Serve Me

And then I’d prove to him wrong every single night whenever I straddled his hips.

Everything was going so well. I had Flynn’s number, I had reservations, I finally had the guts to tell him what happened all those years ago, and I had actually gotten to sink my hands into the thick of his muscles again. I was on top of the most beautiful horse in this town, I was galloping through the greenest fields this state had to offer, and I felt absolutely unstoppable.

But then, Oreo reared back onto his haunches and started shrieking up a storm.

“Whoa! Oreo… calm down, boy. Whoooooooa.”

I grabbed tight onto the reigns and flexed my thighs, but my foot slid from the stirrup to my right. I felt my body slowly slide off to the side and figured if I tucked and rolled, I could at least run back to the barn while Oreo shook off whatever it was that was spooking him.

But, when I looked down, I realized it was a massive snake.

“Shit,” I bit.

I tried desperately to rein him in, but when he brought his feet back down, he bucked back with his hind legs. He was whinnying in pain, and I was in unfamiliar territory, and I heard Bradley screaming behind me as the hooves of another horse quickly approached. I felt my body being thrown from Oreo as Bradley continued to roar my name in the background, and when I hit my back, the last thing I remember is Oreo’s hooves above my face and a sharp pain ricocheting down my neck.

And then? Everything went black.

Chapter 9: Flynn

I’d finally gotten done mucking out the stables when I heard my phone vibrating on the counter. It rang, and it rang, and I rushed over to catch it just before it fell off the counter and onto the tiled kitchen floor. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, and part of me was tempted to simply let it go to voicemail. It was easy around here for people to get numbers and then start soliciting things, and while I loved buying cookies from the scouts around the area, I didn’t like politicians a

nd churches calling me up and asking stupid questions and wanting me to donate money to some campaign I’d never heard of.

But, something told me I needed to take this call. Something in the pit of my gut told me that the local area code that was flashing meant something terrible had gone wrong. I thought of all the things that could’ve happened: maybe someone broke into my parent’s old home I renovated, or maybe something had happened to Bradley at the stables. I told him he was taking on too much work with his dad climbing up in age, and I’d offered my services on a part-time basis time and time again to him.

However, the voice I received on the other end of the line was one I never thought I’d ever hear again.

“Flynn!?”

I recognized Chelsea’s mom immediately. There were so many nights I spent at Chelsea’s parents’ house after dinner shooting the shit with them around a fire. Her father would always put a beer in my hand, and her mother would always tell me stories, and she was always so sweet to inquire as to how my parents were. I always just felt the longing need to tell her everything: about my mom’s inability to have more kids and how she always took in the more unfortunate ones around the neighborhood. I talked to her about how much I loved her daughter and how I wanted to marry her one day.

I’ll never forget the bright smile on her father’s face when he clapped me on the back and asked me if he could be part of the ring shopping I did for his daughter.

How the hell could I say no to him for that?

“Mrs. August? Everything alright?” I asked.

“Oh God, Flynn. It is you. I didn’t realize you and Chelsea were still in touch like this.”

“I’m not sure what you mean…?” I asked.

“I’m calling from Chelsea’s phone, Flynn.”

She said it like a fact. Like I should’ve known who was calling. I had no idea what she thought, but my gut reaction was that Chelsea was up to her old antics again. Creating lies and spinning webs so no one would backlash on her when they found out she was bed-hopping with her college sweetheart on a whim because she was bored and home. I needed to give her more credit, though. When she started crying on the couch in my trailer about how sorry she was, she seemed sincere.

And then, she uttered five distinct words that ripped me from the rush of questions running through my head that shivered me to my core.

“Flynn, there’s been an accident.”

“Where’s Chelsea?” I asked lowly.

“She uh… she's... we’re-... at the hospital. She’s-”

Chelsea’s mom started sobbing on the phone, and that’s when I heard rustling on the other end. A gruff voice, one I’d never forget so long as I lived, picked up the talking on the phone while I rushed around and grabbed everything I needed to get to the hospital in town.

Something has happened to Chelsea, and I felt a protective need to get to her.

“Flynn? It’s Barber.”