Need an example? How about standing next to Jackson as he tried to get his locker to open. Back then, we’d had the ones with the locks built into the doors, and when his had failed to open after he’d put the combination in five times, he’d taken a step back and had kicked it as hard as he could in frustration. Nothing had happened immediately, but once he’d lowered his foot to the floor, there’d been a pop, and the door had shot open. My face had been what stopped it from reaching a one hundred and eighty degree level of openness.
Or about the time we’d been riding our bikes and had parked them up in front of my house while we’d gone in to get something to drink. Me, Marcus, and Jackson had leaned them against the fence, and just as I’d bent down to tie my shoelace back up, not wanting to trip on it and hurt myself, Marcus’s bike had tipped over. He’d yelled at me to look out, and I’d looked up, just as the seat hit me in the face.
I had so many weird and wonderful examples of accidents, but not all of them involved hitting me in my face. One of the most painful ones had been during our skateboarding phase. Jackson came to a stop beside me as I’d stepped off my board and had tried to trip me up as a joke. My foot kicked his, his other one had hit the back of the board, and it’d flipped up just as the front of it had gone up a slight incline. This somehow altered its trajectory, and the front had hit me right in the balls.
You couldn’t make this shit up. It’s like fate, karma, irony, and agony all found their way into most of the things we’d done. To this day, I still didn’t know what I’d done to deserve the shit that’d happened to me when I was around them, but I had the memories, bruises, and scars to prove it.
I just hoped my son didn’t follow in their footsteps.
Walking into the stables, I took my glasses off and looked around. The guys who worked for us were the best of the best. They understood our mission with the horses, were as protective of them as we were, and kept everything so organized that the place looked almost at a military level.
“Yo, Rem, I—” Jay, one of the ranch hands, greeted, stopping when he saw my face. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he lifted his hand and rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “Never thought she had it in her, but gotta admit, you kind of deserved that.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pointed at his nose. “Your face. I knew you pissed Santana off, but I just didn’t think she had it in her to bop you.”
Shooting him the finger, I walked over to one of the stalls where our Arabian, Mandalay, was watching me. “She didn’t do this. How’s Mandalay doing? Has Kenyon been to check him over yet?”
Kenyon was our veterinarian and was a god when it came to our horses. I loved the business Marcus had set up and invited me to join in on. To some, it might seem like we did what Addy had thought initially—horse porn—but our goal was to reduce genetic problems in their offspring, assist with maintaining their breeds, and stop them from being used and abused by people who’d push them to the max. There were just so many problems and bullshit that they were put through.
We also had roughly twenty-five rescue horses still, some of which did have genetic issues from overbreeding and inbreeding, as well as rescue dogs from puppy farms on the ranch. Marcus had rescued a couple of cows and some sheep, and only two weeks ago, I’d rescued two alpacas from someone who was overbreeding the pair. We couldn’t save and protect all of them, but the ones we did, we made sure they had the best medical care and home possible.
And Mandalay was one of my favorites. Arabians had unique faces and were well known for their speed, meaning they were very popular for a number of equine events. This boy had been in a breeding program, one where he was put out to stud twice a week every week, as well as taking part in large racing events that meant vigorous training, too. By the time we’d found him, he’d been a mess. Since then, he’d been diagnosed with several health problems that needed veterinary attention. Another thing his breed was known for was their loyalty, and sometimes, it was like having a giant puppy.
He was also fantastic with Toby. When I’d first brought him home, Toby had suffered from colic at night, so he’d cried a lot. I’d tried everything to help him, but in the end, I’d had to go to a specialist recommended by the pediatrician to learn a form of colic targeted physical therapy. The exercises made a huge difference, but so had putting one of his swings in the stables and Mandalay nuzzling his stomach.