Page 61 of Catching Sparks

He huffs a laugh, licking his teeth. “Is that all you have?”

“That depends.” I shrug.

“On?”

“On how many spanks I’ve earned since we started this little game.”

His smirk is cruel as his grip on Kip’s reins tightens. He keeps still so the horse doesn’t feel it. “A spanking isn’t a fitting punishment. You’d enjoy it far too much.”

“Oh? What is my punishment, then? Surely you have one chosen already.” I’m far too intrigued and so fucking excited.

As if he knows exactly that, he doesn’t respond. Instead, Kip shoots forward, Garrison having urged him forward, leaving Honey and me in the dust. The arrogant ass even has the nerve to wink at me before we take off after them.

There’s no stopping my cheek-splitting grin as we chase after them. Not even the tiny, nagging voice in my head that tells me I’m running the wrong way makes it budge.

22

GARRISON

A week later and my ass and thighs still ache from that first time riding with Poppy. I’ve been practicing every day since, usually in the evenings once Wade’s slipped inside for dinner and Kip’s available. The stiffness that hardens my limbs the moment I get myself pulled up on his back always lingers for the initial few minutes but then fades to nothing by the time we’ve begun to really move. If only my muscles would begin to grow used to the new movements and stop making me feel so old. The recovery time is cruel.

I’m certain it doesn’t help that I can’t stand for longer than thirty seconds without feeling light-headed and tasting chalk either. My sinuses are congested to high heaven, the world around me sounding dull through the throb in my ears. Fire rips down my throat with every pathetic swallow, to the point I’ve started spitting on the dirt outside the stables to avoid feeling the pain.

It came out of nowhere. I went to bed last night feeling fine and woke this morning to . . . all this. Getting sick has never been a concern for me. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve fallen ill over the past few years, and even then, that’s being generous. It’s fitting that this fucking place would break that streak, as it has a habit of meddling in every other aspect of my life.

Johnny’s been mother henning me all day, following me around with a sick bag in his hand regardless of my lack of vomiting. He’s the one who blabbed to Eliza about me and had her rushing out of the house and toward the stables at the crack of dawn with a container of steaming chicken soup. I took it without complaint and drank the container dry, leaving only the chicken and vegetables left sitting on the bottom.

My stomach is still full with it, and every move I make has it swishing around uncomfortably. I breathe in through my nose and lean against Sky’s pen, not surprised to see her still inside.

Brody’s back in Calgary, the recording of his new album having started back up. Nathan filled me in on the state of Swift Edge last night, including the new artist that was signed this past week and the three album deadlines that I should have been there to sign off on. It should have been me telling Brody to get back in the studio. None of this sits well with me.

Anna takes the horse out often in the afternoons, but in the early hours of the morning, Sky’s here with me. She has a different energy to her than Kip does. He’s a brute who loves attention more than he appears he should, but Sky is a needy, vocal thing. I feel bad that Kip has to listen to her talk all night long.

Honey is a mix between the two. She doesn’t get out often, far less than Sky does. From what I’ve seen, the only people who ride her are Poppy and one of the trainers I’ve seen a few times over the past week I’ve been working in the stables. The trainers haven’t paid much attention to me, and their lack of interest is relieving. I prefer to work in silence.

An almost blond-coloured muzzle with a white stripe down the middle butts into my shoulder, nudging me forward. Hot breath fans my skin when Sky pushes against my neck, and I answer her sudden interest with a tired, pained groan.

My head swims, fragments of thoughts suddenly drifting away before I can grab them. I lean further against the pen door, my legs weak and shaking.

“I’m gonna sleep,” I tell Sky before my knees give out, and I slide down the door. My ass hurts when I fall to the ground, hay padding some of the impact.

She neighs a reply, a grouchy one.

I let my eyes fall shut, my skull rattling with the pulse in my temples. “Be quiet, Sky.”

Finally, there’s quiet. Johnny will be gone for a while longer, off working on a task from Renner. Nausea ripples through me, but I force it down, ignoring the way my hot skin flushes with cold. I’m so tired. I need a nap. I’ll be better when I wake up.

A loud bang forces my eyes open. I cough, my lips ripping apart. They’re crusted, and I cringe. Cotton fills my mouth no matter how many times I try and summon saliva.

“You look so much worse than Johnny said.”

My stomach flips. Poppy’s voice is a blade with a dull edge. A threat without the follow-through of pain. I shut my eyes again.

“How long have you been laying here?” A hand brushes my forehead, fingers cold enough I flinch at the shock of them. “You’re flaming hot.”

“Are you coming on to me?” I rasp, my brows scrunching in confusion at how I sound. Like someone tore my voice box out and shredded it before jamming it back.

It sounds like Brody did before he took his break from music.

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