23. Georgina #2
“Yesterday.” Max pulls out his phone and shows her the confirmation. “A table for the three of us. They know we may be a little late if the class runs over.”
“Good boy.” She pats his arm. “Now, where should I sit? I want to be able to see properly.”
I give her directions to the stands, pointing out where the view will be best for my class. She listens carefully, asks a few questions, then hugs me once more.
“I’ll find you both after,” she says. “I want to hear everything.”
“We’ll be at the arena entrance.” I watch her head toward the stands. “Thank you for coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She waves without looking back.
While we have been talking, the groom has brought Sovrano out, tacked and ready. I check the equipment myself, running my hands over the saddle, testing the girth, examining the bridle.
Nothing looks out of place.
“I need to change.” I reach for my garment bag. “Ten minutes.”
“I’ll warm him up for you.” Max takes Sovrano’s reins from the groom. “Walk him around, let him see the other horses.”
I find the changing area and slip into my competition clothes.
The navy jacket settles neatly onto my shoulders.
I remember trying it in the yard, crossing my arms to test the fit while Max waited for my verdict.
I button it carefully, then turn back the left side to check the embroidery.
G.E. The letters catch the light, a small private reminder of who I am and who gave me this.
When I return, Max is walking Sovrano near the stall. My horse looks relaxed but alert, his ears moving as he takes in the activity around him. The groom takes the reins while I retrieve my helmet and check that my braid is securely tucked away.
Max steps close before I put it on, his fingers finding the edge of my collar. “There. Now I can see you properly.”
“You saw me when you gave it to me.”
“You weren’t looking at me like that when I gave it to you.”
I know exactly what he means.
When he gave me the jacket, I was still wondering whether I was letting a gift persuade me too easily. Since then, he’s stayed through days when I’ve been difficult and evenings when neither of us has had anything especially lovely to say. I don’t need the jacket to prove anything now.
“Like what?” I ask anyway.
His smile deepens. “As though I might be invited to help you take it off.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t ridden yet.”
“I’m making plans. You keep telling me to do that.”
I kiss him, laughing softly against his mouth, and his hand settles at the back of my neck. For a few seconds, I forget about the people walking past and the horse waiting patiently beside us. Then Sovrano nudges the groom’s arm, and we part with the same reluctant smile.
“Later,” I tell Max, before fastening my helmet. “You can ask me later.”
He brings over the mounting block while I pull on my gloves. I settle into the saddle with the groom holding Sovrano, gather my reins, and find my stirrups. His warmth reaches me through the saddle, familiar enough to ease the last tight breath out of my chest.
“I’ll meet you at the rail,” Max says.
I turn Sovrano toward the warm-up ring, already looking forward to finding him there.
The warm-up ring is busy but not crowded.
I find a space along the rail and let Sovrano walk, feeling him settle into his stride.
His movement is forward and willing, his attention focused on the horses around him.
I ask for trot and he responds immediately, his ears pricked forward, his body engaged.
We circle the ring twice at trot, then I ask for canter. The transition is smooth, his stride lengthening as we come around the turn. I can feel the power in him, the readiness that comes from weeks of careful preparation. This is my horse. This is what we’ve built together.
I spot Max at the rail, his arms folded, watching with the quiet attention that tells me he sees everything I’m doing. When I catch his eye, he nods slightly. I nod back and focus on my work.
After several minutes of flatwork, I approach one of the practice fences. It is a small vertical, comfortably below the height of our class. I count the strides, adjust my position, and feel Sovrano lift beneath me as we clear it.
The landing is perfect, his stride continuing without hesitation. I circle back and approach the practice oxer, finding the line I want, letting him carry me over the spread. We land balanced and forward, exactly as we should.
I let Sovrano walk on a longer rein. We last jumped two days ago, and yesterday was a quiet walk. He’s loose and responsive; I see no reason to ask for another fence when he’s answered both so well.
I’m circling toward the rail where Max is standing when I feel something shift.
It’s subtle, barely noticeable. A slight difference in the way the saddle sits, a faint sense that something isn’t quite where it should be. Not pain, not obvious wrongness, just a whisper of discomfort that makes me frown.
I halt beside the rail and look down at my tack. The saddle looks properly placed. The girth is secure. Nothing appears to be wrong.
“Max.” I keep my voice low. “Something feels off.”
He’s at my side immediately. “What kind of off?”
“The saddle, maybe. When we came back to walk, I felt something move beneath me.” I shake my head. “I can’t quite place it.”
Without a word, he begins checking the equipment. His hands move with practiced efficiency, testing the girth, examining the saddle pad, checking the placement of the breastplate. I watch his face, looking for any sign of concern.
“Girth is secure.” He runs his hand along the panel of the saddle. “Everything looks properly fitted.”
“Let me dismount.” I free my feet from the stirrups. “I want to check him.”
Max holds Sovrano while I slide down, then beckons the groom over from the gate. She takes my horse’s bridle so I can examine him properly. I run my hands down his legs, checking for any sign of discomfort. Then I ask the groom to walk him forward a few steps while I watch his movement.
He walks soundly, his stride even, his weight distributed normally. No sign of lameness or discomfort. When I ask her to trot him out, he moves forward willingly, his action clean and regular.
“He looks fine.” Max has been watching too. “Movement’s normal.”
“I know.” I frown at my horse, trying to reconcile what I felt with what I’m seeing. “Can we lift it and look underneath?”
Max unfastens the girth while I steady Sovrano.
We lift the saddle clear, check the pad, and look for anything caught beneath it.
There is nothing I can find to explain the sensation.
Max settles everything back into place, and I check the fastenings alongside him before we take Sovrano to the block.
“Tell me if you feel it again,” he says. “I’ll stay here.”
I use the block to remount, settling carefully into the saddle. Sovrano stands quietly while I gather my reins and find my stirrups. I ask him to walk forward, then trot a small circle.
Then I pat Sovrano’s neck, keeping him at a walk. “I’ll give him a minute.”
Max nods and stays at the rail while I make a quiet circuit. Sovrano stretches into the contact when I pick up my reins, then settles willingly back into his longer stride. I listen to his breathing, feel the familiar movement beneath me, and come back to Max without finding anything unusual.
“They’re starting our class,” he says. “There are a few ahead of you. We can walk over when you’re ready.”
I glance toward the entrance, where a steward is consulting a clipboard. “Let’s go.”
We move toward the arena entrance, Max walking beside us while I keep Sovrano at a quiet walk.
I watch the first rider in our class through the gaps between the people at the rail.
The line from the third rides much as I expected.
I follow it with my eyes, remembering where I stood with Max earlier, the turn I walked twice until I knew how I wanted to take it.
Felicity is in the stands. She catches sight of us and lifts her hand, and I lift mine back before settling it on Sovrano’s neck. Soon I’ll have something to tell her. Soon I’ll know how it feels to finish a round again and come out to people who are waiting to hear my version of it.
Max touches my boot. “What are you thinking?”
“That I want to remember this properly.”
He looks up at me, his face softening. “Which part?”
“All of it.” I smile before he can make anything solemn of it. “Even your thoughtful expressions.”
“Especially those. I’ve worked hard on them.”
The next rider passes us on the way in, and Max steps aside to give them room. I ask Sovrano to move a few paces toward the waiting area. He comes willingly, his ears turning toward my voice, but as I settle deeper into the saddle to halt, something gives beneath my left side.
Only a fraction. Enough that my body notices before I can name it.
I stop him well clear of the entrance. “Max. Come here a moment.”
He is turning back when the steward calls my name, telling me I’m next.
For an instant I can hear everything: the applause from the ring, the announcer overhead, the soft creak of leather as Sovrano shifts his weight.
I keep him still and look down, trying to understand what has changed beneath me when everything I can see remains in place.
I know what my own fear feels like, and this isn’t it.