Page 58 of My Queendom for a Horse

And I know he owes the money.

What I don’t know is how many other debts are going to keep coming my way. Dad can’t seem to stop, and I can’t live the rest of my life fighting off his creditors. If he can’t keep away from gambling now, when will he ever?

Which means that, even with Sean’s help, even if we win a bunch of races, it won’t do any good. It’s just a matter of time. I’m like a hamster in a wheel, running my fastest to try and save a farm that’s doomed simply because it’s in his name.

I think about what Aleks told me the very same day I found out he was a man, not a horse. He said that sometimes people have to sacrifice things they want for things they need. It hits me then, what I have to do. I want the farm. I’ve always wanted it. It brings me joy, it makes me feel safe, and it has been our family’s legacy for countless generations.

But I need to be safe. I need to know that when I wake up in the morning, there won’t be yet another axe poised above my neck. I need to take hold of my future myself.

And to do that, sacrifices must be made.

When my dad finally wakes up, I tell him my conclusion. “We have to sell Liepašeta.”

His eyes widen and he straightens up, groaning. He rubs his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you not remember anything about last night?” I frown. I assumed that Aleks healing him meant that. . .but what if the beating damaged his brain? Is that even something Aleks could heal? I should have taken Dad to the hospital.

“I was sure they broke my arm,” Dad says. He stretches and swivels his arm around and around at the shoulder. “I was hoping it was a dream.”

“Dad,” I say. “It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. You can’t stop.”

He doesn’t ask me what I’m talking about. He doesn’t even try to defend himself, but I’m just as angry as if he did try.

I shove the paper at him. “They’re suing you, but only because I stopped them from killing you last night.”

He blinks repeatedly. “You what?”

“I saw your car,” I say. “I thought you were gambling in there. You’re lucky I had Aleks with me, or I’d have probably died along with you.”

I’ve never seen my dad look as crushed as he does in that moment. I’m so angry that I don’t even care. I have zero pity for him in this moment.

“I know Mom said it’s like a disease. I know she said you can’t help yourself.” I shake my head. “I don’t care. I can’t deal with it anymore.” Tears well up in my eyes and my throat closes off. I need to say the words, but I can’t force them out.

“I’ll get help,” he says. “They have programs—”

I shake my head. “It’s too late for that. We have to sell the farm,” I say. “I’ll take my half of whatever’s left and buy a new place, but only in my name. Your creditors will take your half. I don’t know where you’ll live or what you’ll do, and Dad? I don’t actually care. For the first time since I turned eighteen, you won’t be my problem anymore.”

“You can’t—”

“But I can,” I say. “Mom saw to that when she left me her entire share of the farm, and because her parents had to finance the whole thing more than once, she owned fifty-one percent. Which means, as much as I hate to do it, I can force the sale.”

Even saying the words feels like a betrayal. I don’t mind betraying Dad—he’s clearly had no problems betraying me—but Mom left her share to me so that I could keep the farm safe. She may not have been born to the Liepa family, but I think she loved the land more than Dad.

I wanted to leave it to my children.

But I may never have any if I stay on this path. It’s time to change something. Before I can chicken out, I pick up the phone and call a realtor.

I barely have time to meet with both clients I had scheduled for the morning, ride Five, and ride Obsidian, before it’s time to meet the agent. She’s a friend of Mirdza’s, and she’s way less perky than I expected. Actually, she looks downright deadpan as we walk the property.

“You don’t want to sell the house?” She frowns. “Just all this land?”

“I mean, I can sell the house if we have to,” I say. “I know it’s all one piece of property right now, but ideally, I’d like to split it out.”

“That’s a separate legal process,” Anete says. “And it takes some time to do.” She spins in a circle. “And with the way the property is set up, with the road where it is, and the driveways, the only thing that makes sense is splitting it here.” She points.

“But that means I’d have to sell the stables.” The thought of that hurts.

She explains her reasoning for a while longer, showing me the plat lines, and I can’t really disagree.

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