Page 79 of Ride the Sky

“Ain’t sure what I’m happy about these days.”

“Cryptic.” She arches a brow. “Let me ask you this… You like training?”

“I do. Dealing with little shits all day.” I give her a grin. “They remind me of me.”

She snorts. “I can already picture it. Wyatt Montgomery. Ballbuster extraordinaire.”

“I’m not that much of an asshole.” I think of Younger and flinch. “Am I?”

“No,” she says, to my relief. “You’re not.” Fallon’s jerked to a halt. She says nothing as I bend to unhook the foot of her walker from a tangle of weeds. “You were an adequate trainer,” she says when I stand, and we continue our trek. “You’re stern. They need that, but you’re not a monster.”

Monster.

An older, darker memory sneaks up on me.

Me, fourteen, at our Georgia farm, staring down a grown man, trying to be defiant even though I was scared shitless.

“You fucked up,” Younger shouts. “You’re a fuckup, kid, and you’ll keep fucking up your entire life.”

I swallow twice before I can say, “I’m not the fuckup, you are.” I move my body in front of the horse he had just hit. “Don’t touch him.”

Younger takes a step toward me. Lifts his fist. And that’s when I know I really fucked up.

“Wy?”

I blink myself out of my reverie. Fallon’s stopped and staring at me.

“You were a good trainer,” she says. No condescension in her words, only earnestness. Truth.

Damn. I almost fall out of my boots.

Her expression turns smug. “Too bad I got better than you.”

“There it is.” I chuckle. “Why’d you start riding bulls?” In all the conversations we’ve shared, she’s never once told me why.

“I…” Fallon shakes her head, her hair swaying. “Just got bored riding horses,” she says then increases her pace in an obvious bid to get away from me.

I roll my eyes. If avoiding conversations was a degree, Fallon would have a PhD.

Ahead of me, Fallon stops. “Fuck.” Her soft whisper floats.

“You hurtin’?” I ask, hurrying to her side.

“Yes,” she admits grimly. Her face is pale, knuckles wrapped white around the handles of her walker.

“C’mon. Let’s take a break,” I say, cursing myself for bringing her out here.

When she hesitates, I give her a look. “Let me help you or I call Koty.”

“Ugh, fine,” she grumbles. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

“Leverage,” I tell her. “I have to use it.”

That barely gets her to crack a smile.

Placing a hand on her back, I slowly guide her to the barn. I could pick her up in my arms and carry her, but something tells me I’d be walking crooked for a week if I do that.

“Sit.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lower her to a bench.

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