My Ruin
THE DRIVE BACK to the main ranch is a blur.
I’m vaguely aware of Rey driving slowly, of Eli walking alongside my stallion, the landscape sliding past. But my mind is stuck in a replay loop.
My stallion—my supposedly untamable, career-defining nightmare—just carried a rider bareback across open terrain, responding to commands without hesitation.
Without a single piece of equipment, barely any training.
We stop by the main barn, and I slide out of the buggy, moving as if through molasses. My limbs feel disconnected from my body, my brain too, trying to reconcile expectations with the reality I just witnessed.
“Ya holding up?” Rey asks, squinting at me. “Looking a little pale there.”
“Fine,” I manage to say. “Just...processing.”
She snorts. “Yeah, I bet.”
She doesn’t push it, just heads off to deal with the morning’s aftermath. And I stand there, watching as Eli leads my stallion to the water trough outside the barn. I watch them, my throat tight with something I can’t name.
The horse that got off that trailer weeks ago was a storm—violent, unpredictable, dangerous—pro trainers worldwide said as much. Sponsors called him a legacy in the making, if only someone could ride him without dying. And I… well, I called him nothing.
But the horse I just saw... That wasn’t a storm. A force of nature, yes, but harnessed, directed, and incredibly more powerful exactly because of that.
What makes a horse a showjumping champion?
The list forms in my head: athleticism, including agility, speed, power.
And heart, and courage. Intelligence too.
The ability to listen even when adrenaline is pumping.
To adjust mid-air, to recover from a bad takeoff.
The willingness to try again after a refusal, to trust the rider’s judgment even when instinct says otherwise.
My stallion just displayed every single one of those qualities. And then some.
Forget how fast he was, those transitions, that balance—perfect.
Giving when Eli wanted more, adjusting when asked for less.
And that jump, that casual, effortless leap; most horses would have at least checked their stride, gathered themselves more deliberately.
But he just... flowed over it, gravity optional and dismissed.
I can see it so clearly—us, in the arena, turning tight without losing momentum, clearing verticals with room to spare, then darting between elements as the crowd gaps and we clear a triple with no effort.
The scoreboard flashing our time, seconds faster than the competition.
The announcer’s voice rising in excitement, “Cassian Vale and...”
And what? What’s his name?
The question jolts me out of my fantasy. He deserves a name. Fuck, he always did, I just couldn’t see it, couldn’t wrap my head around who he is. Not a brand, not a marketing ploy. Something that honors who he could become with me.
Eli is running a wet cloth over the horse’s neck and chest, cooling him down after the exertion. His head is lowered, eyes half-closed in contentment. That massive frame, once seemed so threatening, now just looks... magnificent.
Legs feeling steadier, I’m finally able to move closer to them by the water trough. The horse’s ears flick toward me as I approach, tracking my movement without alarm.
“He was incredible,” I say when I’m near.
Eli glances up, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Was himself. Fully relaxed from the trust exercise, else he’d never let me on this soon.”
I shake my head. “That wasn’t what everyone told me he was. The reports said—”
“Reports just gonna tell you what he did, not what he can do. Definitely not who he is.” Eli’s hand rakes along the stallion’s neck, gentle and sure. “Big difference.”
I lift my hand. “Can I...?”
Eli nods, stepping aside. “He’s tired, but he’s good.”
I step closer, still careful, still respectful of the space between us. Letting him see me, letting him decide. His nostrils flare slightly, taking in my scent, and then he extends his muzzle toward my palm, bridging the gap himself. He knows me, knows who I am.
Just like I know him , now.
His coat is hot and damp under my palm, vibrating slightly with each breath.
I run my hand along his cheek, feeling the power there, the life.
“I thought they were crazy,” I say quietly.
“Mom, the sponsors, everyone. Talking about legacy pairings and Olympic potential. I thought they were setting me up to fail.”
“And now?” Eli asks.
I glance up at my stallion—my partner, I realize. Not just a vehicle for my ambitions. “Now I think they might not have been dreaming big enough. ”
Eli’s smile widens, genuine and warm. “Good answer.”
“You think he can really do it?” I glance at him. “The big stuff? Competition?”
Eli’s hand smooths over the stallion’s neck, his palm leaving trails in the damp fur.
“He ain’t like anything you’ve ever ridden before.
Raw potential is all there, but that stride’s massive.
We gotta teach him to gather himself with some dressage-style work.
Else he’s gonna blow past fences instead of jumping them, just ‘cause he can.”
I let out a grunt. “Fucking dressage.”
“You’ll survive.” Eli grins, eyes glinting. “Horse like this’s gonna break all four legs trying to carry you home. Ain’t no quitting in him. But he’s gotta believe you’d break yours too, getting him back.”
The stallion shifts his weight, leaning into my touch. Get him back home. I don’t have one, so where’s that? All I can offer is myself—be his home, somehow.
And maybe… that could be enough.
“Ruin,” I say, the word rushing out of my lips.
Eli raises an eyebrow. “Ruin?”
I nod, certain now. “That’s what everyone thought he was—what I thought he was. Something broken. Dangerous.” My hand traces the whorl of fur on his forehead. “Maybe he is. Maybe he’ll tear me apart too. But…”
I don’t finish the sentence. I’ve smothered this raw want so many times it shouldn’t be this hard by now. But there are too many cracks. Duct tape is all that’s keeping my shape; I can’t even tell what’s under it anymore.
And it’s leaking. I can’t fight it—the hope, the soft honesty I never let breathe.
For once, I want to see what happens if I stop white-knuckling my whole life. If I let something wreck me instead of keeping every seam taped.
I’m so tired of holding it together.
Just let him ruin me.
“That’s his name,” I say. “Ruin.”
Eli studies me for a moment. I don’t look, can’t have him seeing whatever raw things my eyes are showing right now, so I keep him in my periphery. Eventually, he nods. “Ruin,” he repeats, tasting it. “I like it. Strong name for a strong horse.”
I pull a breath in. His approval is more reassuring than I expected, telling me it’ll all be okay, that I’ll figure it out. That he’ll help me figure this out—everything.
The stallion—no, Ruin. My Ruin. He lifts his head at me, ears pricked like his name is the first thing in human language that finally makes sense. That he’s hearing his truth in English for the first time.
Maybe he is. Maybe I am too.