Page 14 of The Oath We Take

Wiggling my toes in my boots, I spread them wide and press them into the sole, practicing something I learned in yoga about grounding myself firmly to the earth.

None of it helps. My mad is just too riled up.

There’s a ludicrous hands-off clause to stop me dating anyone in the club. But it’s not safe for me to date anyone outside it. It’s misogyny. It’s patriarchal. It’s control. I can date who I goddamn well please.

The loud whinny of Lemmy breaks through my mood and makes me smile. It’s like he knows the sound of my tires on the gravel outside the stable and knows it’s me.

I’m here to ride. I’m here to let go of my father’s words and Atom’s interference.

When I enter the stable, Lemmy tosses his mane around in joy. He’s genuinely happy to see me, and I feel the same about him.

“Hey, boy,” I say, attempting to stroke his nose while he butts his head up against me. I let his strength and warmth and love envelop me.

Some days, it feels like there is nothing a ride on Lemmy can’t cure. He’s getting older now, which means we’re unable to push each other as hard as we once did. And I can’t bring myself to think about the day when I take my last ride with him. But when my mind is frazzled, and my body is the kind of tired that comes from a lack of sleep, he somehow has a way of grounding me and bringing me back to life.

As if knowing my patience is thin today, he stands perfectly still while I ready him.

The slow and steady preparation of saddle and bit.

The soft pats and nuzzles of affection connecting us both in a way that goes beyond words.

He trusts me to take care of him.

I trust him to take care of me.

He fishes for the apples I store in my pockets.

Dust dances in the beams of midday sunlight that crack through the open doors of the stables. Somewhere in the distance is the rumble of a tractor.

Makes me think of Atom, and I wish it didn’t.

As Quinn would say, if he doesn’t feed me, fuck me, or fund me, he has no say in my life. And yet, there he was, in my bar, telling me my beer was warm, using the business I built from the ground up to prey on young college students, and attempting to cockblock a patron from getting to know me.

Like I’m somehow not capable enough to make a good decision about men myself.

Hell, the reason I’ve been single for so long is because I’mtoopicky when it comes to dating. And I actually liked Rocco.

He had a tall, athletic build, dark hair that was a touch too long, and a kind smile.

I check the buckle of the stirrup one last time before I head to the rack to grab my helmet. Once upon a time, I was reckless enough to ride without one. I still miss the feel of the breeze lifting my hair off my neck on a hot day. But I’m old enough now to consider my safety.

As I return to Lemmy, helmet in hand, the crunch of boots on gravel outside the stable causes my stomach to flip. I know who it is before I see him and refuse to turn around. The crunch turns to a clap as the boots hit the rubber flooring that make standing comfortable for the horses.

“Ember,” Atom says. He’s not addressing me per se. It’s just a good morning the way he says it. An acknowledgement I’m here, but not an invitation to conversation.

And even though it’s the absolute bare minimum of a greeting, those five letters rumble through me like the pound of hooves on dirt.

No one has ever said my name quite the way he says it. Dad once said I was named after the campfire I was conceived by. Mom said it was because I was the spark that turned them both into parents. Neither made the name feel like mine. It felt like it belonged to them, until Hudson Addams said it.

I hate that I like it when I’m so mad at him.

So, I say nothing.

I don’t even turn around to acknowledge his presence.

Instead, I give Lemmy an extra stroke and pat. I fiddle with the strap of my riding helmet like it isn’t perfectly set up already. All in the hope that when I turn around, he won’t be there.

But time drags on. Each second ticks and tocks by as if it were swimming through a vat of molasses. Every breath takes a minute.

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