Chapter 79

VIOLET

I can’t say I’m a fan of the word unimpressed. But that’s exactly how I’m feeling about Asher at this moment. Unimpressed, upset, let down… The list could go on.

Here he is, in his right mind, choosing to—be just like his fathers. My life was once similar to Maddison’s. Why am I criticizing him for the same things his fathers did with me?

I let out a silent sigh, my mind drifting back to that time long ago when I was intimately involved with Zach and Tyler while trying to escape my own trauma. Back then, their love felt like a balm, their adoration for my body a stark contrast to the way Henry had degraded it. I was convinced that’s what I needed at the time.

That their love would heal me, that things would improve once they fell for me and decided to keep me. But I’ve since realized that I was using them in the beginning. I was exploiting their naivety, encouraging them to use me in the ways they needed, giving me the means to escape from the man who had abused me long enough to make me fantasize about him becoming a good man someday.

Of course, I now understand that everything that happened back then was messed up, that I was messed up. But our love endures; the three of them still stand by me, over twenty years later. Holding my hand as they did back then.

Looking into my eyes as if I were the most important person in their world. And while I love them unconditionally, I’ve often wished over the years that they had supported me differently, especially in that first year. Maybe then, the trauma of losing Matthew wouldn’t have happened.

The need to heal from the loss of my first pregnancy, my first son, wouldn’t have been necessary. And I thought, assumed, I had raised Asher to be better than that. That if I hadn’t taught him anything else, I had at least taught him that respecting a woman’s body and mind is a huge responsibility for any man.

But he’s just like his father, solely focused on sexual satisfaction. I understand; he’s attracted to this girl, even if he won’t admit it when it’s obvious to everyone else. But he continues to resist love, as he has since he was a young teenager.

I’m as tense as a coiled snake as we walk around the side of Sense to the paddocks. We can barely see them out there, but Black’s mane alerts me to the fact that Maddison is indeed out in the largest paddock with my horse, running from her problems.

He shouldn’t be out there. He shouldn’t have been ridden, but this is the second time she has done so, and truth be told, I’ve also stolen a ride or two with him when I shouldn’t have. There’s something about aging pets, the friends who can’t speak for themselves, that frightens you.

You know their end is inevitable, that it must come soon, but you can’t accept it because you love them too much. Even if you know it might be the kinder thing to do.

I wait for what feels like forever in his stall, the ticking clock behind me marking the minutes as I wait for Maddison to return. I have Asher sit outside in the hallway that leads to Sense because I think this girl needs a mother’s touch rather than a boy’s defiance.

She stays out for a while, obviously waiting for the sun to set before she decides she’s run far enough from her trauma. I used to run like that, sitting on a sandy beach the day Henry had… in his playroom.

Black snorts, pulling me back from that terrible memory. Back to the stable. To him and the girl he’s bringing home. My savior. Always my savior.

“Mrs. Henderson,” Maddison stammers in surprise. She hadn’t expected to find me here. And I suppose this must be a shock that I’m waiting for her.

“Please call me Violet; there’s no need for formalities,” I say firmly as I walk over to my best friend.

Greeting him as I have for weeks now, my hug is so tight that his warmth radiates through me—a hug that might be the last, but which I hope isn’t.

I notice Maddison watching me closely, her back now pressed against the stall wall—a stance I know all too well.

“I’ve known him since we were both just kids,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “He taught me how to ride, instilled in me a love for the feeling of soaring through the air on his back.”

I avoid her gaze, knowing that this is when I feel most exposed.

“Horses are remarkable creatures,” I continue, my voice tinged with sadness. “It’s as if they have the power to mend what’s broken inside you, even when they themselves are hurting.”

I pause, swallowing hard. “He’s in pain now. They say it’s arthritis. They’ve asked me to consider his quality of life, told me the painkillers won’t work forever. But I can’t—not yet. Not while he’s still living his life to the fullest.”

I can’t bear the thought of a world without him in it.

“He’s not supposed to be ridden anymore,” I say, my gaze locked on hers. I want her to understand that she’s chosen to ride a horse with chronic health issues without asking. Maybe I’m being too harsh.

Her eyebrows shoot up, her lip quivering as if she’s on the verge of tears.

“But he loves to be ridden. He loves the company. He loves being out there. So I can’t make that decision for him yet. I can’t end his life when he’s still finding joy in it,” I say, hoping to soften the blow of my earlier words.

She stays silent, holding back her words as I move around Black to continue grooming him.

“He senses something in you, something broken. He wants to help you, just like he helped me,” I whisper.

I hear her leave without turning around, her footsteps shuffling in the shavings on the floor, her sigh of frustration echoing in the stall.

I glance over at her, noticing the sheen of sweat on her skin. Despite the mild temperature, she’s perspiring.

“You’re clammy,” I say, more to myself than to her, as I reach out to touch her forehead.

I forget my place for a moment, acting more like a mother than a friend. Her forehead is hot, her eyes sunken. She looks dehydrated, in pain, just like Asher said.

“You have a fever,” I tell her.

“I do?” She sounds surprised.

“Asher told me you were in pain, that you were crying earlier…”

I see panic flash across her face, and I realize she’s been hiding this pain for a while, even from herself.

“And?” she snaps back, her voice filled with anger.

“Something’s not right, Maddison. My son is trying to help you, and I want to help you too.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” I respond, my heart aching at her resistance to accept help.

I can feel her pain, her trauma. It’s deep—so deep that she believes she’s beyond help.

In that moment, it feels like our souls connect—two kindred spirits recognizing each other.

This girl needs help—more help than anyone here can provide. But first, she needs medical attention.

She sways on her feet.

A wave of nausea hits her.

She swallows hard, her lips dry. Her eyes roll back in her head for a moment.

“Where does it hurt?” I ask her, my voice firm.

“What pain?” She clings to her defiance.

“The pain that’s making you feel sick—that’s making you sweat,” I explain.

I’ve scared her, and she wants to escape.

I watch as her eyes dart to the stall gate.

She takes a moment to weigh her options before turning back to me.

She’s made up her mind, I can tell. And I’m right.

She tries to stand up quickly—to move away—but she collapses to the ground.

I rush to her side, noting that she’s passed out on the stall floor.

I make sure her airway is clear, roll her onto her side, and call for Asher.

“Asher! ASHER!”

He comes running into the stall, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene.

“Call 911. She needs an ambulance,” I order him.

“My phone’s at the house. I…I,” he stammers.

“Go, Asher! Use Senses and go!”