Nine - All Day
NINE
ALL DAY
RUIN’S brEATH IS warm against my arm as we stop by the water trough.
He dips his head in with such intensity I let out a chuckle, my mind connecting the moment to that creek where we rested, just two days ago.
Maybe Ruin would enjoy a proper walk there, water splashing his shins. If Eli thinks it’s safe.
Which is my brain’s way of bringing up the memory of him and our kiss.
No complaints. The butterflies in my stomach are actually pretty great, as far as squatters go.
I sigh like a teenage girl and let my head fall onto Ruin’s shoulder, letting it roll with his muscles as they shift beneath sun-heated fur.
Two whole days of little stolen moments that barely scratch the itch—hands that brush no longer on accident, tiny pecks in the tack room that felt more forbidden than would be warranted.
Still empowering, though. Somehow. Like we’re one-upping the world.
Like I’m flying through a Grand Prix final with one rail down and everything to lose, and the unquestionable certainty that I won’t. That no one’s stealing this win from me.
The memory floods back for the hundredth time today—his arms circling me so tight I couldn’t breathe, his lips giving me all the air I’d ever need.
Like he was terrified I’d vanish if he didn’t hold on, with a soul-deep certainty that no one would steal me from him, if only because he wouldn’t let them.
And when he lost all that hesitance… God, when he knew he wouldn’t have to fight anymore, that the rain had finally come over his desert… Perfect seems too little a word.
I nuzzle into Ruin’s neck, burying my grin where no one can see it. Ruin lifts his head toward me for a moment, water dripping from his muzzle onto my boots. Right— he’s still here, witness to it all. But I know he keeps my secrets.
Thank fuck Eli and I haven’t progressed from just orbiting each other, actually. One real kiss and I’m already this greedy, wanting it all, more, right now. Fat chance I’d be able to focus on this guy’s training if proper kissing was on the table. It’s hard enough as it is when Eli is around.
We’ve worked independently before, of course—Ruin isn’t the only horse in Riverlight—but Eli usually pops in for at least part of our training. Not this time. And there’s this stupid hollow spot under my ribs that aches when I remember I probably won’t even see him at all today.
“Stop missing him,” I tell Ruin, patting his neck when he’s finally done with the water. “We’re doing fine on our own.”
And we are. All afternoon, we’ve been running serpentines, and they’re textbook flawless now. Ruin responds to my slightest cue, picking up exactly which lead I want, adjusting his pace with the subtlest shift of my weight. It’s weird, though, nailing shit while no one’s watching.
And being in charge completely. No trainer guiding the exercises.
Scary as shit—not gonna lie. But also incredible. And exhausting, but nothing a hot shower won’t heal.
A click of my tongue and Ruin falls into step beside me as we head back toward the barn.
The afternoon sun slants across the paddocks, the day’s bright golden filter progressively mellowing out into gentle shades of amber.
We pass an empty pen with some training gear not yet put away, and my eyes settle on them as we approach.
Maybe I have eye-magnets that automatically stick to striped poles and jump standards.
Then I stop walking. Ruin stops too, the same second. The poles aren’t set up, just leaning against the fence. But seeing them sparks… something . Could we? Fuck, should we?
“We shouldn’t, right?” I ask Ruin, who lazily gives me a sniff. “Ground poles are two weeks from now.” That’s what the schedule says, what Eli and I both agreed on.
My eyes get on Ruin, all over, analyzing.
His own are calm, relaxed, same as his ears, same as his stance.
He’s been steady all day, energized through the serpentines, then loosening up, right back to peace.
Eli always says the horse will tell us when he’s ready, but how does that sound like, exactly?
It’s not that Ruin is ready for more just because he’s relaxed—I know that.
So how does he tell me how far I can push?
Then I get it. We’re alone. Today, I’m his trainer.
So it’s up to me.
My chest fills up, weight drawing in with the air. Not overwhelming, though, just enough to keep focus and ensure no detail would slip under my radar. Which means I could stop at the first sign of trouble. Immediately.
Eli keeps telling me I overthink shit. How I need to overcome intense, conscious effort and trust my skills and gut feelings. That instinct is not magic, just unconscious competence of a million little experiences left in the past but not lost in the subconscious mind.
Thoughts still run in my brain, though, calculating all the ways I could fuck this up.
I hear them, but I still walk, still lead Ruin into the pen, closing the gate behind us.
The space isn’t huge, but it’s big enough for a simple drill.
Just a few minutes since we’ve been at it for hours already, and I don’t want to push him too hard.
I drop the lead rope and grab one of the poles—solid wood, white and blue—and set it flat on the ground.
“Let’s just have a look, yeah?” I tell Ruin as I grab onto the lead again. We circle around the pole so he can see it from all angles. “Plain old stick on the ground.”
Ruin stretches his neck, nostrils flaring once or twice to take in the scent. His ears flick forward, then back to me, then forward again. He’s curious, not afraid.
Wait—am I sure about that?
Yes. Yes, I am.
After a full lap around it, I lead him toward the pole. “I’m right beside you,” I tell him, just before walking straight across it. He steps over without a hiccup, just another patch of ground, only wooden and multi-colored.
The butterflies in my stomach gasp, fluttering with quiet excitement, with possibility. “Good man,” I whisper, stroking his shoulder. “A little twig, right? Fucking nothing.”
I lead him around again, back across the pole. Same result—casual, unbothered. Once more, just to delay the maybe, to accommodate the nervousness.
But I need to try. For me and for Ruin.
I refuse to talk myself out of it, so I slip my helmet back on and mount up, no second thoughts. We do a few easy laps around the pen, Ruin settling under me like always. Then I guide him toward the pole, keeping my eyes up, my position centered, my breaths even.
“Easy,” I murmur as we approach. “Just like we’re on the long trail in the forest, stepping over branches.”
Ruin hesitates for a beat. I can feel the question in his body, saying this is different, this feels like something.
I keep my seat steady, my hands soft, silently ready to abort everything, but also telling him there’s no danger.
Because he trusts me, and I need to teach him that doubt is just as okay as success and growth.
Then he steps forward. One, two, three, and we’re over. No drama, no tension.
“Holy shit,” I breathe—or squeal—my face splitting into a grin so wide it hurts. “Holy shit, you did it. Fucking rockstar!”
I lean forward, raking my fingers through his neck, praising him like he just cleared the winning jump at the Olympics. And this was such a small thing but also really not ? Just a whim from his human he decided to humor, but if he does that for me, if he’s that at ease by my side, beneath me…
What the fuck can’t we do?
Where’s Eli? I need to find him, right now. Just picturing his face—eyes wide and shining, jaw dropping, lips midway between a perfect O and a proud grin… My chest is already getting warmer.
We circle the pen in a victory lap before I slip down and lead Ruin out, actively fighting myself not to skip along the path and up into his stall in the barn.
My fingers fumble with the leather as I unbuckle Ruin’s girth, take off his halter and the rest of his tack.
I leave them on the stall, though, patting his shoulder as I tell him, “Be right back for this, okay?” He pays me no mind, completely unbothered by my rush, stuffing his face into the hay net.
I jog down the stables then out to the main yard, scanning the training areas, the round pens, the outdoor arena. No sign of Eli.
I ask every worker I pass, everyone I see.
They all give me variations of the same answer—no clue, he’s been all over today.
North pastures early morning, then the new filly who wasn’t eating, then medical barn for that colt with the broken leg—all of it before lunch.
The old lady from housekeeping saw him in the cafeteria at 3 PM, in and out in five minutes, so lunch itself was probably just a formality.
Chuck at the front desk didn’t see him in the office, so at least he seems to have dodged any paperwork. For now.
Talk about a full day. He must be exhausted.
My excitement starts to fade, replaced by a nagging certainty that I’m being ridiculous. This isn’t a high school drama. I don’t need to hunt down my boyfriend between classes just to say hi.
Not that he’s my boyfriend. Right? One singular kiss and a handful of stolen moments don’t define shit.
I pull out my phone, stop myself before even unlocking it. Eli never carries his when he’s working. There’s a radio system, but me being needy and weird doesn’t exactly constitute an emergency.
I stare at the radio mounted on the wall near the feed room, the mental image still taking shape. “Hi, can someone please tell Eli that Cassian needs him to come see how special he is because his horse stepped over a stick today? Thanks, bye.” Fucking pathetic.
Just because we kissed doesn’t mean I get to call dibs on Eli’s time. He has responsibilities that go way beyond one horse and one rider.