24. Georgina #3
Her voice catches, and I step into her embrace.
She holds me firmly, then lets me draw back when I want to look at Sovrano again.
There is no advice about what I should do next, no suggestion that this was what I should have expected from returning.
I hadn’t realized I was waiting for someone to say it until she doesn’t.
“I owe you a better account than this,” I tell her. “I promised to tell you how it felt.”
“You can tell me when you’re ready.”
“The first three fences felt wonderful.” My throat tightens around the admission. “I want to remember that part too.”
She squeezes my hands, and Max moves closer beside us. For a moment, I let myself think about the first fence, the easy lift, the feeling that Sovrano and I had found each other again in front of everyone. What happened after it doesn’t get to take those strides away.
The groom asks whether she should take him back to the stall. I ask her to wait just a moment, then run my hand along his neck and let him nose at my sleeve. He is interested in what I might have in my pocket, which makes me laugh again, more easily this time.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “I left everything useful in the bag, apparently.”
“I’ll walk back with him,” Felicity offers. “Come when you’ve finished here.”
I thank her and turn to Max. “We should call about lunch. I still want to go, but I don’t know when we’ll be ready.”
“I’ll speak to them.” He takes my hand. “We have time.”
I believe him. It is such an ordinary thing to believe that my eyes begin to sting again, and I look down before I have to explain why.
His thumb rests against my knuckles, warm through the thin fabric of my glove.
I want the table we planned, the three of us sitting down together while I work out how to tell this story in my own words.
A show official approaches before the groom leads Sovrano away. He gives his name and asks if he can look at the rein that failed. Max stays beside me as we move toward my horse. I take the loose length from where the groom has gathered it against the saddle and pass it to the official.
The short section is still attached to the bit ring. With the groom holding Sovrano, Max removes it and passes it to the official, who lays the two ends side by side in his hands.
Until now, I have been thinking of it as something that broke. Equipment can break. Leather can fail. I can be furious about it, frightened by it, and still imagine taking the damaged pieces to someone who will explain what went wrong.
Then the official turns one piece toward the light, and I see the edge.
Part of it is rough, freshly torn. Beside that is a line so straight that I lean closer, trying to understand how the two can belong to the same break. Max’s hand goes still at my back.
“That doesn’t look like wear,” I say.
“No.” The official examines the matching end. “This appears to have been cut. I’ll need to retain both pieces.”
For a moment I can hear Sovrano breathing more clearly than anything else. The official is still speaking, asking who checked the tack this morning, but I am looking at the leather in his hands and remembering how easily I took my reins before going into the ring.
“We checked it,” I say. “My groom and I. Max checked it too. There wasn’t anything we could see.”
“You wouldn’t necessarily have seen this before it separated. We’ll need to have it examined properly. Please don’t clean or alter anything else.”
“The stirrup leathers.” Max’s voice is very quiet. “We changed them before she went in. One wasn’t holding properly.”
The official looks up. “You still have them?”
“In the side pocket of my tack bag,” I tell him. “We kept them to show the saddler.”
He asks for them, then calls a colleague over to remain with the equipment while he takes our details. I see Deus coming along the path from the stabling area and lift my hand to catch his attention. He reaches us quickly when he sees my face.
“Would you bring my tack bag?” I ask. “The whole bag. Don’t take anything out.”
He looks at the rein pieces, then at me. “Of course.”
Max lets out a breath beside me. “Merda.”
I turn toward him, and the anger in his face is almost harder to bear than the fear was. He is looking at the same broken ends I am, understanding what they mean. He reaches for my hand without taking his eyes off them, and I hold on.
I want to ask whether it could have been an accident.
Whether something caught the leather, whether there is any explanation that doesn’t involve someone touching my things and deciding it would be better if they failed.
But the official has already asked us to keep the equipment exactly as it is, and Max has drawn closer, and I can feel the answer settling between us before anyone says it again.
Beyond the fence, people are still watching. A rider I recognize gives me a tentative smile. Someone farther back lifts a phone, and I turn my face away, suddenly unable to bear being looked at.
Someone wanted to watch me fall, and I don’t know whether they’re still watching.