Hate You Not

She looks up at me, wiping her eyes, and nods solemnly.

I give her a wink then stride over to lift Oliver off the horse.

“Nicely done, my little dude.” I mount the horse and give June a grin when I’m up in the saddle. “What do you think? Trust me to give him a whirl without an escort?”

June’s flawless face is wary, her eyes held wide in that irritated way.

“Stay on this track,” she warns. “Don’t try the jump course.” She points to the course, which, like the barn, is up atop the little hill. It’s closer to the woods, though, and I’m surprised to find that it looks pretty advanced. June must be an accomplished rider. “Hot Rocket is sort of a one-person horse,” she warns me. “I know all his quirks, and I know how to manage him.”

“Is the course safe?” I ask. “In good condition?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Is he?”

She looks annoyed—a state I seem to bring out in her. “I said he’s racing tonight, didn’t I?”

“Good.” I wink. “Then we’ll manage.”

I take off, trotting at first, sizing up the course that’s separated from this dirt track by maybe twenty yards of dry grass. It’s legit, but nothing I can’t manage. I’ve been riding since I turned three.

I board my horses at some stables near Moss Beach. I don’t get by there as much as I did before phase two of this app started kicking my ass, so the rest of the time, my mares participate in a program that helps disabled kids. Works out for everybody.

It’s kind of dickish to take Hot Rocket through the jumps course without doing whatever warmup he’s used to, but he seems pretty chill, and I want to amuse Margot. It’s not like I’m going to fuck this up. I’ll take it slow, and we’ll both be fine.

I go extra easy the first time around. There are a couple doubles and triples, a ditch obstacle, a log fence, and a bunch of barrels toward the course’s rear, which I avoid.

In my periphery, I can see June and the kids rushing over. I give the kids a hoot and a wave, and Hot Rocket and I start through the course a second time. I don’t want to tire the guy out, so I tell myself we’ll stick to three times around.

He’s a talented dude. We get good clearance on the rails and sail over the log fence. He doesn’t hesitate either time for the ditch, so by the time we come up on the barrels, I decide to go for it.

Barrel racing isn’t something I’ve done much of, but I’ve done it on a few courses, mostly at summer camps. Right before we reach the first one, I nudge him with my heel.

Normally that gives a horse a little jolt of speed, but Hot Rocket takes it as a cue to blastoff. He lurches forward so fast my ass comes off the saddle. As he whips around the first barrel, I tighten up and move with him. We fly around the next two barrels, and there’s two more. I get a hamstring cramp just in time for him to jerk left around one of them—hard.

I don’t expect to fall. The only time I’ve ever toppled off a horse’s back, I was fourteen and at camp and standing in the saddle like a jackass.

It happens so fast, I can’t process. One minute, I’m cringing from the hammy cramp. The next, I’m eating dirt. I blow like a light bulb for a second, opening my eyes to the sensation that I can’t breathe. Knocked the wind out of myself. I get a gasped breath just as my head starts going hazy. I push myself up on one arm.

Fuck. My shoulder zings when I move, and my head…really hurts. A wave of nausea prickles through me, so strong that I think I might get sick. Then there’s Oliver and Margot. June is dropping down beside me.

Her eyes are huge, and the kids—behind her—look like they might cry. Somehow, I make it to my feet and spread my arms.

“So what’d you think?” I look at Margot.

She looks horror-stricken. I laugh—which makes my head throb. “Did you like my trick?”

The kids look at each other, skeptical and seeking clarity. June frowns deeply.

I grin, and she gives me a what-the-fuck look that’s so damning, I can’t help another laugh.

Shit. I wince, and she steps closer to me. Her hand reaches out, her soft fingers touching my forehead before I can jerk away. “You’ve got a shiner coming up there.”

In a low hiss, she adds, “What were you thinking?”

I frown like I’m confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I asked you not to ride him over here.”

“Say that again.”

Her eyes are warm on mine—too warm, so I give her a smirk. “Say what again?”