Chapter Two. When Deciding Your Future
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN DECIDING YOUR FUTURE
JAMES
I remember most everything about my fall except the fifteen minutes where apparently Farren Walsh hoisted me out of the water and gave me mouth-to-mouth.
I replay that fact in my mind over and over.
Farren Walsh. I had to drop right at her spotter station.
And I can’t remember a thing. I bury my face into my pillow.
I can’t catch a break. I wasn’t sure I’d survive.
Now, having been saved, I don’t think I can endure the embarrassment.
My arm aches, pulling me back to my senses and the bigger problem at hand. The race was only yesterday, but everything has changed. It’s dusk and for once my house lies quiet.
The door creaks as my mom enters. For a moment we stare at one another like strangers. The shadows hide the blaze of her red hair and the swarm of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. “Were you sleeping?”
“No, just…” I can’t tell her how much I’m trying to will myself to remember a certain fifteen minutes. “Thinking.”
“I brought tea.”
“Oh.” That’s unexpected. I’ve been brewing my own silver teas since I was thirteen. Don’t assume anyone will craft it for you, Dad always says, typically right after Mom or I hand him a mug. “Thanks.”
She passes me the full warm cup, flakes of silver dragon metal infused into the liquid in order to heal my broken arm faster. I down the medicine in one go. I’ve been forced to chug the stuff so much today my mouth tastes metallic.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
I adjust the sling. “I’m okay.”
Mom hesitates before snatching me into a hug. “James, I—” My heart hammers. Now, we’ve veered into more than the unexpected, but downright rare. Is she going to apologize? Admit that—
“Let’s not lie anymore,” she whispers.
I tuck into her shoulder, not used to hugs.
Her silver-threaded dress is so much scratchier than the pillow.
A part of me wants to say, “You first.” But then she continues.
“I’m so scared,” she confesses. She pulls away quickly like now that she’s let the truth be known there isn’t any time.
“I talked with Aunt Roisin up in Hardsill. She’s willing to take you for the summer. After that—”
“No.” It’s automatic, panic outlining my true feelings.
Hardsill is Toulin’s biggest and most illustrious city and where she grew up.
I thought my mom might try to ship me across the country, so I already have an argument and possible solution at the ready.
“I want to stay near Forsen. I need to stay near Hort.”
“James,” she breathes. “That dragon isn’t more important than your life.”
My life. As in, if I stay here, I might lose it. That’s how scared my mother is, that’s what she thinks might happen. A chill runs through me, and my arm throbs. There’s an entirely different fifteen minutes I’d rather have wiped from my memory.
“Hort is being treated on the Walsh Sanctuary. What if I stay there, with them?” Saying it aloud feels explosive, the tension in my heart a striking clock. I scan her face, needing to catch her reaction before she schools her features.
“The Walshes?” Her expression does change as she mentally calculates the hour-long drive out of town and to the rural sanctuary. Much better odds than the minute it takes my father to charge down the hallway.
“Dad will have me check in on Hort and the Walshes every week anyway. Instead, I’ll just ask to stay there, work for them on the sanctuary. I heard Dr. Walsh was looking for a summer hand. We can tell everyone I’m interning.”
“I’m not worried about what people will say.” That’s a first. A big first. “Why would you ever want to work…?” A few strands of red hair fall from her bun as realization dawns across her face. “Is this about the all-around scholarship? You’re still hung up on that even after—?”
I go still as her eyes pin to my arm. Not my first sling or cast. But it feels like it. “I’ve told you I’ve already submitted my application.”
“I know,” she sighs. “But I wish you’d—”
“You said it was better than riding.”
“It is.” She sounds defeated. “It is better than riding.” I’ve only heard her admit that opinion here, in the quiet confines of my room. The first time, two years ago, still rings in memory. Those words brought me hope, a hope for a different future, a different path.
I can feel her agreeing with me. There’s only one piece of the puzzle I can’t do alone. “I need help convincing the Walshes to give me the job and take me in all summer.”
Her eyebrows knit. “The Walshes have worked for us for years.”
With, not for. Dr. Walsh is a veterinarian we hire, not someone my dad can boss around or throw sterlings at. That distinction is key. The Walshes aren’t swayed by money. Talent, real talent, can’t be swayed by money.
“We’ll persuade them,” she promises in that cold tone of hers, the one she learned growing up in Hardsill, where being neighborly meant something quite different. “In fact, it will be easy. We just don’t let them say no.”