Chapter 6 Under His Skin #2
Months of hearing words nobody wanted to hear.
Permanent damage.
Limited mobility.
Increased risk of future injury.
The end.
Just like that.
One moment I had a career.
The next I had memories.
I took a long drink of coffee and immediately regretted it.
Cold.
Bitter.
Perfect.
The accident wasn't the hardest part.
People always assumed it was.
They imagined physical pain.
Surgeries.
Recovery.
Those things were difficult.
But they weren't the worst.
The hardest part came afterward.
When everyone else moved on.
The crowds disappeared.
The sponsors stopped calling.
The invitations stopped arriving.
Life continued without me.
The world kept spinning.
I didn't.
At least not for a while.
The truth was ugly.
Losing rodeo felt like losing myself.
Every dream I'd built.
Every plan.
Every version of my future.
Gone.
I'd spent years figuring out who Ryder Cole the rodeo rider was.
I had no idea who Ryder Cole without rodeo might be.
That uncertainty nearly destroyed me.
The memories darkened further.
There were other losses tangled up inside that period.
Relationships that didn't survive.
People who walked away.
Promises that meant less than I thought.
I rarely spoke about those parts.
Some wounds remained sensitive no matter how old they became.
A screen door creaked behind me.
The sound pulled me back to the present.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Oliver stepped onto the porch.
His expression immediately shifted when he saw me.
"Oh."
I almost smiled.
The kid always looked surprised whenever he found me existing outside work hours.
Like I simply disappeared into a closet every evening.
"Need something?"
He hesitated.
"No."
Then he lifted a sketchbook.
"I was looking for somewhere quiet."
Of course.
The sketchbook.
At this point I probably shouldn't have been surprised.
Drawing was as natural to Oliver as breathing.
I nodded toward an empty chair.
"Plenty of room."
His eyes widened slightly.
As though he expected me to throw him off the porch.
Interesting.
The kid still seemed unsure around me sometimes.
Not as much as before.
Enough.
Oliver sat.
The silence that followed felt comfortable.
The kind that existed between people who didn't need constant conversation.
He sketched.
I watched the stars.
Time passed.
Simple.
Easy.
The sort of evening I'd spent years convincing myself I preferred.
Maybe I actually did.
Eventually I rolled up the sleeve of my T-shirt to scratch my shoulder.
A mistake.
Because I immediately felt Oliver's attention shift.
Artists noticed everything.
I'd learned that already.
When I looked over, his eyes were fixed on my arm.
Specifically, one of my tattoos.
The largest one.
A black stallion stretching across my upper arm and shoulder.
Detailed.
Powerful.
Impossible to miss.
Oliver noticed me looking.
His gaze immediately darted away.
Caught.
Again.
The kid was remarkably easy to read.
"Something interesting?"
His cheeks turned slightly pink.
I fought back a smile.
"Sorry."
The apology sounded genuine.
That somehow made it worse.
"You keep apologizing for being curious."
"I wasn't staring."
"You were absolutely staring."
His groan confirmed it.
The reaction amused me far more than it should have.
Oliver looked toward the tattoo again.
More carefully this time.
The evening light highlighted the ink.
Every line.
Every shadow.
Every detail.
"It's beautiful."
The compliment surprised me.
Mostly because nobody had ever described it that way.
The tattoo usually received comments like intimidating or impressive.
Beautiful wasn't common.
I looked down at the stallion.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then Oliver asked the question I should've expected.
"What does it mean?"
Simple words.
Dangerous question.
I considered brushing it off.
Changing the subject.
Making a joke.
Instead, I found myself staring at the tattoo.
The answer sat right there beneath my skin.
Permanent.
Impossible to escape.
Finally, I exhaled slowly.
"His name was Midnight."
Oliver remained quiet.
Listening.
Waiting.
I appreciated that.
"A horse?"
I nodded.
"The horse from the accident?"
Another nod.
The realization appeared instantly in his eyes.
Understanding.
Not pity.
Never pity.
Something gentler.
Something harder to defend against.
I looked away first.
Toward the darkness beyond the porch.
Toward the ranch.
Anywhere except those understanding eyes.
"Most people blamed him."
The words came out rougher than expected.
"They shouldn't have."
Silence followed.
Then Oliver spoke softly.
"You didn't."
"No."
The answer was immediate.
Certain.
Midnight hadn't ruined my life.
Accidents happened.
Animals weren't machines.
I'd known the risks every time I entered an arena.
Blaming the horse would've been easier.
It also would've been wrong.
The memory lingered between us.
Heavy.
Personal.
More personal than I usually allowed.
Eventually I rubbed the back of my neck.
"That's enough history for one night."
A faint smile touched Oliver's lips.
The kind that said he knew I was retreating.
The kind that said he'd let me anyway.
For some reason, that made me grateful.
The conversation ended there.
But as darkness settled fully over Blackthorn Ranch and Oliver returned to his sketchbook, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just shared something important.
Not the whole story.
Not even close.
Just a piece.
A small piece.
Yet somehow it felt like more than I'd intended.
And when I glanced over a few minutes later and found Oliver quietly sketching beneath the porch light, I realized something else.
For the first time in years, talking about old wounds hadn't felt quite so heavy.
Maybe because someone had actually listened.
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