Page 69 of My Wild Horse King

“I guess.”

“What?” He’s scowling whenever he glances my way.

“I don’t know. I guess I still find it strange that you hate horses, but you make your living off them.”

“I make my living by taking money from people who contribute to the industry that took my mother away.”

“There it is.” I sigh. “Now it makes sense. It’s both revengeanda stable income plan.”

“Why do you care? Are you a therapist or something?”

“A what?”

“They’re people who analyze other people and try to break them down so they can help the people work through their issues.”

For a while now, I’ve felt lost. Alexei has been true north for me, my only goal, for a decade. Other people, like Gustav, have things they love, like his company. But all I’ve had was my obsession with Alexei. Now that I’ve let it go, I have nothing else to replace it with.

But in that moment, I know. If we can get the world under control, once the threat of Leonid’s gone, that’s what I want to do—I want to learn to be a therapist. “It’s really hard to see your own problems, but it’s easier to see other people’s stuff.”

“What?”

“Think about it. When someone’s riding,” I say, “they can’t see what they’re doing wrong on the horse. It’s the reason that even the best riders still need trainers. They need someone to see what they’re doing wrong and tell them how to fix it. People are like that, too. They cling to whatever dumb thing they think they need way longer than they should. That means these people—therapists—they’re basically like trainers for horseback riding, but they help fix the broken stuff in humans’ lives, right?”

“I guess so.”

Nothing in my life has felt this right in a long time. “And they have schools to teach you how to do that?”

Gustav nods. “Lots of them.”

“You’re so lucky to be alive now. When I was born, women like me didn’t have jobs. They didn’t look for meaning or purpose. Their purpose was to get married and have children, but now everyone gets to do what they want.”

“I’m not sure that’s really true,” Gustav says. “Plenty of people today still don’t do what they want.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t have the money to go to school, the time to pursue it, or the intellectual capacity to succeed even if they try. They may get stuck in a job because of other responsibilities, or they might be afraid to lose what they already have in the pursuit of what they really want.”

That only convinces me further. “It sounds like those people need a therapist to get them back on track.”

He’s smiling as he shakes his head, and I realize he’s probably mocking me. I don’t care. It doesn’t feel malicious. It feels. . .fond. Like he’s treating me as someone he thinks is amusing in an endearing way.

I find myself looking at his hands where they’re gripping the steering wheel—they’re large, but also refined. My eyes slide upward to his forearms, the muscles in them shifting infinitesimally as he adjusts the car to follow between the stripes on the road. I watch where his chest rises and falls with his breath, and his mouth, the curve of his lips, and then when I look upward again. . .

He’s staring right at me.

And I feel like a total idiot. This is exactly what I amnotgoing to do. After we defeat Leonid, I’m going to figure out how to make the time and find the money to go to school, and I’m going to help people make better decisions in their lives.

While also making better decisions in mine.

Starting withnotlooking longingly at Gustav and his muscular forearms.

“Why were you looking at me?”

I can feel my face heat, but it’s dark enough, I doubt he can see it. “I wasn’t. I was just looking at the speedometer.”

“Can you even see it from where you’re sitting?”

“Not very well,” I say. “Which is why I had to stare.”

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