Blind Approach #2
That grin is pure light, a beam that clears shadows and cleans slates, and burns waste off corners never meant to be immaculate again.
“You know my name,” he whispers, stars in his eyes.
I almost chuckle, hooking my mask back on over the ears and holding out a fist. “Remember our secret.”
He nods solemnly, bumping his little fist on mine like he’s signing a blood pact. “I promise.”
With a final nod, I head back toward where Eli waits with the horses.
My chest keeps tight, ribs forced to expand to give space to something never meant to fit.
When I reenter the roped area, Eli just follows my movement without comment, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his lips that makes me want to punch him while he hugs me.
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“Didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking too loud.”
His smile widens. “Made that kid’s entire year. His entire riding life.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I just talked to him.”
Eli leans around Ruin to stare at me. “How many Grand Prix champions stopped for you ? How many adults, for that matter?”
The answer is none. My hand crawls up to the back of my neck, gives it a squeeze before I catch the gesture. I feign adjusting my cap instead, which is dumb but whatever.
“I just talked to him,” I repeat, quieter, eyes on the arena but not seeing a thing.
Then Eli shifts his weight and grabs my attention back.
He leans against the tie post, arms crossed over it, looking at the arena too.
“There was this tiny river behind our trailer park, growing up,” he says, posture so loose, words so soft, feels like he’s floating.
“I’d hide there after school to avoid my dad.
One day, I found this stray mare, thin as sticks.
All black, white stockings. Never touched her, never even got close.
” He smiles. So sweet. “But she saw me and didn’t bolt, let me hang out with her as she drank and I watched.
First horse I’d ever seen in person. Got so awestruck I even named her. ”
“I don’t see how this—”
“I was six,” he adds, glancing at me like he knows I’ll get it. “Named her Riverlight.”
And I do. I get it. Down to my bones.
My lungs forget a breath as my mind paints the scene of that little boy. Six years old, dark hair and deep eyes, crouched in the grass. Watching a stray mare with all the hope left in him.
His voice was so gentle telling it, so I know.
That his whole life since has been built on the memory of a horse who didn’t run away.
On probably the first thing in his life that far that has held all the power while also keeping all the peace.
One that could run for freedom or stomp and kill, but instead she stayed, if just for that moment.
A moment in time that turned into a life statement. And when that boy grew into an adult and got himself a ranch, that moment was all he remembered.
Riverlight. Where broken things go to heal.
I look away, everything too raw and too new. “And you remembered,” I say. “After all that time.”
“Every second,” he says quietly. “’Cause things that matter stick. And if it sticks to the brain, it’s ‘cause it matters to the heart.”
I groan, for my own comfort more than anything. “Stop sounding like a fortune cookie.”
He chuckles. “That one ain’t mine. Something Momma keeps telling me.”
I watch Zane out of the corner of my eye, already back with his parents, eyes still shiny but focused on the current round, chin held high. Everything still stinging, but what’s forward is what matters.
He looks more peaceful than I felt back then, but I remember doing the same, swallowing every hurt, twisting myself to stay worthy—whatever that means. For years, I believed the only thing worse than falling was being seen falling.
Fuck, I still do. I just haven’t fallen off a horse in a long while. And all the rest of my falls aren’t public either.
Maybe if someone had stopped for me, back then, I still would’ve learned to get up, dust off, and get back on. But maybe I wouldn’t have grown so afraid of being seen doing it.
“Regardless,” Eli adds, toeing the ground with his boot. “What you did there, it just…says a lot ‘bout who you are.”
Who I am. Not what I do, or how I perform, or what brands I represent. Who I am.
Do I even know who that is?
No. The answer is no.
I turn back to Ruin, stroking his neck to hide whatever’s happening on my face right now.
Eli doesn’t push, but I can feel his eyes on me.
In the arena, another junior rider tackles the course, ponytail flying as she clears the jumps.
I watch, but I’m still thinking about the little boy with the too-serious eyes, wondering if he’ll grow up to know who he is. Or if he’ll forget on the way.
Like I did.
But one thing I know—just learned it, right now, right then as I crouched in front of a child that looked up to me without knowing what I lost to get this high. The small things, the kindness that lingers, the chance to stop for someone else on the edge of a bad day… I just feel it, clear as day.
That’s who I am.
It’s also not on brand.
I sigh. Guess I’m fucked.