Ch. 21 – Prem
“ R eady?” Prem asked. He sat astride April, enjoying the familiar feelings of confidence and comfort that always filled him whenever he got in the saddle. Next to him, Layla looked anything but comfortable or confident on her horse.
“No,” she said. “Well, maybe. Um, still no. Yes?” She looked at him helplessly, and Prem had to stifle a laugh. Even with her pretty mouth pressed tight, she still managed to look adorable with her white skirt hitched up her thighs and her delicate calves disappearing into a well-worn pair of Brooke’s boots.
“Maybe Brooke can go over everything again?” Layla squeaked. She held Graybeard’s reins in a grip of death.
“She already did…twice,” Prem reminded her. At least the interlude had given him time to change into jeans, boots, and a red polo,
“We won’t go far,” he promised Layla. “Especially since you aren’t wearing pants. Shocking you didn’t have a pair of jeans stocked away in that suitcase purse of yours.”
She wrinkled her dainty nose. “If I’d been informed of a dress code—”
Her mount, Graybeard, snorted. Layla squeaked in terror. If possible, her knuckles grew whiter as they clutched her horse’s reins.
“You can do this,” Prem assured her. “And I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Her eyes searched his as if asking a silent question.
Can I trust you?
Yes! Prem wanted to shout. I know you’ve been betrayed, but I would never hurt you.
“Okay,” she said in a small voice. For his part, Graybeard munched amiably on a tuft of grass just off the trail. The small, charcoal-gray horse with white-painted front legs possessed a gentle demeanor. Prem reminded himself to thank Brooke for her wise choice of mount for Layla.
“Let’s go,” he said now. Clicking his tongue, he gave April a light tap to her flanks. The large chestnut horse began a trot down the trail, and Prem tugged her reins, urging her into an easy walk. April snorted in distaste.
I know you want to run, Prem thought to her. But we have a guest today, and we’ve got to take care of her.
Behind him, he heard Layla squeak again as Graybeard began to follow. Prem held April until the two horses were side by side.
“See? Not so bad, right?” he asked.
Layla still clutched Graybeard’s reins in tight fists, but the furrow had evaporated from her brow. “This is…this is…” A soft smile arched on her lips. “This is really cool!”
Prem laughed. “You’ve never ridden before?”
It wasn’t really a question. The way she sat ramrod straight in the saddle was a dead giveaway. Layla shook her head, her long braid swinging gently across her back, the end brushing Graybeard’s saddle.
“Relax in the saddle,” Prem instructed her. “Feel the rhythm of the horse’s gait and move with him.”
“Okay.” Layla closed her eyes and let out a breath. Her shoulders relaxed, and Prem tried not to notice the pale skin of her thighs pressed into the saddle.
They lapsed into an easy silence as the two horses walked down the shaded trail. A breeze helped take the sting out of the heat from the day. Large trees stood at attention on both sides of the trail providing dappled shade, while rolling hills covered in golden and green grasses filled the distance.
Prem exhaled, feeling waves of stress leave his body with his breath. Riding always settled him. In the saddle, he felt like his true self, finally unburdened by the anxieties that stacked on his shoulders every other hour of the day. Out here among the trills of the birds and the whisper of the wind, he could forget about the first loan payment coming due and instead dream of the future of his practice. And he could dream of Layla.
Except he didn’t have to dream about her. She was right here. He looked over at her and smiled. Layla met his gaze, then turned away shyly.
Carefully, she leaned forward and stroked Graybeard. “He’s so beautiful. Thank you for bringing me out here. I’ve always wanted to ride.”
“There’s no experience like it,” Prem agreed as his heart squeezed in his chest. He drank in the sight of her, the sun turning her hair into spun gold, her large blue eyes crinkling at the edges as she smiled.
And that smile. God. It warmed him. Freed him. It gave him life and killed him all at the same time.
They passed a trail sign, and her eyes widened.
“Oh! This is the Yucca Hills trail system.” She twisted in the saddle to face him. “This is where my race is going to be. Well, not exactly here.” She looked around with new appreciation. “The trail system is huge, but I think the race starts a few miles to the west.” A leaf lazily fluttered onto her skirt, the green a stark contrast against the crisp white fabric. “I actually ran part of the trail this morning. I had no idea there was a stable tucked back here.”
“Right, the race.” Prem scoured his memory. “It’s an ultra-marathon, right? How long is that, again?”
Layla lifted the leaf from her skirt and twirled it between her fingers. When she spoke, her voice had lost its enthusiasm. “Thirty-two miles.”
“Wow,” Prem said. “Amazing. Truly.”
She made a sound, half-snort, half-laugh. “I’m not sure if I can really do it.”
“What? Of course you can,” Prem insisted.
Layla released the leaf and watched it drift to the ground. “And exactly how do you know that?”
Prem floundered. “I just…I just do.”
Her voice was only a murmur. “That just proves you don’t really know me. I’m just…not a very strong person.”
Prem wanted to swing out of the saddle, pull Layla down from Graybeard, and grip her shoulders so she could see just how deadly serious he was. “You are strong,” he asserted. “Stronger than you know.”
How did she not understand this basic universal truth? Layla could lift the spirits of a client with just a smile and a greeting. Her mere presence made the whole clinic feel lighter, brighter. When clients broke down in the face of bad news, Layla never shied away from their grief. She held them. Cried with them. Took their pain on as her own and eased their burdens. All those professional strongmen who dragged eighteen-wheeler trucks and lifted boulders were pipsqueaks next to the slender woman riding at his side.
Layla broke eye contact and tugged on her reins as Graybeard veered off the path to munch on a low-hanging branch.
“So, tell me about April,” she said.
“You’re changing the subject,” he accused.
She bit her lip. “I didn’t like the last subject.”
Layla Sandoval, I’m going to show you your true worth, Prem vowed to her. It would take time, patience, and gentleness. The same ingredients required to win the trust of the animals who came to his clinic. Luckily, Prem was a very patient man, especially when he set his sights on a worthy goal.
“Soooo, April,” Layla said.
Prem patted his horse’s withers. “Her full name is Dancing Under April Showers. She was born to be a racehorse. She was good, too. Won her first three races.”
As if following the conversation, April proudly raised her head. Prem frowned. “But her trainers pushed her too hard. She probably had a stress fracture already, but they pumped her full of painkillers and steroids and put her on the track again.”
Layla made an unhappy sound.
Prem’s jaw tightened. “She broke her front right leg on her fourth race. I’m part of an organization that rescues and rehabs racehorses. I was only a resident vet back then, and April was my first case.”
Prem ran his fingers through April’s mane as he remembered that dark day. April had been terrified, her flanks heaving in the stall, her eyes shiny with pain.
“Three breaks. All clean,” Prem said. “But still. Three breaks. I think I was just too green back then to realize she was a lost cause. April didn’t want to give up either. Rotator cuff injuries we can usually heal. Torn tendons, sometimes. Clean, single breaks, maybe. Multiple fractures? Not likely, but I didn’t give up on her, and she didn’t give up on me.”
April’s silky black mane fell through his fingers. “We have a network of stable owners who take in injured horses. I brought April to one of them, but we both still had a long road to go.”
It’d been nearly impossible to keep April off her injured leg, and she’d re-broken it twice. Everyone in their right mind would have given up the horse as a lost cause. But Prem had kept believing. He’d felt in his soul that April wanted to live.
Finally, she seemed to understand that she needed to keep off her injured leg. It took months, but eventually, she could walk. Prem had worried the break wouldn’t heal perfectly and she’d be in permanent pain, but after those brutal false starts, she’d recovered wonderfully.
“We bonded in that time,” Prem continued wistfully. I was finishing my residency. It was all-consuming. Working with April kept me sane. She became mine, and I became hers. So, I adopted her and brought her here when I moved to Yucca Hills.”
“That’s why she’s more than a pet to you,” Layla said softly.
“Mm-hmm,” Prem agreed, squinting as they traveled through a patch of sunlight. He patted the horse fondly. “She’ll have a limp for the rest of her life. We’re both gimps together.”
Prem looked out across the meandering path ahead of them but felt Layla’s gaze on him. He didn’t have to guess at the question in her eyes.
“You want to know about my injury.”
“It’s none of my business,” she answered immediately.
Prem never told the story. Not to anyone. The only people in his life who knew the truth were his parents and brother. It was too shameful. Too full of pain and failure.
They fell into an easy silence, the movement of the horses hypnotic. Prem’s heart felt open and vulnerable. Without making a decision, he began to speak.
“I was always really driven as a kid,” he began.
“Nooooo,” Layla responded sarcastically.
Prem tried but couldn’t smile. He kept his gaze straight ahead. His throat felt tight, and his heart started jumping rope in his chest. “My parents pushed my brother and me really hard. It’s kind of a Desi thing.”
“Desi?”
“It’s a term for people from South Asia,” he explained. “Saying that most Desi parents have high expectations for their kids is a tectonic understatement. Our culture rewards achievement almost to the exclusion of everything else. My parents are both doctors, and that’s what they expected us to become. They did everything to make that happen.”
Prem gazed down at his reins. “My childhood was filled with private schools, SAT tutors, carefully regimented sports on the weekends, and violin lessons.”
“Sounds like a lot for a kid,” Layla spoke.
Prem nodded. “It probably was, but I internalized their dream. I wanted to be the best. I had to be the best. I never went to any school dances. No football games. I just studied and volunteered and did everything I could to pad my college application.”
He could almost laugh at how every point of his GPA had ruled his life back then. “It worked. I was the valedictorian of my class. My older brother, on the other hand, rebelled. After graduating high school, he never went to college. Bought a drum set and joined a band instead.”
“Do you wonder if maybe he had the right idea?” Layla asked.
“Sometimes I think so,” Prem admitted. Overhead, a hawk floated lazily in the sky, its glorious wings outstretched against the endless blue. “Jai seems happy. But when he went his own way, it just made me more intent on succeeding. Now it was up to me to make my parents’ dream a reality. I earned my undergrad in three years and got accepted into one of the most competitive med programs in the country. The grind got harder. Everyone in school was an overachiever like me. The expectations were… tremendous. And something was beginning to change inside me.”
“What was it?” Layla asked after a moment.
Prem hadn’t realized he’d fallen silent. Dark, heavy emotions bubbled inside of him. He swallowed.
“I don’t know. I think in my heart, I realized that human medicine wasn’t my calling. I’d never, not once, doubted my path until then.” Prem watched the hawk drift in lazy circles on pockets of warm air. He would have sold his soul for just an ounce of that freedom during med school.
“The workload was insane,” he continued. “The classes felt nearly impossible. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but I was burning out.”
Prem bit the inside of his cheek as the torturous memories resurfaced. The bleary nights filled with endless studying, writing papers, trying to cram hundreds of Latin terms into his exhausted brain. He relived the gnawing pain that had constantly churned in his stomach. The suffocating blanket of dread that greeted him the moment he woke in the morning. Those times in class when his lungs had seized, and he’d felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“I was seeing this girl,” Prem went on. “A fellow med student. She was understanding. Supportive. But I didn’t have any time for her. She called me out on it and we broke up. I was utterly alone. I finally started to realize deep down that I didn’t want to be a doctor, but I couldn’t admit it to myself, so I kept pushing and pushing and pushing until…”
Another long silence. The words wouldn’t come.
“Until what?” Layla’s gentle voice seemed to echo from miles away.
Prem squeezed his eyes shut.
“Until I broke.” His voice caught. He was back in that stifling dorm room. His soul felt consumed by darkness and despair. He couldn’t finish med school. Couldn’t live up to his parents’ expectations.
He was a failure.
A disappointment.
Shameful.
Disgusting.
“Prem.” Layla’s voice broke through the rust of his frantic thoughts. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anymore. Please, come back to me.”
Come back to me. Her voice was a lifeline. Prem reached. Grabbed it. Pulled himself from the black, icy waves. Come back to me.
His eyes snapped open. I’m not in that dorm room anymore, he told himself forcefully. I’m here. In Yucca Hills. I have my practice. I have April… and I have Layla.
He looked at her, at the gentle, relieved smile broadening across her face.
That smile gave him strength. He spoke again. “In my third year of med school, I woke up one day and couldn’t go to class. I was sweating, vomiting, having a full-on panic attack. I realized that I didn’t even know who I was. My whole being was only a collection of grades and achievements. I didn’t have a personhood at all. I was utterly empty.”
“Oh, Prem.” Her voice wobbled.
“So, I… I jumped out the window.”
“What?” Layla dropped her reins and quickly snatched them up.
“I don’t think I wanted to kill myself, not really,” Prem added quickly. “Otherwise, I would have gone up to the roof.”
In truth, he could barely remember the moments leading up to his swan dive. There had been no thoughts. No concrete plan. Just the overwhelming desire for the pain to end. The simple, crucial need to stop existing. To escape.
“My dorm was five stories up, so I didn’t die, obviously,” he continued. “But I did manage to mangle myself pretty good. Broke my right hip, my femur, and my back. Severely sprained my wrist, too.”
He risked a glance at Layla. Would she be horrified? Disgusted? Embarrassed that he was bearing his naked, battered soul to her?
Layla’s face was tilted down. The sunlight glinted off a tear rolling like a pearl down her cheek. That tear curb stomped his heart. She was crying for him. For his pain. Something neither of his parents had ever done.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I’m fine. I’m here.”
She let out a warbling, wet laugh. “You shouldn’t be consoling me. I should be consoling you .”
Prem shrugged. “It’s in the past now.” The words sounded good, even if they weren’t exactly true. He would never truly recover from that day.
He cleared his throat. “I spent a month in the hospital. Underwent six surgeries in all, then a full year of physical therapy. My parents pulled a lot of strings and paid a lot of money for the best care possible. I healed up well, considering.”
An odd, short laugh bubbled in his throat. “I actually just learned that they told everyone I was in a very exclusive surgery residency in London.”
Next to him, Layla sniffled. Wet streaks glittered like silver on her cheeks.
Prem sighed. “Don’t cry, please.”
“I’m sorry.” Layla brushed a tear from the corner of her mouth. “It’s just, you didn’t deserve that. For you to get to that point, you must have felt so… alone.”
Her words knifed through him. Yeah, something like that.
Prem turned his gaze forward again. “Don’t worry, there’s a happy ending here. When I refused to re-enroll in med school, my parents shipped me off to an exclusive rehabilitation center for depression. Little did they know, that rehab clinic saved my life.”
“It did?”
Prem nodded. “One of the treatment protocols they offered was horse therapy. We’d ride horses, brush them down, feed them, and clean the stables.”
He leaned forward to stroke April’s neck. “I loved spending time in the stables. It felt safe. The horses asked for so little, and they gave us their full trust. A paint horse named Nina became my favorite. She was so gentle. Nina didn’t care about my GPA or my limp. She just accepted me. When I rode her, I felt like she was giving me a gift. That was the first time I fully connected with another being.”
Prem looked ahead and saw the stable appear at the bottom of the hill. “When I finished the rehab program, I re-enrolled in school, but not in medical school. I went to veterinary school.”
“That’s so beautiful,” Layla said. “Your parents must have been so proud.”
The warm memories of Nina faded, and Prem scratched his jaw. “They’ve never said it out loud, but I know they’re disappointed I didn’t get my MD. Doesn’t matter that vet training is harder than medical training. I didn’t fulfill their dreams.”
“Well, then, they’re just…just… dumb dumbs,” Layla insisted. “You’re an amazing vet!”
Prem released a loud, barking laugh of surprise. His parents, dumb dumbs? Between the two of them, they could boast four master's degrees and two doctorates, not to mention a medical department chairmanship, two patents, 32 journal article publications, three seats on the boards of medical companies, and innumerable conference presentations and keynotes.
Prem looked at Layla’s pinched, stubborn face. He thought about Jai’s empty chair at their family dinners.
“You know what? You’re right,” Prem decided. “They are dumb dumbs.”
Layla sniffled and laughed. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. That was a very brave thing to do.”
Up ahead, the stables grew larger.
“Yeah, sure.” Suddenly Prem didn’t know what to say. Had he confessed too much? Would Layla think he was an utter basket case? But when he looked over at her, she gave him a beautiful smile.
It seemed like mere seconds passed before the horses approached the corral.
“Welcome back,” Brooke called from a side pen where she was working with a twitchy young gelding. “I’ll be over in a sec.”
“No rush,” Prem told her as he swung easily out of April’s saddle. His feet had just hit the ground when he saw Layla awkwardly bring her leg over Graybeard’s saddle.
“Careful,” he called.
With a squeak of terror, Layla slid off the side of the horse, all flailing limbs and plumes of lacey white skirt. Prem sprinted over and grabbed her waist. Layla landed hard against him, and he staggered back. For a moment, Prem felt sure they were destined to tumble together into a fresh pile of horse manure, but he just managed to keep his feet under him. They rocked in place once, then stood a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Layla’s golden head lingered just below his nose. He breathed in strawberries and citrus. She looked up at him sheepishly.
“Thanks.” A flush crept up her neck, and she self-consciously tugged down the hem of her bunched skirt. “You made it look so easy.”
With effort, Prem released her and stepped back. Probably a good idea, considering a very specific part of him had reported for duty and was standing at full attention in his jeans.
“You two have a fun ride?” Brooke asked as she strolled into the corral. She gave Prem an amused look filled with questions. Brooke had been one of his first contacts in Yucca Hills and might still qualify as his only friend. Though “friend” might be a stretch, considering their short, cordial conversations rarely deviated from the subject of horses.
“Ohmygosh, yes!” Layla answered breathlessly. “It was amazing and wonderful and thank you! I love Graybeard. He was so gentle and kind.”
Next to her, Graybeard snorted in agreement, then released an impressive stream of piss that splattered loudly on the ground.
Layla took a big step away from him.
“Very polite of you, sir,” Brooke said to the slate-colored horse and rolled her eyes. “If you two want to head out, I can get the horses unsaddled and cleaned.”
Prem shook his head. “We’ll handle it.”
“We will?” Layla looked at him with curiosity.
“Riding is a gift,” Prem reminded her. “Now, we show our thanks by taking care of our mounts.”
“Okay.” She grinned, more than game.
More questions twinkled in Brooke’s brown eyes. “Well, then, I’ll be in the far corral working with Remey, the stubborn ass. Call if you need anything.”
Prem nodded his thanks to the stable owner as she retreated from the pen.
Instructing Layla on horse care helped recenter his mind away from the persistent throb of his nether regions.
First, he showed her how to unsaddle Graybeard. They rubbed down the saddles and brought them into the stable, placing them on waiting saddle mounts.
Next, Layla and Prem led their horses into the stable and guided them into their stalls. After removing the bits and reins, Prem brought over Graybeard’s grooming kit. Standing in Graybeard’s stall, he picked up the body brush.
“I always like to give April a brush down after a ride,” he said, demonstrating with long, medium-pressure strokes across Graybeard’s flanks. “You probably already know this, but always brush with the direction of the coat. You can also use a curry comb.”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, watching him closely. Escaped golden strands of hair haloed her face. Prem forced his gaze back to the horse.
“A lot of people think the connection between rider and horse is made during riding,” he told her. “But this is where the bond really forms.”
“I understand.” Layla’s voice was soft, a little smokey. When Prem turned to her, she was staring at him intently. He swallowed thickly. “Um, let me know when you’re done, and we’ll brush out their manes and clean their hooves. I always give April a few sugar cubes at the end. Honestly, I think that might be the real reason she likes me.”
Layla laughed lightly. He handed the brush to her. Their fingers lingered together on the brush, the lightest of touches that still managed to torch his soul. Prem wheeled around, afraid the straining bulge in his jeans would give him away. He practically frog marched to April’s stall.
Picking up the curry comb from the grooming kit, he brushed the horse’s neck.
“What do you think of Layla?” he whispered to April. “Bringing her to meet you was a big deal, wasn’t it?” The brush ran through the horse’s rich auburn coat, and she neighed contentedly. The rhythmic strokes of the brush lulled his mind. His imagination reconstructed Layla as she’d been just a half hour ago, showered in sunlight astride Graybeard, the wind blowing back the golden filaments of hair around her face. He remembered her milky thighs clutching to the saddle and the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her blouse.
April neighed, snapping Prem back to the present.
“Sorry, girl,” he said, resuming the brush strokes. “It’s just that… I think I’m falling for her.” Prem laid his head against April’s flank. “God, I’m falling for her so hard.”
“I think I’m falling for him, too,” Layla’s voice whispered from the shadows just behind him.