Twelve - Out There #2
“Let’s go,” I tell Ruin, cue him on. He moves like always—poised, almost poetic, damn powerful.
One stride. Two. The third falters, just for a beat.
I overcorrect, hands too tight on the reins. He tosses his head, confused. Yeah, mixed signals. Got it, you’re right.
We approach the oxer off-rhythm, my timing shot to hell. Ruin gathers himself anyway, making the adjustment for both of us. But as we land on the other side, he sidesteps sharply, a move so out-of-character it zaps through my body, slaps every side-thought out of my mind. Shit, that was scary.
“Whoa, easy,” I murmur, patting his neck.
“Not your fault, big guy. I’ll fix it.” Just need to get my head back in the game, sync up with him.
We’ve been doing so good, showing real progress every day.
This isn’t the time to let my focus slip.
I circle him back toward the final element—a combination that requires perfect timing from both of us.
“Cassian.” Eli’s voice carries across the paddock. “Stop a minute. ”
I don’t look at him. “It’s fine, I got it.” Ruin’s already back in stride, the misstep forgotten. We’ve got this.
“Cassian! STOP!”
His voice cracks like a whip. My eyes snap to him, to that urgency, to the rawness of that yell like it scraped and bled coming out. He’s closer now, body even more rigid, knuckles even whiter than before, drained of any color.
And so is all the rest of him.
“Please,” he adds, the word barely audible under the sound of his breaths.
I pull Ruin to a halt immediately. My heart races, matching what I see in Eli’s expression. What the fuck happened? What’s wrong? Shit, he looks like a walking heart attack. I swing my leg over and slide to the ground, quickly leading Ruin toward him.
Eli meets us halfway, closing in with long, heavy strides. Before we’re close enough, his hands are already reaching, finding my arms like they’re breath, gripping just above my elbows, clamping me in place.
“You okay?” he asks like he found me under rubble. Like there’s blood oozing down my face. It’s not.
“Are you ?” I counter. Up close, I can see the fine tremor in his jaw, can hear the raspiness of his inhales.
He presses his eyes shut, struggles to pull in a calmer breath. Doesn’t let me go. I don’t make him.
“You were off,” he says finally, voice cracking.
“Way off. And Ruin was responding to that. And when ya try to compensate by micromanaging, he gets confused.” His grip loosens but doesn’t leave, just slips down to my forearms. “That sidestep was a warning. He was telling you something wasn’t right. ”
I don’t argue, don’t try to defend myself or my experience, my knowledge of what a horse needs from his rider. I know he’s right. I wasn’t there—not as much as I should have been, not as much as Ruin needs me to be every time I’m on him.
“Just didn’t sleep too well. I’m fine.” He knows I didn’t. But it’s not the truth, not the why.
Eli shakes his head, eyes still shut, refusing to open. “You ain’t fine. And it ain’t safe. Not for you, not for him.” His voice drops lower, intimate and…scared. “Not for you.”
Scared for me? Was I that off? Was Ruin that close to throwing me, or to hurt himself?
For Eli to be like this…
“I know,” I say, gentler now. My hand finds his chest, traces his sternum, both of his flying to cover it, to keep me there. Even with gloves on, I can feel his heart drumming. “I’ll be more careful. Promise.”
He nods, keeps doing it through every breath going in and coming out. At the third one that leaves him, he opens his eyes.
And I can’t read them. There’s so many things in there, in other languages, in dialects I’m not even sure exist on this earth. Calm panic, hopeful resignation, both fight and flight in the same reflection of afternoon light, drowning in those dark depths.
I wonder what all of it means. Wonder if mine look the same.
And if they do, I wonder if he can see how much I need to kiss him right now.
His breathing slows, so maybe he does. His shoulders lower, a bit more with each second. The tension is still there, but it’s at the skin, ready to shed off in due time.
I want to kiss him. I will.
But my body doesn’t move.
Just my eyes, for one of his heartbeats.
To the open barn doors, to the cracked window in the tack room.
Where anyone can step out of, where anyone can be peeking from.
Another heartbeat—there’s a stablehand in the north paddock, so far I can’t tell who it is.
Another—someone smoking on the mess hall balcony, eyes down on their phone.
No one’s looking. No one would take a picture, not here. It’s safe here.
But…
My boot slides half a step back. My hand falls between us. He lets it. “We should probably call it a day.”
Eli doesn’t answer. We stand there, motionless for a few seconds. Then he heads toward the fence and the gate, opens it fully for Ruin and me.
The silence keeps as we head for the stables.
The distance is too short, not enough time for the static in my brain to let any real thoughts through.
Still enough for the slipknot to tighten around my throat, for the tears from before to regroup and come raging, as if they’ve been filing their edges and now they’re shards of glass, rallying around my eyes.
What Eli said before stabbed deep. But that just now, what I didn’t do…it burns. Not from fire but frost, the kind you don’t jump away from, don’t even shiver about.
The kind that kills clean.
Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Doubting him, denying us? Just about two months to go, can’t our days be giddy kisses and whispered touches and world-shattering orgasms with his name on my lips? Before I have to leave this place and…
And what?
Fuck, and what?
Now that the magic is fading as fast as the heart on my wrist, am I supposed to go out there and face the world and take the weight? Take the pain in my spine for sitting too straight? Take the itch of not smiling when I want to—only after a win, five seconds, three quarters of a full lip stretch ?
Again?
Alone?
We’re at the barn. I lead Ruin through the wide doorway. My boots echo—they shouldn’t, never did on this engineered dirt. Still, it’s all I hear. Like it’s empty.
Everything. Empty.
I’m three steps in when I realize the sound is singular, only my footsteps, not a pair mixed with Ruin’s hoofbeats. I turn back to find Eli still standing at the threshold, one hand resting on the frame like he’s physically stopping himself from following me inside.
“Wouldn’t kiss you in public,” he says, so quietly. “You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that.”
Fuck him.
That stupid, thoughtful man. Doing exactly what I need him to do, what my brand needs him to do. I don’t want it! “So you’re worried about your image now?”
“No!” His frown is quick and heavy. “I’m worried ‘bout yours . I mean, ‘bout how yours affects you.”
I force a swallow to bury the tears. “Are you? Thought you didn’t have an opinion.”
Jaw clenched. Eyes down. He speaks through his teeth. “None I can share.”
A snort blurts out of me. “Oh, so you have them, but you won’t share. Wow. Great job keeping clear of my life.”
“It’s your life.” I barely hear him. “Out…there.”
“Sure is.” Fucking rebel tear. I wipe it off, swallow the rest once again. “And you refuse to be a part of it. Got it.”
“That ain’t—”
“What are we even doing?” I spin, stomp, glare at him. “Every night, every fucking day. What?”
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me. Just eyes glazed over, set on the ground like he checked out .
“Say something!”
His body jerks at my shout. “I don’t know,” he whispers, but it’s automatic.
I swallow again and nod, just once. Then tug Ruin’s lead and step further inside.
“Yeah… I don’t know either.”