Twelve - Out There
TWELVE
OUT THERE
I managed to get the key sponsors on a call for tomorrow evening. We’ll discuss damage control then.
Ok
The message is sent, done, but my thumbs keep hovering over the screen. There’s nothing else to say for now. PR is on it, Mom is on it, so I can’t do anything else for now except focusing on my part, my job, Ruin.
But I fucked up. I know better. Old me wouldn’t have been caught dead in a photo like that, regardless of how I felt at the moment, or how Zane resembled a version of myself I wish present-day me could kneel with, could comfort.
This bomb I launched on her was just shy of nuclear.
I bet she didn’t even sleep last night after my message, dropping orders like paratroopers behind enemy lines.
When this shit does explode on social media, any second of floundering from PR could translate into brand weakness and doubt. That can’t happen .
I tap the keyboard again, before any hesitation out of pride or rebellion can stop me.
Sorry mom
What’s done is done. I’ll handle it.
I nod at her through the message. She got all her fury out of her system yesterday—thirty-four consecutive texts when I woke up—so now we’re in pure damage control.
Not gonna lie, thought I’d feel worse about it today, about creating an issue that could’ve been so easily avoided. Feel more guilty that I’ve tossed the hot potato and slept through the mess than the mess itself.
I know I should be sorrier. Same way I know that this pit in my stomach is because I’m not, not entirely.
It’s just a kid, just a photo. Does the world really need to end?
A ping then. Another message.
Did you eat today?
Dammit, did she have to ask? Skipped breakfast and had an energy bar for lunch, and only because Eli forced me to. For sure I’d puke anything else more substantial. I rub my face before lying.
Yes
I know you. Please eat.
I will
Good.
Tomorrow at 8pm. Don’t be late.
My hands drop as I press the screen off, then slip the phone into my back pocket. A sigh leaves me out of closure but does little for relaxation. I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, side to side. Then I slip my riding gloves on.
“You okay?”
I glance at Eli before stepping closer, not failing to notice how his knuckles are white around Ruin’s lead, how his eyes meet mine but just barely. Fuck, I hate that even more than this straitjacket around my chest. Not enough that my career’s on the line, I’m making him worry about it, too.
“It’s being dealt with,” I tell him. “We’ll have a team meeting tomorrow.”
“Meant you.”
Yeah, I knew that. I’m just not sure. About anything.
“It’s just a picture,” I say, eyes on his boots. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I mean…I did, but…I’m allowed to not be on brand all the time, right?” My head hops between nodding and shaking. Can’t settle on either. “It just became a thing because I slipped where people would recognize me.”
The townies didn’t give a shit about me at the junior event, just spared a glance at the guy Eli brought over, and that was that. We’re in the middle of literal nowhere. If I’d taken off my mask anywhere else around town, I’d be noticed for a second as a non-local and then forgotten about.
But like Eli has once told me, everyone who knows horses knows Cassian Vale.
Everyone at that event would’ve recognized me had they noticed some blond stranger next to Zane at that moment.
Pure luck that his mother kept it to herself until later, before posting it on social media. That would’ve been a disaster.
I’ll own my fuck up, but…damn. “If sponsors see anything wrong in me helping a child, then it’s on them,” I tell Eli. “They’re the ones in the wrong. Right?”
He’s staring at Ruin’s muzzle, petting it with zero intent of looking anywhere else. Jaw clenched, shoulders hiked. He’s not even facing me, body slanted away, as far as it could go without being rude.
Am I ranting too much? My voice lowers. “I should say that, right? On that meeting tomorrow?” I am. I’m ranting. But I just need… I don’t know. “I owe them results but—”
“We should reschedule.”
My brain gets stuck mid-sentence, gawking at him. “What? No, it’s fine.” I reach for Ruin’s lead, slip it from his hand. “Was just asking for your opinion.”
“Ain’t got one.”
…
Just like that. With nothing in his eyes.
Like that. Heartless.
A dagger right through mine.
He doesn’t…have an opinion? About my career falling apart?
This man who feeds me love and light, every day, through our lips when they touch. This man who fucks the darkness out of my nights, who just yesterday saved me from spiraling into the void, alone in my room. Without me asking, without me ever asking.
I pretend to adjust my gloves, tug the hem up at the wrist. Just to see if I imagined the heart he drew around my scar. Still there.
The dagger slides deeper. Because for a moment, I wish it wasn’t. I wish his pen had been a dream, wish this ink was the wish itself, one that’s only in my head but never real, never possible. Because then his reaction right now would make sense.
And I wouldn’t be left wondering, shocked awake, why the possible love of my life decided to throw a wrecking ball through my foundations, knowing an earthquake is about to hit.
Why he gives zero shits about it. About my life, my life’s work.
About…me.
No. No, that’s not true. He does. He cares, I know it. I’ve felt it—feel it, right now, as if heat emanating from his skin. This pull between us can’t be nothing. The way his eyes are not at peace, the way his whole body keeps hunched into a fraction of his height.
But he said the words. Didn’t even hesitate.
“I mean… It’s your call,” he adds then. “Gotta be.” As if his previous statement clocked as too cruel as it left his lips, so now he’s toning it down, trying to make it hurt less.
But that’s not how hurt works.
“Yeah,” I say curtly. “I’ll figure it out.”
His hands plunge into his pockets. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“It’s fine. Forget it.” I yank my helmet from the fence pole, place it on my head, secure it with a click. “You’re right. And we’re wasting time.” I tug Ruin away, toward the center of the pen.
I move to hop on but catch myself, pause.
Need to touch base first, let Ruin feel me, let him know I’m off but still here, still with him.
My hand sweeps his jaw, the other his neck.
“Sorry, bud,” I tell him, my back to Eli so he doesn’t hear me and I don’t tear up at the sight of his stupid, beautiful face.
“Your other human is just being a dick. But I’ll be okay, yeah? I still got you.”
Ruin gives me an ear swivel and a soft huff. I smile—try to. “You’re doing great. Let’s get to work.”
My body knows what to do even when my brain’s halfway to Jupiter.
Of course, I can’t rely on muscle memory alone, but it’s reassuring to know that, even if infuriating quasi-boyfriends make me feel like shit, my experience and my partner under me can still pick up the slack for the seconds I falter.
I glance over my shoulder. At my definitely-not-boyfriend-if-he-keeps-this-shit-up.
He’s not leaning back casually against the fence like he usually does, still hunched, still hiding his hands deep in his jeans.
Good! He should feel awkward, he should be beating himself up for being so ridiculously perfect all the time and then shapeshifting into the shitbag I know he isn’t. No explanation.
God, I wanna tell his mom. Wanna watch as she scolds him for getting arctic on me, all of a sudden. Would serve him right.
That stupid, stupid…
My chin trembles. I bite my lip to stop it.
Then I force a deep breath in and adjust my position on the saddle.
Ruin canters toward the first element of the gymnastic line, and I feel his powerful stride beneath me, rhythm steady as always, bringing me back to earth.
One, two, three, approach. My thighs tighten, heels down, eyes up.
Just like I’ve done a million times before. Just like I could do in my sleep.
The first vertical is nothing. Ruin’s hooves barely seem to touch the ground after he sails over it.
Beautiful, effortless. Annoying, because he makes this shit look so easy while all I can contribute to our efforts is keeping the burn around my eyes from escalating.
I lean down to pat Ruin’s neck. Then linger there, feel his warmth on my cheek for an extra second or two.
When I get back up, I feel more solid—barely, but hey. Instead of a careful glance, I look straight at Eli, my shoulders back, chest out, bitch face on like the soundless fuck you all that’s second skin in the arena.
In my head, I’m demanding he kiss my feet to atone, listing in permanent marker on his skin all the picnics by the river and the wildflower bunches and the love letters he needs to check off before I consider ever forgiving him.
But then he’s smiling—softness on his lips, hurt in his eyes—so scratch all that.
If it hurt him too, why did he say it? Can’t he just tell me?
“Looking good,” he calls out as we circle back. “Keep him balanced through the turn. ”
I nod, slower than I mean to. The instructions help, though. If he’s able to focus on work, on Ruin and me and our goals, then I can too. It’s his way of supporting my career, I guess. Even if he has no opinion, no intention of being supportive outside of his duties.
I’ll hold on to that. What else can I do?
Again, I nod. To myself this time, shortening my reins slightly. Ruin responds instantly, collecting himself, his ears flicking back to catch my next cue. Three strides to the next element—a simple oxer, nothing complicated. I’m scanning the path, the obstacle itself, making sure, triple-checking.
Then I flinch at the vibration from my back pocket, from my phone. Another message. Is it Mom? Should I check? No, this is more important. Mom can wait. The shitshow outside Riverlight can wait until I’m good and ready. And I’m not ready yet.