The Son & His Hope (The Ribbon Duet 3)

Perhaps she shouldn’t have.

Maybe I needed greater discipline.

If it took away the stress of never knowing if I did the right thing and paved a path to follow, then I’d welcome it. I’d welcome any guidance on how to be a better son, better oath-keeper, better person.

My eyes locked with Hope’s again and my fight dissolved. My spine slouched as I looked at the blanket she’d used and the hay bales she’d no doubt slept on, and for once, I couldn’t use my temper as a shield.

Her unicorn slippers were the easiest things to look at as I said the hardest thing imaginable. “Look…I’m, eh, I’m sorry, okay?”

She sucked in a breath. “What?” Her tiny squeak could’ve been mistaken for one of the resident mice.

I rubbed the back of my neck, then raked my fingers through my hair. “I shouldn’t have been so…loud.” That didn’t really make sense. I tried again. “I mean, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry for—”

“I’m sorry too.” She rushed out in a massive exhale that echoed with relief. “I didn’t mean to be a pest. I swear.”

I held up my hand, a sort of smile playing on my lips. “It’s fine. Let’s forget about it, ‘kay?”

She nodded fast, her hair swishing over her shoulders. “Yes, please.”

“Anyone ever tell you, you say please a lot.”

She frowned, her small cheeks pink. “Dad says I don’t say it enough.”

“Parents.”

She smiled back, both of us aware we didn’t have parents. Just parent.

Silence fell again but at least it wasn’t so strained.

Tucking hair behind her ear, Hope’s gaze found my face again, studying me in that intense, scary way that made me feel stripped bare and lacking.

My hackles rose. “You should go.”

“Go?” She stiffened. “As in…leave?”

“No, not leave. Bed. It’s late. Aunt Cassie is taking you guys on a long trek tomorrow. I won’t be blamed for your tiredness if you fall off.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Her voice was quiet. “If I fall off, it won’t be your fault.” Her body snapped to attention, her hands wringing again as if words battled to be spoken all at once. “Oh! I never got to tell you and I’ve been waiting so long to tell you! That’s why I came over to you in the diner. I wanted to say thank you for making me ride your pony. Thank you for showing me what I wanted.”

She sucked in a breath, coming closer as if desperate to make me listen. “I was so scared. So, so scared. You almost killed me, but you were the only person who pushed me. The adults think I’m this breakable thing ’cause of what happened to Mom and how I found her—”

She waved her hand, breaking off as if she was used to not being allowed to talk about such things and launching into new, acceptable topics. “I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted. I still don’t know. And that’s okay. But I knew enough that when Dad accepted a job filming in Saudi Arabia, I was brave enough to beg for horse riding lessons. He tried to say no. He said you were reckless, and riding was dangerous, but I didn’t stop, Jacob. You’d be so proud of me. I was um…loud. I didn’t give up, and I just wanted to say thank you. It’s the only thing that’s mine. The only thing where I’m not something to someone else, you know? It took so much convincing…after what you did last time. But I got to ride a few camels, a donkey, and a pretty dapple called Prince of Persia.”

“Sounds like you miss it.” My jaw clenched. “The glamorous life in some desert.”

“It’s actually very green over there,” she said primly. “I do miss some things. I miss my lessons on Prince. His bloodlines descend from a famous racehorse called—”

“Don’t care. It’s not like we can provide horses of such calibre.”

Her face fell as if I’d stolen her favourite teddy. “I’m trying to thank you, and you’re getting mad at me again.” She stared in that deep, unsettling way of hers. “Just…let me thank you.”

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling as if we were breaking some sort of rule. “Fine. Glad I could help.”

She shrugged. “Anyway…I wanted to tell you more, but I’ve forgotten. You make me nervous and…”

When she didn’t finish, I hid my racing heart. “And…?”

She smiled quickly. “And…I don’t have any friends. I know you don’t like me, and you don’t want me here, and you can’t wait for me to leave but…” She shrank back as if I’d bite her. “You’re my friend. Even if you don’t want to be.”

She was right to back away because the word friend terrified me. It came bound with other words like closeness, trust, affection. Words that led to deeper ones like connection, love, pain.