weeks to take the day off. Wyatt was real upset because he wanted to come along, but we needed a pair of boots on the ranch just in case some livestock needed seeing to or an emergency popped up—he was only fourteen at the time, but plenty capable.” I watch as his throat works, “So momma, daddy and I take off with a couple of horses and the day is fantastic. I’ve never ridden like that in my life, felt like a movie or something. Won first place and a real decent amount of cash, my momma had a smile that went from ear to ear, I swear it.” He smiles fondly, and I can almost see the memories flicker across his eyes, “A couple of boys from my town ended up being down in Fort Worth, and they asked me if I wanted to celebrate—grab a couple beers with them. I was twenty-four at the time and my parents were more than happy for me to catch a ride home with them, so I hugged them goodbye and got to celebrating.” He pauses, his jaw working, “I get a call later that night, a few beers deep, and it’s my Meemaw on the phone. I’m thinking she’s calling to congratulate me so I’m shouting and hollering, trying to tell her how everything went but... she wasn’t calling to congratulate me.”
My chest tightens as his expression grows pained .
“My Meemaw told me to go outside where it was quiet and to sit down, so I did. And that’s when she told me there had been an accident. A twenty-three-car pile-up on the interstate, and that my parents’ car had been one of them. A semi-truck flipped and caused it, the guy had been driving for longer than he was supposed to, apparently—can’t be too mad at him though, he lost his life as well.”
I’m shaking now, picturing a younger Colton sitting outside a bustling bar as he receives some of the worst news of his short life.
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea—”
“You’ve got no reason to be sorry. The more I talk about them, the easier it gets. I’ve been through so many therapy sessions that it’s much easier for me to process now. But, yeah, that’s why the ranch falls to me. I... went through it, mentally, when they died, and the ranch fell into a state. Meemaw did what she could, so did Wyatt. Poor kid was in school full time and working through the loss of his parents. I slept for weeks, months it felt like. Got to the point where I couldn’t lift myself out of bed or open my mouth to speak, and that’s when Wyatt called the mental hospital and had me taken in. I was there for two months, was diagnosed with depression and got on some medication that made living just a little bit easier. Since then, it’s been a day-by-day kind of thing. But in that time, the ranch kind of went to shit, and it’s been in a bad way since. ”
“What about the rodeo money?” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes from his face.
“Now that would count as two truths in a row, do I need to remind you of the rules of this game, Miss Stirling?” I’m in awe at how he can be so jovial after reliving what happened to him and his family just years ago. He smiles, sucking in a deep breath, “Yeah, I had some left over but it was dwindling pretty fast, and I had to get back in the saddle once I was a semi-functioning human again. Ran myself into the ground and you know how that went.” He pats his right leg again. “Whatever was left of it went into fixing this leg, so I guess that leads me back to the first truth you asked.”
The sound of cantering hooves thunders in the distance and I look up to see the boys heading back in our direction.
“Well, sorry to end that on such a... well, a low point.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck.
“No,” I interrupt with a smile, “Thank you for sharing, really. We make quite the pair, you and me. You seem to be doing much better now, but you’re right—it’s a day-by-day thing. I need to remember that.”
Edmund and George come into view on the horizon, their bickering rises over the sound of their horses’ hooves.
“I would very much like to play this game with you again, Colton, and thank you—not just for the chat, the game , but... for the ride. It’s really cleared my mind, and, well, you’re not terrible company.” I add quickly. I’d been on the brink of tears when we left the arena, when he stepped in and brought me out here to the open countryside. I feel lighter now, Remi feels so much more relaxed beneath me.
“There’s no need to thank me, if you recall—I’ve been asking you to come on a ride with me for weeks.” A cheeky wink has me blushing all over again. He bows his head slightly, mouth turned up on both sides, “I’m sure we’ll share many more truths, Ellie.”