Chapter 2 #2
Her voice trembled just enough to hint at a laugh that didn’t sound genuine. I saw it now, the mix of anger and longing, the way she wanted to be the one who fixed me, even though she knew she couldn’t.
I met her eyes. “Don’t make this about you.”
It wasn’t meant to be cruel. It was a warning to her and to me.
She blinked, then flashed that small, dangerous smile that told me she’d file the moment away like ammunition. “Fine,” she said. “But if you break your neck for her, don’t expect me to pick up the pieces.”
Her heels turned, each step crunching over gravel, steady and sure.
The sound faded, swallowed by the noise of the grounds, the call of a horse, a radio playing too loudly somewhere, and the wind dragging the scent of hay and diesel.
She disappeared around the corner, leaving nothing but the faint trace of her perfume and the ache of what she’d said.
I stood still, staring at the empty space where she’d been, the words echoing back. The lot felt bigger now, open and lonely.
The light shifted again. The sun sat lower, casting long shadows across the dirt. I could see dust glittering in the air like fine gold powder. Beyond the fence line, a flag snapped in the wind. The world kept going, indifferent to every mess we made of ourselves.
Kristin’s trailer door creaked softly, enough to make me turn. The sound was quiet, but it might as well have been a shout. My chest tightened.
She didn’t come out.
That somehow made it worse.
I took a step closer, then stopped myself. I didn’t have the right. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Lady nickered from inside, a low, familiar sound that broke the stillness.
I reached for the latch, sliding it open just enough to look in on her.
She turned her head toward me, eyes calm, breathing steady.
She’d already moved on from the run, from the fall, from everything that had rattled the humans around her.
Horses are built for resilience. They live moment to moment, never dragging the past behind them like a chain.
I envied that.
I stepped inside and ran my hand down Lady’s neck, feeling the warmth and steadiness beneath my palm. “You did good, girl,” I said quietly. “You kept her safe.”
The mare shifted, snorting softly, then lowered her head to the hay. I stood there for another minute, letting the silence wrap around me. The smell of hay, leather, and sweat pressed close, grounding me in something real.
My eyes drifted to the saddle hanging on its rack, the worn leather darkened by years of use.
Kristin’s initials were stamped on the fender, small but clear.
I brushed my thumb over them, the gesture automatic.
The sensation of it stirred a thousand small memories, her laugh echoing off barn walls, her voice sharp when she was focused, the way she leaned into my shoulder when the world finally quieted around us.
I exhaled slowly, chest tight.
The heat outside was fading, the kind of late-afternoon warmth that lingers even after the sun begins to dip.
Behind me, a gate clanged shut, and the announcer’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers, calling for the final set of riders.
The day wasn’t over, not for anyone else. But for me, it felt finished.
I walked out of the trailer and leaned against the metal wall, feeling the coolness press against my back. My reflection in the polished surface looked older, wearier. Dust streaked my jaw. My knuckles were raw from when I’d grabbed the railing earlier, skin split where gravel had bitten.
The ache in my chest grew heavier the longer I stood there. I’d told Tanya she didn’t get to make this about her, but the truth was that none of this was about her. It was about the woman sitting a few feet away behind that half-closed door, pretending she didn’t hear any of it.
I should have left. Should have gone back to the stands, back to the noise and the safe anonymity of the crowd. They didn’t know the story or the scars. They didn’t know how many times I’d reached for Kristin and come up empty.
But I stayed.
I stayed because something in me needed to see the place where everything had cracked open and admit that it still mattered. I stayed because some promises, spoken or not, endures, no matter how many years pass.
In the end, neither Tanya’s fury nor her pity changed a damn thing.
My decision had already been made long before she approached.
The second I moved toward Lady in that arena, it had been made.
I’d bleed for Kristin all over again, not because I thought it made me noble, not because I wanted to, but because some parts of you never come loose, no matter how hard you try to pry them free.
The lot around me was starting to quiet. The sun hit the horizon, spilling red and gold over the parked trailers. Dust drifted in slow spirals, catching in the last light. I pushed away from the wall and looked once more at Kristin’s door.
The shadow inside shifted again.
Maybe she was just moving. Perhaps she’d heard every word.
Didn’t matter.
I’d been trying to convince myself for three years that I was free from her, and every time I saw her face, the lie evaporated like morning fog.
I walked toward the gate, each step weighed down by the weight of everything left unsaid.
Behind me, Lady blew softly, almost like a sigh. The sounds of the grounds started to fade as I moved farther from the trailers. Somewhere, a rodeo clown cracked a joke over the mic, and laughter rippling through the crowd. The moment should have felt normal, ordinary. It didn’t.
It felt like standing on the edge of something I’d been pretending didn’t exist, a cliff I’d once fallen from and somehow survived. And maybe, just maybe, I was about to climb back up.
I didn’t look back again, but the image of Kristin’s shadow in that doorway followed me every step of the way.