Six - The Thing That Set Us Free #2
“Was a total disaster when I first started,” he adds.
I watch his technique for a moment. He’s using all his fingers, pinkies included, not the simpler pinch-cross-pinch thing he taught me.
“AP had to stand there for hours while I fumbled around. Poor girl.” His voice carries that warm humor that makes my chest do stupid things, the kind of old friends and soft memories.
I focus on the braid in my hands, trying to feel his goodness without thinking too much or too deep about it.
“Hard to picture you being bad at anything horse-related,” I admit. “Thought you came out of the womb whispering to mustangs.”
He chuckles. “Definitely not. Was all thumbs.”
Can’t even imagine it. A younger Eli—less confident, less skilled—stumbling his way through something he’s doing right now with such easy grace.
“Was AP your first horse?” I ask, securing my latest attempt with the tape. It’s still not great, but less wonky.
“First one that was really mine, yeah.” The softness in his voice when he talks about her… So sweet.
I remember the way she moved during the emergency with the gray colt—fluid and powerful despite her age. The way she communicated with Ruin without a sound, keeping him calm and away from the chaos.
“Never told you, did I?” he asks, a bit quieter. “What AP stands for.”
My hands pause briefly. Yeah, I asked him before—first day in the quarantine barn. “Well, I do have my theories, you know? ”
Eli grins. “Forget it. You ain’t never gonna get it.”
“Fuck you, I’m great at puzzles. Crosswords and shit.”
“You could be The Crossword Master Supreme with a thousand gold medals from the puzzle Olympics. Still wouldn’t get it.”
I gape at him. How dare this man… I abandon the braid, face him fully, arms crossed. “Aurora’s Peak. Amber Prodigy. Autumn’s Promise.”
Eli laughs. “Nope. So cold. Gelid.”
“Apocalypse Pony. Angsty Princess. No, that’s not right. She’s awesome.” I frown, glancing up for extra creative juices. “Always Perfect.” I nod, returning to my braid. “Yeah, that’s correct. I don’t care what you say.”
Eli wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “She is always perfect. Still not her name, sorry.”
“Okay, I give. Tell me.”
He takes his time, breathing deep, weighing the words. I stay quiet. It’s just her name; does it need that much nerve to share?
Finally, he says it. “Alcohol Poisoning.”
I blink. “That’s... What ?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he gets three more strands separated, much slower than before. Then the smallest of sighs. “After the thing that set us free.”
What…does he mean?
I want to keep braiding, not stare at him—definitely not gape—but…
“My father was...” Eli shakes his head slightly. “Not a good man. Drank too much, got mean. Got…physical.” His fingers are still braiding, his smile is still there, but not his eyes. “Died when I was eight. Alcohol poisoning.”
My throat tightens. I stay quiet.
“Got AP just days later,” he continues after a moment.
“ Bailed her out from the empty lot behind the vet near our trailer park—Rey’s granny.
She says I stole her, actually.” He chuckles.
“But she was just a foal, and I wanted…what came after, you know? For both of us, and Momma too. The good parts. The peace, the freedom. So I named her that ‘cause it’s what she represents to me. To this day.”
I nod, understanding even if I can’t relate. My childhood demons are nothing like his—less visceral, more insidious. Fists up in victory or around a rein, not clutching a folded belt.
And yet look at him. Hear him, feel him. The softness in him, when he’d have every right to be stone cold, and hard and jagged.
And now I don’t know what to do. Because all I want is to wrap my arms around him and hope my intentions reach that scared little boy of twenty years ago. But I can’t. Because if I held him close and he hugged back—of course he would, kind as he is—he’d take a piece of me I’d never want back.
So I have nothing to say. I hate that I don’t.
“I know it’s weird,” he says eventually.
“It’s not,” I shoot down instantly. “A name should be something with weight. Isn’t that what you told me?” It needs to be meaningful, but it doesn’t have to be meaningful to everyone—it shouldn’t. It’s a personal thing. I get that now.
He smiles a bit. “Yeah. Didn’t mean to get heavy, though.”
“No, I—” I swallow, shaking my head from this…emotional constipation. “I asked. Thank you for telling me.”
Eli nods, eyes on his work. “Ain’t nothing I try to hide, just…not everyday material.”
“No, that’s braiding school shit,” I say, and almost slap myself at being so fucking insensitive. But he bursts out laughing and I’m an idiot, so I double-down. “We get intense up in here. We’re gonna murder a man next.”
“Stop!” he blurts, struggling for air .
“Form a gang, braid in dark alleys. The Braid-y Bunch.”
He’s laughing so hard he forgets his braid and drops against Ruin, hiding his face on his forearm. I just laugh along, hunched over myself, hands on my knees.
Ruin is not amused.
Eventually, the laughter dies down, and we get back to work, pausing here and there because one of us remembers it again and start giggling, and it’s all so fucking stupid—oh my God.
One thing is obvious, though. As beautiful as his laughter sounds, ours together is ten times better. Which is something I never thought I’d say about anyone.
But then, it’s been one month. How many never-thoughts has this place beaten out of me?