Nineteen - Glorious
NINETEEN
GLORIOUS
“IT’S MOCKING US .”
Ruin snorts, agreeing with me.
“Yeah, it thinks it’s all that, doesn’t it?” I rub under his jaw, rewarding him for keeping his nervousness down to slightly flared nostrils and ear flicks. “A glorified puddle. Zero match for Ruin ‘The Burning Coal’ Vale.”
Ruin snorts again, disagreeing with me.
“No? No, we’ll work on a cooler name.” I pat his shoulder and tug us away from the gleaming water of the Liverpool, onto the next obstacle.
The course isn’t particularly high—training height, nothing that would make headlines at a real competition—but it’s technical enough to test our communication.
A wide, airy oxer to start, the striped poles set over a distracting flower box.
A tight rollback that’ll require actual trust, not just momentum.
And a line set just short enough that we’ll need to compress his massive stride or risk overrunning the second element.
Plus that Liverpool that’s already asking for it .
“What do you think?” I ask him, running my hand along his shoulder as we make our way back to the fence. “Piece of cake, right?” Ruin sighs like this is all just so easy and beneath him, borderline insulting. “Sassy. I love it.”
“You’re ready.”
Eli’s voice carries from the fence line, where he’s leaning with his forearms resting on the top rail, one boot hooked casually on the lower one.
And I just don’t get it. How a person can relax me so completely just by existing in the world.
It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown man.
Nah, that’s not right. With him, I’m a kid again. And somehow an old guy at the same time, not giving a shit anymore, about so many things that seemed so important, life or death, just what—four days ago?
Fuck that. This is my grocery-shopping-in-pajamas era.
And it’s damn glorious.
I loosen Ruin’s lead as we approach, letting off pressure so he can halt before I do. Well, I don’t actually. Not until I clash my lips onto Eli’s. He tastes like the blueberry muffin from breakfast. Delicious and warm and perfect.
Someone whistles from a distance, then. Eli and I both grin, which makes us end the kiss, but it’s fine, better this way. We’re technically working.
“Your stablehands are too jealous,” I tell him. “You should cut their paychecks.”
“Done.”
I nuzzle his chin with my nose, then trace up his jawline as he says, “He’ll get the Liverpool, just let him fail once or twice.”
I hum and nod, nuzzling his cheek.
“And the line. Check if he…” He sighs. “If he compresses by himself on that second one. ”
“Yes, coach.” I kiss his nose and lean off him before I make it awkward for Ruin—everyone hates third-wheeling. I get my helmet from the fence post and put it on, secure it with a click.
I direct Ruin to the mounting block. He positions himself practically uncued, and I just wanna squish him, he’s so good.
But I don’t. We’re very professional. Instead, I trail my hands over his coat, down his neck, across his withers, along his back.
Then under his jaw, murmuring, “Easy,” before exhaling in soft, controlled bursts instead of one long sigh.
Then again—in, hold, then out-out-out. So Ruin knows we’re about to step into the zone.
Only then do I mount, and we circle around the course again so he can check things without me in his line of sight.
Colors and visual noise and element distribution will always be slightly different in competitions, but the general setup never truly changes, so the point is getting him from “oh, no, new things” to “oh, it’s just the things again. ”
We’re getting there. On schedule.
He stands perfectly still beneath me as I settle my weight in the stirrups. The reins creak as I adjust them, leather on leather against my glove. God, I love that sound. The sound of getting ready to fucking demolish.
I glance at Eli, already holding the buzzer box by the starting line we defined, just before the first element.
It’s weird not having at least a stopwatch to get a feel for time, but it’s as he told me—at this point, it’s best not to know.
No expectations, just feeling it out. For Ruin, yes, but for me as well, so I nod once to tell him I’m ready.
Eli sounds the bell, and Ruin reacts to the loudness with a slight head toss, but gets over it quickly.
We start off at an easy canter, finding our rhythm as we circle and align with that oxer. His stride lengthens as we cross the starting line and take off, over, and clear it with room to spare. Like we weigh nothing .
The next few jumps also go smoothly, Ruin responding to the lightest touch of leg or rein. Then comes the rollback—a tight turn that will bring us face-to-face with the Liverpool.
I guide him through the turn, feeling his body tense beneath me as the water comes into view. His ear flicks back, telling me, “Hey, human, that’s a really big puddle, and what if there’s sea monsters in there?” His stride shortens, practically dies completely two lengths out from the jump.
And I still feel the pull, the urge to make the decision for us and drive him forward because we can obviously do it and there’s no time to spare. Usually.
He’d do it if I asked. But he’s not ready, so I won’t.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, shifting my weight to redirect. “We’ll try again. No problem.”
We circle back, away from the jump, giving him space to breathe, to process. See, no monsters are jumping out. I bring him to a walk, then a halt. My hand rakes down his neck, pats it vigorously, the way he loves.
“Easy,” I whisper against his twitching ear. “I got you.”
I glance at Eli, watching from the fence. He smiles and gives me a nod because I’m letting him fail, just like he said. Failing is needed too, sometimes.
We reapproach the jump, slower this time. So he can take another look, process the glint of the water. His body is still tight beneath me, but there’s a difference now—in his ears, his steps. A question mark at the end of the hell no .
“You can do this, bud. Scary doesn’t mean impossible.”
Another neck rub and I position us again, cue him again, gently. He responds, gathers himself. And just like that, my best guy launches over the water like it’s yet another piece of dirt, just shiny and rippling with the breeze.
We land clean on the other side, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from my chest. “Did you see that? This damn horse!” I shout toward Eli.
“A natural,” Eli yells back.
“A fucking natural!”
Only the line left, and Ruin does compress slightly by himself on the second jump, but not enough, so we’ll work on that a bit more.
It does mean he clips the third, of course, but it stays up, more luck than skill, and fuck it, I’ll take it.
Luck is also part of the game. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “We’ll get it.”
We cross the finish line without the blazing rhythm it demands, but it’s fine, we’ll introduce speed later. Ruin blows out a long breath as I drop the reins, and I let him stretch his neck, cooling down with a lap around the arena.
That’s when I see her.
Mom.
Standing next to a tree, near the path coming down from the barn, clutching her laptop against her chest like it contains state secrets.
Quiet. Out of the way.
When was she ever quiet? When was she ever to the side, keeping small like that?
Not even on the sidelines at my competitions, where all eyes are on me. Never once.
Haven’t gotten a text or a call or anything these past four days. I was thinking she’d let me stew a bit, get anxious about my decision, and eventually she’d come back like nothing happened. But none of that is true.
Because I’m not anxious, not regretting a single word I told her. And because she looks the opposite of like nothing happened .
Eli meets Ruin and me at the gate. As he steps inside, he notices the energy shift and follows my line of sight. Then looks up at me, holds Ruin steady by the bridle as I slide off to the ground.
“You okay?” he asks, hand slipping around my waist and clamping, not hard, just grounding. He angles us, his back to Mom so she can’t see my face.
“Yeah.” My hand finds his stomach, just above the belt.
“Take your time. Make sure.”
I nod. Am I okay? There’s a whole conversation we need to have, most likely on a comfortable couch, facing a very expensive therapist. One that will undoubtedly pull some repressed shit out of my memories, make me rage at her for not doing better by me.
But at this moment, all I want is to know she’s okay. She looks so… Fuck, so frail.
“Come with me?” I ask him, undoing my helmet, slipping off my gloves.
He nods and takes the helmet from me, stuffing the gloves inside and sticking it on a post as we step out of the arena, leaving Ruin safely inside for now. I tousle my hair and step over, up the path as she heads down to meet us halfway.
And when we’re closer, my heart jumps. Did I ever—like ever —see Mom without makeup?
Age wrinkles completely visible in the corners of her bloodshot eyes, on her forehead.
A fast ponytail instead of the immaculate updo, and even her clothes—still loafers, still a fancy belt over slacks, but a t-shirt tucked in. One of mine.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says, clutching her laptop harder. “I was—”
I take it from her hands, pass it to Eli, who doesn’t even blink about it.
And I hug her. Hard. Too hard.
She stiffens, breath held. But then she softens, melts, hugs me too, nails prickling my back, clutching my t-shirt. All her air, four days’ worth that feel like decades of it, released against my shoulder.
And I wonder if she was scared, too. If in the back of her mind where she couldn’t bear to look, was the thought that maybe… That her and I wouldn’t…
I don’t want to lose my mother.
I hold her out by the arms, then her cheeks, then her arms again. “Mom, what the fuck?”
“What?”
I don’t know. Stop giving me heart attacks thinking you’re sick? Stop leaving me like you’re about to punch a wall and then return looking like the wall won?
No. No, that’s not what I want to tell her. So I smile.
“You look so beautiful.”
For a moment, she’s silent, translating my words because for sure they don’t mean the same to both of us. But then a soft blush blooms on her face, and she half-heartedly swats my hands away from her. “Oh, stop it.”
“I’m serious.”
She turns around, her back to us, slipping a paper tissue from her pocket and dabbing it under her eyes. “I don’t care. Stop ruining my mascara. It’s the only thing I put on.”
I chuckle, glancing at Eli. He’s smiling, the earlier tension that had him shield me from her only residual now, dust that doesn’t weigh on his shoulders anymore.
After a moment and a sniff, Mom spins around, faces us again. Chin up, shoulders back. And a hand stretched toward Eli for the laptop. He gives it. “Stop messing around. Are you ready or what?”
“Ready for what?”
She smirks, pats the laptop. “What you asked for, you little brat.”