Broken Knight (All Saints High 2)

The minute I entered the barn, I heard something crunching and released a breath. I knew it was Josh’s way of showing me he was here. He couldn’t talk, but he still found ways to communicate with me. He stood on the other side of the stable, next to the stall of a beautiful, black Arabian horse named Onyx. He was the youngest horse in the barn and always requested extra petting time whenever I was there cleaning or feeding the horses.

I surprised myself by launching at Josh, suffocating him with a hug. Only when I was in his arms did I realize how much I needed that hug, how I craved to be put back together after being broken by a simple picture.

When I pulled away, I blinked.

Josh lifted his hand between us, holding a bottle of Everclear.

“Say hello to your date.” He winked.

“That’s it? Not even dinner? Straight to business?” I signed, grinning.

“What are you implying?” His eyes bulged.

“Nothing. What are you implying?” I chuckled.

This was fun. Easy.

He laughed and shook his head, producing a bottle of cranberry juice from behind him and two Solo cups. He poured a shot of alcohol into each, then filled them with cranberry juice. He unlocked his phone and put on a tune. The band was called Drum Kithead. The singer had a voice like liquid lava, and Josh bobbed his head with a small smile, not an ounce of bitterness in him, clinking his glass with mine.

“We’re riding this evening.”

I didn’t want to refuse him—not when he was the only person I could stand to be with right now. I took a sip of my drink. It was horrible, but I ignored the burn scorching my throat.

“Bareback,” he added, causing me to choke on my drink.

“Because it’s more natural and stuff,” he explained.

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“I’ll teach you. You’ll be a natural.”

“How do you know?”

He looked at me with eyes so full, I didn’t doubt he really saw me through them.

“Because you’re always on your bike. You already have the balance. The core.”

We finished our drinks and led Onyx outside. I knew what we were doing was wrong, and that if the owners found out, they’d behead Josh and fire me from my volunteer work. But it was difficult to deny ourselves things when we already felt so robbed—robbed of our voices, our ability to speak our minds, robbed of being normal.

He mounted me on the horse and climbed atop, settling behind me. Josh communicated with Onyx by pressing his boot to the horse’s side or tapping its head. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Onyx was huge, but gentle. Josh’s chest bumped into my back as Onyx galloped forward, and I heard my friend hissing voicelessly behind me. Josh’s groin bumped against my behind. Again and again and again. Until it stopped bumping and started…grinding. Not on purpose, I don’t think. I swallowed, trying to decode what I was feeling.

Offended? No.

Annoyed? Not that, either.

Scared? Not by a long shot.

Instead of being mortified of jumping from no-base to third-base, I was…enthralled.

It felt good. Him. Hot. Hard. Pressing against me. At first he tried to scoot back, give me my space. But when I wiggled my butt on purpose and looked over my shoulder with a smile, he deserted his inhibitions and ground into me with delicious intent. Heat burst in my chest, trickling down to my lower belly, exploding between my legs. I found myself leaning forward so my butt pushed against him, grunting as silently as I could. Josh and I had never discussed the circumstances of my muteness. He had no idea there was nothing wrong with my voice, but with my head.

When we got off Onyx, we were both panting. I pulled the hem of my hoodie down to cover lower body, because I didn’t know if my jeans now had a lust stain the size of my head. Josh led Onyx back to his stall and returned, looking down and shifting from foot to foot. I felt like I needed to somehow apologize to the horse for what had happened on top of him. Not that it was intentional…but, still.

“Hug?” Josh asked, probably as a peace offering more than anything else.

“Please.” I smiled.

Josh squeezed me again. Hugging like a parent. A hug that wasn’t to take, only to give.

“What do you want to do now?” his heart whispered as his hands signed.

I could read Josh fluently, because I understood his struggle. And he was a wonderful, open book I wanted to drown in.

I closed my eyes, hearing Vaughn’s words again. Edie’s. Dad’s.

Move on.

Use teenage as a verb.

He is happy. Be happy, too.

There was no menace in my next move, not an ounce of bad intention or vindictiveness. Still, I took Josh’s hand and pressed it against my breast, holding my breath and bracing myself. The world tilted, turning upside down, and as my stomach flipped, even I had to admit—he felt almost as good as the real thing.