I’m so close to breaking.

It’s only been three days since Travis told me about Julie’s picture, and I feel like my life’s been turned completely upside down. I admire Travis’ ability to put his head down and act like the rest of the world doesn’t exist and isn’t talking about us—about me—but I just can’t do it. Every morning, I’ve woken up with lead in my stomach. I reach for my phone and feel instantly sick from all the notifications I see. Travis downloaded some sort of blocking app for my phone and text messages, but it still notifies me, and that’s all I need to feel anxious about it.

I cling to routine because it’s honestly the only thing keeping me together. I get up in the morning, usually with Travis by my side, and I fix breakfast for us both. I force myself to eat—to ignore the voice inside of me that tells me to go without—and then we throw ourselves into work and later, our workout. It’s punishing and brutal and for a few hours, my body’s too tired to let my mind take the reins.

But then I get home. Alone. And I can’t help remembering what my life was like right after the accident. Everyone had their own opinion on how I’d gotten to that point; everyone had something to say about my life and my choices. I didn’t doubt they were doing it now. Probably calling me some washed out has-been who just wanted to latch onto Travis for a ride back into the spotlight.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

I haven’t looked yet, because I know it would just drive me deeper into this place I’m slipping into now. If I actually read what people are saying, I won’t be able to stop. I got into that cycle five years ago, and Jake had to pull me out of it. I refuse to make him shoulder that burden this time. I haven’t even responded to his calls; I’ve just been sending him short texts now and then to check in, so he doesn’t feel like he has to drag his ass out here.

And Travis…

He keeps promising me this’ll pass quickly, and when I’m wrapped up in his arms, when we’re in the middle of making love, I want to believe it. I want to believe he and I can get through anything together. I want to put my trust in him, completely. But he doesn’t know. I’ve told him what happened, but he doesn’t know the half of it. And I honestly don’t want him to know. I came out here to stitch my life back together. To be the quiet rancher who kept to himself, not the basketcase who shared his sob story with a man who’s come to mean way too much to him in so short a time.

If he sees how low I can sink, he’ll make a run for it while he still can. And while I don’t for a second think we’re going to last after he gets his contract with the Armada, I need to hold onto him as long as I can.

So I’ve put on a “brave face,” whatever the hell that means. I’ve tried to act like myself when he’s around, and to his credit, he makes it easy to forget the world is crumbling around us.

But this morning he’s still at the gym, and I’m back at the ranch, getting some extra training time in with Apollo. Working with him is usually calming, but right now, my mind is racing. I’m thinking of the future—of the fact that this little incident is going to bring my name back into the racing scene before I even get a chance to redeem myself. I’ll be blacklisted, whether I’m an owner or a jockey.

Apollo responds to the energy I’m putting out, his ears back, his movements agitated. He nips at me when I try to mount him for a walk around the paddock, and I have to just back off and let myself calm the hell down before I try again. He’s doing well. Better than I thought he’d be at this point. I’ve got him up to a strong canter, and when I can feel his powerful muscles working beneath me, his hooves eating up the damp earth, I actually do start to calm down.

Until I see Travis’ car on the horizon.

I rein Apollo to a stop and dismount, not wanting to transfer any more of my negative energy into him. I leave the stallion in the paddock and go to greet Travis, beaten as always by Otto.

“How’d the workout go?” I ask as I lean in to kiss him.

He smells like fresh soap and just a hint of cologne, and that, too, is a comfort.

“Good. Tate wants to step things up next week, so we’re trying to prepare for that.” He pulls his sunglasses off and hooks them in his shirt. “You already started working with Apollo?”

“Yeah, just some warm-ups. He’s running well today.”

We fall into easy conversation as we make our way toward the house for lunch. Things are normal, my mind is quiet, and I’m feeling confident as we head out to work with Apollo together. That is until my phone chimes, telling me I’ve got another screened message. I thought I’d muted it, but then I remember I turned the sound back on, just in case Travis needed to get in touch with me.

He looks at me worriedly, like I’m about to break apart on the spot. He’s not really wrong.

“I’m good,” I lie, forcing a smile.

He doesn’t push the issue, but it’s clear I’m not as we start our routine. I’m distracted, Apollo is agitated, and my control over this whole situation is slipping. I don’t know what makes me think it’s a good idea—or if I’m even thinking at all—but I approach Apollo from the flank, reaching to feel his legs after we take him a full turn about the paddock. He gives a shrill whinny, the only warning before he starts to kick. I can see it happening in slow-motion, and I know what it’s going to feel like. I was kicked before when I was a teenager, ending up with a shattered collarbone, a dislocated shoulder, and several bruised ribs. And that horse was a lot less powerful than Apollo.

I brace myself for the contact, but Travis is there, his firm body pushing me out of the way. He doesn’t quite tackle me, but it’s close enough, and momentum sends me to the ground anyway. His eyes are wide as he helps me to my feet, his face pale.

“Jesus Christ, Shane. What the fuck were you thinking?”

I should know better. I do know better. Even now, I’m shaking, and when Travis realizes it, his terrified expression turns to concern. His hands rub my arms, his eyes search mine, and he waits for me to say something. When I don’t, he finally prompts me.

“It’s that fucking pic, isn’t it?” His tone is sad instead of accusatory; he already knows the answer. “You told me you were doing better.”

“I lied,” I say flatly, looking up into his eyes as a hint of pain flickers across them. “I know you don’t see this as a big deal, but it’s a big deal to me. I just keep thinking about how much this is going to affect my future. Apollo’s future. Five years out, I could believe most people would’ve forgotten about me. But a few months? Nobody’s going to want me racing, Trav. They’re not going to let me ride, and they’re not going to let Apollo compete.”

He listens, taking a moment to just let me breathe. I feel calmer when he’s around; safer. But no less worried about the future.

“It is a big deal,” he says softly. “And I’m not going to stand here and tell you it won’t affect your future races, because I don’t know one way or the other.”

It’s a reasonable thing to say. I can’t decide if I like this better than baseless platitudes, though. Some part of me wants him to say everything’s going to be all right, just like he did at first. I know it’s a lie, but I want to hear it anyway.

“I know it doesn’t really compare, but there was a time in college where I was so fucking obsessed with whether or not I’d be drafted that I just froze completely. On the field, at practice, even in class. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t move forward because I was afraid there wasn’t going to be anything to move forward to.”

It doesn’t compare, especially since I know this story has a happy ending. But I listen anyway, his voice soothing.

“My coach pulled me aside one day and asked me what I loved about football.” I give Travis a skeptical look and he laughs. “Yeah. That’s the look I gave him, too. But he just kept asking. He told me not to think about the team or the scouts or anything else, and to just think about what it’d been like when I was a kid—when I first fell in love with it. So I told him. Having a football in my arms, dodging tackles, running as fast as I can, it makes me feel like I’m untouchable.”

He smiles fondly, and I can’t help but smile, too. I can imagine him as a kid, before his dad turned him into just a miniature version of a professional football player. Jake’s shown me old family photos before, and Travis was scrawny. Short. I bet he was picked on a lot. Football probably gave him a world away from that. Honestly, working with horses was the same for me.

“That night, he took me and a few of the other guys out to a park, way past closing time. We just played like we were playing in our backyards after Thanksgiving dinner. No rules, no points, just a bunch of guys having fun.”

It’s a sweet story, but I’m not sure what he’s getting at.

“What do you love about racing, Shane? When you’re on the back of a horse, speeding down the track, what is it that makes you feel better than you’ve ever felt?”

He speaks in a way that takes my breath away. I know he understands passion—true passion that you can feel deep down in your bones—but his words right now are dripping with it. It calls to something inside of me, and all I can think about is being astride a powerful horse, not controlling him but working with him to do what he was born to do.

“There’s a moment when you’re riding,” I begin almost breathlessly, “where everything else just fades away. Where you and the horse are connected, and every movement you make feeds into his. You can feel how much he needs to run, how much he wants to just let go and push himself to his absolute limit, and when you help him reach that point, it’s just… amazing.”

Travis is quiet, and I can’t even bring myself to feel self-conscious about my confession. When I look at him, he’s smiling knowingly. He’s been there. He knows exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.

“Then do it,” he says softly. “Get Apollo to that place and just ride.”

I know there’s only so much I can do, but Travis’ belief in me is hard to shake. I let it surround me and flow through me, and I just give him a single nod before I turn back to Apollo. The horse is calm, waiting for me. He turns his head, and his eye seems to find mine. It feels like a silent understanding passes between us, fueling us both.

I climb up into the saddle and seat myself like I’ve been riding this horse my whole life. Travis is watching as I take up the reins and nudge Apollo into a walk. Then a trot. I move with him, follow the pull of his muscles as he reaches a canter, and I can feel the barely-restrained power humming through him. That undeniable urge to run; to just gallop with abandon.

I let myself get caught up in it, communicating silently with the horse. I barely have to nudge him and he gains a burst of speed, his stride impossibly long and elegant and backed by a heady amount of power that sends me deeper into the moment. He breaks into a full gallop and I come up in the saddle, centering my body low, urging him on. All I can feel is the wind around us, the hills past the paddock speeding by, and it’s like I’m on a straight-away again, so tuned into the race that it’s just me and the horse, working together to leave everyone else in the dust.

And then I feel something shift. Apollo stumbles. A bone-chilling sound is forced from him; a frenzied snort coupled with a desperate inhale. He doesn’t go down, but I’m brought back to that moment five years ago. The worst moment of my life, where my carelessness ended not just a horse’s career, but his life.

And I instantly know I’m living that moment again.