With You #2
Eli doesn’t give me the once-over I expect. His eyes are steady, heavy, right on mine. And I feel even more exposed than I was a second ago. His voice is stone when he says, “Ya look real.”
Real. Is this what real looks like?
Regardless, it’s not enough. I can’t do real—I know I can’t. The Vale Performance Team is mechanical, streamlined, precise. Real people don’t get wins. They get participation trophies and then go get hammered to celebrate.
Flawless engines under sleek shells win. And after they win, they smile—once—and prepare for what’s next.
That’s how it’s done. I didn’t forget.
A deep breath, then shoulders back, chest out, chin up. I turn the knob and step inside. Mom’s sitting at the farthest head of the dark wood table, leg crossed and bouncing, phone in hand. She looks up as the door opens, and I still catch the annoyance in her face before horror slips over it.
She zaps to a stand and over to me. Her gaze sweeps me top to bottom, cataloging every flaw. I stand straight—at least that I can do—hands behind my waist.
She whispers, “What on earth are you doing? You can’t look like this.”
“Was working with Ruin.”
“That’s not—” An excuse, I know. She doesn’t get to add that, though, eyes flicking past me. The shift is so instantaneous the wide grin doubles as a snarl for a second.
“Mr. Navarro,” she purrs, dripping with honey. “What a pleasure. Wasn’t expecting you to join us.”
“Ms. Vale. Wasn’t expecting you either,” Eli says, just behind my shoulder. He steps further into the room, into my peripheral vision, leaning against the table, arms crossed. He looks like a man who is defending what’s his and taking no shit about it. Thank fuck he’s on my side.
Mom just waves it off, not missing a beat. “Sorry to drop in unannounced. I was in the area, and thought I’d check on Cassian’s progress.”
The only “area” around here is a small town an hour away, so that’s a lie—and I know Eli knows it too.
Her hand dips into her glossy crocodile skin purse, so stiff it stands upright on the table like it wouldn’t fall even if you tried.
Without taking out the package, she slips out something she keeps crumpled inside her fist, but I know that jasmine scent all too well—her favorite.
I take the wet wipe from her like we’re exchanging drugs for money.
“Bi-monthly reports are going out as planned. They ain’t reaching you?” Eli asks as I work on my hands first. So much shit under the nails might as well call them my edgy black tips and be done with it.
“Oh, they are, yes!” Mom answers, so bubbly I almost snort. “And they’re very thorough, so let me take this chance to properly thank you for all the incredible work you’re doing for us.”
“That’s all Cassian,” Eli says. “I’m just his guide.”
His voice got so much softer then, I have to stop and stare at him. He stares back, not shying away, not pretending he’s not. And definitely not catching himself for crossing some line I never drew; if anything, he looks ready to spit at the line, kick it off the sand.
That’s how I know he means it. That the breakthrough today, he sees it as my hard work under his guidance, not the world-renowned horse fixer and the guy he’s dragging along.
That means a lot. More than I expected.
“That’s good to…know.” The way Mom pauses should’ve been enough heads up, but I’m too wrapped up in the softness emanating off Eli. She plucks the wet wipe from me, clamps my chin in one hand and scrubs my face with the other.
“Mom—” I try to pull back, but her grip tightens.
“Hold still,” she hisses, low as possible, as if that hides us in privacy. “Everyone has a phone, Cassian. One bad shot and you go viral. Is that what you want?”
“No one here would do that.”
“Stop being naive. You just got lucky so far.”
I take her hands in mine, bring them down and off me.
That stops her for a moment, but her eyes are still assessing everything—my jeans, my hair, then a snarl over my ratty t-shirt.
“Mom, it’s fine,” I say gently, putting on a smile to hopefully pull on hers too.
“Wanna talk progress? Awesome news. Fucking incredible, for real.”
“Don’t curse,” she whispers.
Yeah, she’s right, not in public. But it’s just Eli. “I rode Ruin today. ”
Mom’s eyes widen, just a fraction, then narrow. “You rode him?” And I wanna get excited, start a full-on narrative about what we did and how Ruin behaved, but I don’t. Because I know her. I know that look.
So I just nod, let the smile drop, check my posture. I hold my wrist behind my back, scratching my scar with my thumb as I wait for the lash.
“You’ve been here for over two months,” she says, slowly, “and today was the first time you rode him?”
I keep my eyes on her chin, not her eyes. “We didn’t stop for one day. He needed this time.”
“Is that what you want me to tell the sponsors? That you just started mounting him now, four months from the deadline?”
I clench my jaw, then manage to say, “It’s the truth.”
“They don’t want the truth. They want proof their investment will pay off.
” The wipe gets tossed in the trash as she clicks her tongue.
From her purse, out comes the concealer, uncapped with a feral twist of its neck.
“You’re here to make sure it will.” She points the tube at me, an extension of her finger.
“But you can’t even keep yourself presentable. ”
Before I can even process what to say, Eli stands and steps over. And then inserts himself between us, physically—whole body, zero fucks. On instinct, I shuffle to give him some space. Mom retreats a full three steps back. What’s he doing?
“Ma’am,” he says, voice low like rolling thunder. “Did you want something?”
His back is enormous. A streak of sweat runs down his black t-shirt, right along the spine, making the fabric stick to his skin. His arms stay by his side, solid. And I don’t know why he would do this, why he wedged himself in as if closing a door after a nightmare of a day.
I don’t get it, but my body does. Because all I want is to lean against it, palms to the safety of its surface, and breathe because I’m finally home. Safe.
But that’s my mom. I don’t need safety from my own mother.
Her lips split and shut without a word, brows sky-high. The shock doesn’t last long, though, replaced with a frown and determination. “As I’ve told you, I’m here to speak to my son.”
“You did that. Is there anything else?”
“I didn’t,” she insists, leaning around him to grab my attention.
Eli just follows her lean, blocking most of her view.
She crosses her arms and frowns harder, saying what she meant for me up at him instead.
“He and I need to redraw the timeline. Review priorities. We’re cutting it too close to the deadline. ”
“Ruin’s training has no deadline,” Eli says. “You agreed to this.”
“I did, yes. Hence why I’m here to speak with my son and not with you.” Her eyes go sharp and she smiles. I thought I knew all her smiles, but that’s a new, terrifying one. “Cassian knows the date we set is non-negotiable. Missing it would be catastrophic for the brand.”
Eli’s back goes rigid. His arms too, tricep lines popping from the tension, from his hands curling into fists. I don’t understand why he’s so worked up. Is this still about Riverlight? It’s like Mom said—the initial arrangement still stands. What the hell am I missing here?
“Any external deadline you put on this horse affects his training,” he tells her. “Your priority and Riverlight’s should be one, and that’s healing both horse and his rider. Nothing else.”
Mom actually snorts. Not a laugh, not a cough—a snort. “My son doesn’t need healing. He needs results.”
Eli straightens, draws up, and in my mind, I see a king cobra flaring wide to demand his space. He takes a single step toward her, towering like a fortress over a peddler.
“He needs what I say he needs.” Words that would claw if they weren’t in chains. “So if that’s all, we’re done here.”
He doesn’t wait for her to answer. Just reaches back, finds my hand before even fully turning, and pulls me toward the door.
I catch one last look at Mom. I’ve never seen her so confused. Fuck, I’m confused.
Eli’s hand clamps harder around mine, rough and hot, and he doesn’t look back, just hauls me out the building and down the path away from it.
This is a freight train, single-minded—no-minded—that won’t stop until fuel or track gives out.
Not Eli, who melts into hugs with horses, who spends the night in a trembling colt’s stall until he feels safe enough to breathe.
This is someone else. Someone who doesn’t wait, doesn’t ask. Someone who drags me out of a room like the building is on fire and the fire is him .
The fire is on him. Why is he the one burning? Over me and Mom? That’s nuts.
We’re halfway to the barn before I realize the reception building is long out of view and I’m still following. I dig in my heels. “Eli, stop.”
He does, the moment I say it, but his back stays turned.
Shoulders up to his ears, chest heaving, first too fast and then controlled, like he’s counting down from ten.
Finally, he glances over. His eyes flick to our hands, still locked together.
I expect him to snap it away, what he always does when we accidentally or mindlessly end up touching.
This time, when he lets go, it’s slow, a finger at a time.
“Sorry,” he whispers, gaze still set on my hand like he doesn’t mean the words; they’re just his fail-safe.
He’s still wound tight, jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. This is the guy who stands like a lighthouse through a cyclone when horses rear or people lose their shit. But now he looks about to scream at the gods and punch the walls off their holy temples.
“What was that?” I ask, not even trying to clarify what I mean. Just… everything.
He takes off his hat, rakes a hand through his hair. Messes it up as if scratching at the scalp instead of trying for composure—or trying for composure that way, for relief, for calm. When he puts his hat back, it doesn’t seem to have helped. “Shouldn’t have talked to her that way. I’m sorry.”
“Why did you?”
He turns to me fully, hands still tight, chest still dragging breaths too fast and too hard. He doesn’t look me in the eye. “Didn’t like how she was talking ‘bout you. Like you weren’t even there.”
“That’s just how she is. It’s fine,” I try to calm him. Yeah, I get it. Mom’s attitude isn’t for everyone. “I know she can be a lot, but I’m used to it. ”
“That’s exactly why it ain’t fine,” Eli snaps.
It makes me flinch. He turns away again, hands on his hips, staring out at the pasture like he’s looking for something to hit.
“Eli…”
He spins back to me, trying to find the words. And his breaths, and his cool. Then he finally looks straight at me, not an inkling of doubt in his eyes. “I know you can’t see it,” he says, voice back to gentle, back to kind, but laced with soft urgency. “You’re too close. Grown up with it.”
I shake my head. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying… You gotta understand that…” He pauses, takes my hand, cups it gently into his, then rubs his thumb against my scar. How does he even know I have it? Why is he being so gentle with it?
“Abuse ain’t always a closed fist,” he says, dead-sure into my eyes. “Sometimes, it’s as soft as a wet wipe.”
The words land hot on my chest but don’t burn. I yank my hand off his, staggering back from the force of it. And I chuckle, because it’s actually hilarious. My head shakes, way too fast and way too hard, but it’s because of how incredibly wrong he is.
That’s not what this is. Abuse? No! Mom just wants me at my best so I stay relevant. So I matter. That’s it. She built this whole thing for us—the brand, the career, the image. It’s pressure, yes, but that’s what comes with having a career, not just a job.
It’s not abuse. It’s how she cares about me.
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not,” Eli says instantly. “And I don’t tolerate that here.”
“She just came here because she’s nervous,” I explain.
“The sponsors are always breathing down her neck. She won’t do it again.
” Fine, I get his point. Riverlight is not the right place to stress about shit like this.
Not in person, at least, making a whole deal out of it.
I understand if he feels it’s disrespectful.
“I’ll talk to her. We’ll keep brand stuff out of Riverlight. ”
“You ain’t getting it.”
I frown. “I get it. And you’re right. You don’t tolerate abuse at the ranch, and she crossed the line. I’m agreeing with you.”
He steps into my space, grabs me by the arms.
The look on his face shuts me up.
“I don’t tolerate that with you!”
With me?
What…does he mean?
He was talking about Mom and abuse. What’s he saying?
“She…” I start, quiet as a mouse, but there’s nowhere for the sentence to go. She’s my mom? She knows what she’s doing? She’s always managed me?
It’s not abuse? How is it abuse? How is it not?
What does he mean, with me ?
“Good work today,” he says, letting me go, voice back to neutral.
Anger banked but not gone. “Focus on what you did with Ruin. That’s what matters.
” He walks away without looking back. And I stand there, sun in my eyes.
Heart rattling, hands shaking. Trying to make sense of the echo he hurled at me and left for dead.
It’s not dead. It’s alive and kicking and clawing. A fucking heavy, incomprehensible thing.
Not a general thing, or a Riverlight thing. A me thing.
Why does he care about a me thing? He shouldn’t. He mustn’t.
Unless the key is already in the lock.
His side.