Something tells me I might not like what I have to hear.
8
Liv
As we ride back to the ranch, every time I turn my head, Ledger's eyes find mine. I can't stop smiling. Beaming, really. Everything about today has been incredible.
Even when I told him I wanted to talk to him about something more serious after dinner tonight, he took it in stride. He didn't press me any further, asking for details right now. Instead, he said he understood and looked forward to the conversation.
I don't want to have it right here on the horses, on the trail, when everything feels so peaceful and serene. I want to be face-to-face with him to explain everything that has gone on over the last month, and why I'm really here at Buckle Down Ranch with my aunt and uncle, what my heartache really felt like, and what kind of healing I'm looking for.
I know that Ledger's life is firmly planted in this wide-open space of the country, and I'm not a hundred percent sure this is where my life is going to wind up. In some moments like right now, when we're winding down the trail back toward my Uncle John’s ranch, I can see it. I can picture a life as the partner to a cowboy, raising a family out on a ranch. But then there are other moments where I wonder if maybe I'll be back on a horse competing again one day.
That thought, though, takes my breath away, and I feel a sense of shame for even thinking it. As if I'm betraying Chestnut somehow by even thinking of being in an arena without him. It's like turning my back on my first love.
Ledger must sense the change in me. "What's going on?" he says. My whole body has gone rigid, tense.
"Nothing," I lie. "I'm fine."
"You look like you saw a ghost."
I look over at him, and I feel the blood drain from my face. Memories flood my field of vision. He was wrapped in his favorite blankets. I wrapped my arms around him, nuzzling against him, tears in my eyes. He was already gone, and I never got to say goodbye. He hadn’t made it out of surgery.
Those images are coming back, and it's making it hard for me to think straight, see straight. I had walked with him for hours, hoping it would help his colic, but it was too late, he was too far gone, and I had wished him luck before surgery. I believed he was strong and healthy enough to make it. But he wasn’t.
In the blink of an eye, my boy was gone.
"Liv. Livingston," Ledger calls. "Princess, what's wrong?"
At this I feel my whole body sharpen, and I pull back tight on the reins, too tight, which seems to scare Sonny.
He stumbles on his own two feet, rising on his hind legs, angry at the way I've jerked him, and I feel terrible for it.
"I'm sorry, boy," I say to him. "I'm sorry, Sonny. I..."
But he's off. He's felt something in me he didn’t like, and he's racing. And I hold on tight. My heart pounds. And now I'm racing, too, racing to keep up with what's happening. Because a panic attack is a real thing, and my whole body is tense as iron, the blood in my veins is pulsing hot, and my vision is blurry. My hair is flying behind me, whipping in the wind.
And I keep thinking of Chestnut, wishing that Chestnut were here. I don't know Sonny – not like I knew Chestnut, and I feel bad for being on a horse that isn't him. And I feel stupid for going along on this date because why should I be having fun when Chestnut is gone?
And I hear Ledger in the distance, and I hear my uncle ahead of me. And I'm sobbing now, my shoulders shaking. And Sonny is galloping fast.
Thankfully, I can hold on tight to the reins, and I take command, directing him to stop. I expertly force him into a turn because I know it’ll slow him down.
Then I speak softly, reassuring him. “Whoa, whoa boy.” His ears flick back, showing me he’s listening. Even in the midst of my fear, I know the power of a horse. Sonny needs me to help rein him in, to take control even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I just want this to stop.
Anyone watching me now would know that I know exactly what I'm doing. I tell him what to do and he does it. "Come on, boy," I say. "You have to listen to me," I say, because I don't want to fall and break my leg or my arm or my back. I want to get off of this horse. I want to get off of it now. I want to get in bed. I want to shower. I want to cry. I want to forget. I want to say sorry. Sorry, Chestnut. I should never have gotten back on a horse.