Page 82 of A Photo Finish
“My guess is down at the track. Saw her and Billie head down there not so long ago.”
“Thanks,” I bite out, not really wanting to go to the track, but wanting to find Violet more.
Back in the fresh air, under the oppressive cover of heavy cloud, I walk down the paved path toward the dirt oval, running the pad of my thumb over the teeth of the key in my hand, pressing it into the soft skin until it bites.
When the path angles down, and I clear the stand of trees that gives the track a private feel, I see Violet on Pippy and Billie up on her black stallion. They’re chatting amiably, trotting toward the gates at the far end of the track. Vaughn and Hank stand in the covered viewing booth, and I head that way.
I take the few small steps up onto the platform, and Hank turns to greet me, stopwatch in hand. “Cole! Good to see you, son. How you been?”
“Good.” I try to muster a smile, but I know it’s a sad attempt. Hank deserves better. He’s been a mainstay in this town for years. My grandfather, Dermot, hired him and got him into the horses. I don’t know him as well as Vaughn does, but he always gives off that warm, fatherly vibe—the one that makes me squirm with discomfort. The one I miss from my own dad.
“Hey.” Vaughn looks me over the way he always does. A tad uncomfortable, like he’s trying to gauge what kind of mood I’m in, and I hate myself for making my little brother feel that way. Like he needs to walk on eggshells around me.
I feel like I’ve sufficiently killed whatever good vibe they had going in here and jerk my chin out toward the track. “What’s going on?”
“They’re going to try the filly up against another horse, see how she handles the competition.”
“Is a stallion the best choice?” My voice comes out steely, and Vaughn raises an eyebrow at me, though this time he spares me the teasing about my “military voice.”
Hank steps in. “DD is a mellow stallion, and very experienced. With Billie on him, it’s the best choice for sure. If she needs to pull him up, she’ll be able to. He’s got a level head like that.”
I try to ignore the anxiety roiling in my gut. I should go back up to the house, spare myself the stress of being here. But I’ve always been a glutton for punishment, so I stay—forcing myself to face it. Wanting to not be such a royal chickenshit about this.
I’ll need to get a grip on this if Violet and I are going to be an “us.” I watch her and Billie guide their mounts into the slots. No gates are up today, it’s just an open lane. I guess that part comes later.
“On your marks!” Hank shouts, his voice booming in their direction. “Get set!” Pippy prances on the spot, like she knows something is coming. Like she’s ready to explode. “Go!”
As Billie and DD fly out of the gate, completely well practiced, Pippy startles. Her eyes roll slightly, showing the whites. And rather than surging out and running, the little bay filly goes straight up, standing tall on her back legs with her front hooves flailing ahead of her. I watch in frozen horror as Violet attempts to slide her arms around Pipsqueak’s neck and hang on. Her stirrups are set too short for her legs to provide any support.
Time moves in slow motion as her mouth sets in a grim line, concentration painted all over her face. I know Violet isn’t new to a young horse’s antics, but it doesn’t stop pure dread from filling my chest.
And when I watch her topple off the back of the filly, I’m running. Down the stairs, across the bank of grass, vaulting the fence, as though I could get there in time to catch her. Billie sees me and pulls up, finally looking behind herself. Pippy lopes toward me, away from the gates, confusion in her eyes. Dirt flies out behind my feet as I scramble across the track.
I feel bile rise in my throat and stop a few meters away from Violet’s still form, trapped in my worst nightmare.
I can’t be back here again.
I can’t breathe.
My vision blurs. The ground sways beneath me. And I bend over, pressing my hands into my knees as I drop my head and try to force my body to work again. I feel like an old car that needs a jump, a spark. I’m too fucking broken to even help her when she’s on the ground.
But I can’t get my body to cooperate. I heave, one hand coming up over my mouth to hold it in. If she’s hurt. If she’s dead. It can’t happen. I only just found her. I only just found us.
“For fuck’s sake!”
I look up just in time to see her fist hit the dirt and her small feet kick the ground like she’s having a temper tantrum. And suddenly, I can get air back into my lungs. With a few more steps, I fall to the track at her side, kneeling in the dirt, fingers hovering over her body while tears spring up in my eyes.
Relief. Relief so intense. Like I’ve never felt before. “Are you okay? Are you okay?” I can’t stop saying it. The question pours out of me repeatedly, as though I’m short circuiting. Stuck on a loop. Suddenly, I’m transported to the dry heat of Iraq and to that day on the track all at once. It feels like I’m breathing sand again. It scratches my throat; it weighs on my lungs. Checking pulses. Ears ringing.
But Violet’s eyes aren’t dull and vacant. They’re clear blue pools, reflecting the puffy white clouds above us. Her expression changes from looking pissed off to looking concerned as she takes me in.
“Hey, hey. I’m fine.” She tries to sit up, but all my first aid training kicks in, and my arms shoot out to hold her down.What if she has a spinal cord injury? A brain bleed? She could be in shock. When I watched my dad fall, he never got back up.
“Cole. Let me up. I’m fine. I was just winded.”Her lung could be collapsed.
I feel a nudge against my shoulder and look back to see Pippy standing behind me with a sheepish look on her face, black eyes staring at me with such kindness. Billie is just behind her with a sad look on hers. She’s seen how fucked up I am, and now she pities me.Great.
“Just take a minute, Violet,” Billie says so that I don’t need to.
