Eight - Just The Guy
EIGHT
JUST THE GUY
I ADJUST MY seat as Ruin navigates over a fallen log.
He’s being deliberate and careful so far, like he enjoys quietly exploring the woods just as much as he would a gallop full-speed.
Eli says it’s because he trusts me, so his mind is free to enjoy instead of just worrying and being ready—to bolt, to rear, to kick. To protect himself.
Which is way more faith than I should be allowed to carry for him.
But then again, I’m beginning to feel the same.
That I don’t need to micromanage his every move, to be on the lookout for dangerous mistakes.
He’s not the animal equivalent of a drunk teenager when his friends are watching—all brawn, no brain.
Nah, my guy has street smarts. You won’t catch him riding a shopping cart down a flight of stairs, that’s for sure.
Even if I still feel like I’m sitting on a live grenade, after two weeks of riding him, at least now I trust this grenade to keep excellent balance and its safety pin secure.
Don’t trust him with apples, though. He’d eat a whole tree if I let him.
For a while, the sway of Ruin’s movement and the hush of the forest around Riverlight work their slow magic on me.
I let my eyes fall closed, just for a heartbeat or two.
It feels unnatural, feeling myself drift and not fighting it, being a passenger instead of a pilot.
But Ruin is sure-footed, and the breeze is cool on my face, bringing pine sap and loamy earth into my bubble.
So I allow the peace. Just for this moment.
When I open my eyes again, it’s Eli’s back that keeps me drowsy, relaxed exactly as he is on AP. Dappled sunlight filters through the canopy, painting Eli’s shoulders with shifting patterns, but all I see is the black t-shirt, the same type he always wears.
Same type he wore as he inserted himself between Mom and me. To block her off, shield me from her. Because he didn’t like what he saw.
Because what he saw was ugly.
Abuse ain’t always a closed fist. Sometimes it’s as soft as a wet wipe.
I don’t pretend to understand abuse like Eli does. The image of him as a child, curled up in a dark corner, making himself small and unprovoking… God, it’s heartbreaking. What his father has surely done to him, to this mother, and being powerless to stop it, helpless to escape it, scared…
It’s a heavy lump of cruelty that still weighs on my chest and the pit of my stomach. And in my brain, where I wish it never existed, but where I need it to exist. Because it happened. Because it was real for Eli.
But…would that make him biased? Seeing abuse everywhere, even where it’s not?
Or is that just excuse number a thousand, so I don’t have to consider it could actually be true? That I’m a twenty-six-year-old grown-ass man with a two-decade career and a world-class brand, and I’m—what, a… a victim? Fuck, I hate th at word.
No, I can’t be. Mom isn’t a villain. She’s not cruel, she’s just driven. Like I am. And because we both are, because our goals are the same, maybe sometimes things may border on lack of consent when I’m not sure and she presses me on.
But it’s not that. Just makes it easier to have her brain thinking for mine, calling the shots for me. She knows how I think and what I want. She’s doing me a service.
Shit, that sounds so dumb. Slap a vagina and a husband on me, then throw me back a century where housewives’ opinions came after the dog’s. I fucking deserve the disrespect.
I don’t even know where that comes from, where I first gave my reins away and closed my eyes. If I looked back, searched for memories under cobwebs and black mold, what would I see?
And would I want to see it? Would I want to remember it forever, like I do the scared boy hiding from Eli’s dad?
I focus on Eli again, riding in front of me. On his wide back, his strong shoulders. On his big arms that I know would hold me safe but never hold me back. On his strength and his gentleness, and on how one doesn’t exist without the other.
I don’t tolerate that with you.
With me. Why with me? What did he mean?
Ruin snorts, bringing me back. Immediately, I feel too much pressure in my thighs, too much tension on my shoulders, up my neck. He’s right—I got distracted, slipped too deep into my head.
“Sorry, bud,” I murmur, steadying my breaths, loosening my muscles. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Ruin’s ears flick forward, then back, tracking birdsong and all manner of other details I can’t hear.
He’s massive and scary, but he’s just like a big puppy most times—curious, excited.
The other day, I caught him following one of the ranch’s kittens along the paddock fence as she sauntered by.
Now that I think of it, I can’t count the times I had to wake up a random cat from napping on his back so I could mount.
What is it with cats and horses?
“Almost there,” Eli calls over his shoulder.
Shit, already? Earlier, he said we’d take half as long through the woods as by road, but it went by way too fast. Neither Ruin nor I would vote for an hour-long trailer ride into town, but surely there’s a longer dirt trail we could’ve taken. Need some more nature in me.
No luck, though, as the forest thins ahead of us, light breaking through in larger patches. Eli and AP slow down, picking their way more carefully.
I try peering past them, straining to see what “there” looks like—not expecting too much this far into the middle of nowhere. Trees still block most of my view, but there’s a clearing ahead.
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask, nudging Ruin forward when he hesitates at a muddy patch.
“You’ll see.” I can’t see his face, but there’s a smile in Eli’s voice. AP seems eager too, shifting beneath him. She must recognize where we are.
We emerge from the treeline, and the landscape opens up.
Nestled in the small valley below is an equestrian center—white-roofed arenas, a long stall barn with runs on one side, trailers and trucks parked in neat rows.
Not huge, not flashy—nothing like the massive complexes where international competitions are held. But unmistakable.
Maybe the town is not as small as I thought. If an equestrian center was needed.
Eli pulls AP to a stop at the edge of the clearing, giving me a chance to take it all in. Ruin halts beside them, ears pricked forward, neck stretching as if getting a closer scent from the distant horses.
“This is it,” Eli says. “What do ya think? ”
I scan the venue, noting the small crowd gathered around the largest roofed arena. “There’s an event today?”
Eli nods. “Junior showjumping. Local circuit, nothing fancy.” He flicks his chin at Ruin. “Perfect for what he needs.”
I understand it instantly. We’ve progressed to ground obstacles in Ruin’s training, but we’re still far from actual jumping, so the purpose is not getting him to participate.
It’s to expose him to the sights, the sounds, the actual ones that belong in a competition environment, not just floor tarps and makeshift flags like we have back at the ranch. It’s desensitization training.
All the stress triggers, but he’s just a spectator. Smart.
“Crowds, announcements,” I say, nodding. “And kids running around.”
“Exactly.” Eli’s smile widens, genuine and warm. “Need to show him arenas ain’t gotta be terrifying, just places where interesting things happen.” He looks at Ruin, then. “Not sure if he’s been to events before. We’ll take it slow. If he ain’t ready, we go back.”
I look down at Ruin. Alert, but not panicking, so that’s good. “Didn’t you get reports from the breeder?”
“They never say everything, for sure not the bad things. But based on his reactions in training?” He shakes his head. “Don’t believe he’s been kept away entirely. Just that his experiences were... less than positive.”
I nod, letting the implication hang between us.
Whatever happened to Ruin before he came to me—before Riverlight—left scars we may not even realize.
If he had the potential to be great—due to his provenance, his body proportions, the fire in his blood—I can see trainers trying to pull that greatness out of him. By whatever means necessary.
Some still believe horses need to be broken. I’ve always refused to work with regressive trainers like that. But not all riders do .
God, what a sad bunch we are. Between childhood domestic violence, being bailed out from a vet’s death row as a foal, and possible trainer-on-animal cruelty—plus all my shit I can’t even begin to list… The Fucked-Up Four, here to show you how good you have it.
Just me and my kindred spirits, vibing together in tragedy.
“Let’s go,” Eli eventually says. He turns AP toward the path leading down into the valley. “Stay close. And lemme know if it gets to be too much for either of you.”
“Sure.” I almost laugh. The champion showjumper, basically being asked if a local junior event might overwhelm me.
But as we start down the slope, I realize Eli was right to warn us.
Ruin’s muscles tense beneath me, his stride shortening with uncertainty, and I realize my heartbeats are also ramping up—not sprinting yet, but power-walking, for sure.
It’s the crowds. They could recognize me.
I knew we were coming into town, so I dressed as low-key as possible—jeans and a t-shirt—which PR has long forbidden me to wear around the general public. Black cap and sunglasses too, plus a zipped hoodie. I feel regular enough.
Still, I get the black fabric mask from my pocket and put that on too. Can’t be too careful.
Not outside Riverlight’s bubble, at least. I miss it already.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell Ruin, stroking his neck. “We’ve got this.”