By Fault Page 11

  Halfway through the first round, he turned Xander sharply. Xander stumbled in the turn, something he rarely did. Perhaps if he’d been more rested, Vince would have been able to react without thinking and balance himself through the stumble. Instead, he found himself in the sand before he even realized he was falling.

  Somehow he still had the presence of mind to let go of the reins so he didn’t yank on Xander’s mouth and to roll away from Xander’s hooves. Then he got quickly to his feet to find Xander standing nearby, watching him. If a horse could look embarrassed or ashamed, Xander certainly did. His head was lowered, though his ears were perked straight at Vince. The fact that he was standing squarely on all four legs reassured Vince that the stumble hadn’t caused Xander to pull a tendon or anything.

  Vince stepped up and rubbed Xander’s face before grabbing the reins hanging lopsided over Xander’s neck. He ran up the stirrups and led Xander away, looking back frequently to make sure Xander didn’t start limping. The crowd quietly applauded him, probably disappointed that he was so easily disqualified. Vince raised a hand and waved, plastering on a smile that felt fake to the core.

  It occurred to Vince that this was the first time he’d had to do the equestrian walk of shame since his early shows as a kid, but he shook it off. He’d seen better riders than him take unfortunate falls in shows. At least it hadn’t happened during the Nations Cup.

  As soon as he was through the in gate, Dustin rushed forward to take Xander.

  “Are you okay?” he asked Vince, the concern clear on his face.

  Vince nodded and pulled off his sandy riding gloves. “I’m fine,” he declared as he squatted down to remove the pink wraps from Xander’s legs—the color was a tribute to his mom. He felt each of Xander’s legs to check for heat or swelling and was glad to find none.

  The show-sponsored vet came forward when Vince was on the final leg. “I can take a look for you,” the middle-aged woman offered.

  Vince stood up again and nodded. He knew his horse, but it seemed rude to turn down her help. “Sure. Thank you.”

  After a thorough vet check Xander was officially cleared of any possibility of injury. Vince was relieved and hugged Xander.

  Dustin brushed the sand off Vince’s black show coat. “I’m glad you’re both okay.”

  Vince turned to hug him next. “Me too.”

  “That was pretty scary. At least you didn’t try to catch yourself like I did when I fell off Justin and broke my arm.”

  Vince flinched inwardly at the memories of watching Dustin fly off a bucking Justin. “My old trainer, Lisa, taught me how to fall off.”

  Dustin raised a brow. “How to fall off? I thought she taught you how to compete.”

  Vince shrugged as they started back toward the stables. “Knowing how to fall off the right way is an important part of it. So you don’t get hurt or hurt your horse more. Drop the reins and try to land on a shoulder, then roll away to avoid being stepped on. The emergency dismount is the same idea, so you’re off before a situation gets out of control. I’ve needed to do that at the track.”

  “What would you use that for?”

  “If a horse maybe gets a foot caught in something, like a starting gate or a fence. Or if a horse is rearing and might go over backward. I rode a horse who did that a few times when I exercised horses for Dad. Scary as hell. Sometimes you can actually land those on your feet, though Mark caught me twice,” he added thoughtfully, referring to his dad’s racehorse training partner. “The other exercise riders wouldn’t ride that horse, so I offered to. I figured I would end up riding him at home eventually, since he wasn’t shaping up to be a good racehorse.”

  “What did you train him for?”

  “Ironically enough, he went to work with an equine therapy group,” Vince answered with a smile. “He spent a month not being ridden at all, just moved back and forth between stall and pasture. By the time I got on him again, he was totally relaxed. Never so much as spooked.”

  Dustin laughed. “I swear, you’re a horse god.”

  Vince grinned. “Should I be expecting gifts and worship?”

  Dustin elbowed him playfully. “I don’t know about gifts, but I would say I definitely worship you. Your fans do too, I’m guessing.”

  “You’re the one that matters though,” Vince assured him, putting an arm around Dustin’s shoulders. “My biggest fan.”

  “I better be,” Dustin said, laughing again.

  “You are. For sure.”

  VINCE’S SUNDAY afternoon fall caused him to wake up with a sore shoulder Monday morning. Monday afternoons were the days he had agreed to work with Bethany and Taylor at their barn a short distance down the road from the showgrounds. They seemed to be more comfortable with him than before, and he secretly wondered if knowing that even he could fall off made him more normal in their eyes.

  They were good riders, though. All Vince really found himself doing was trying to undo the psychological damage Harold Becket had caused.

  “Don’t spend so much time worrying about how you look,” he told them. They were giving their horses a break in the middle of the hour-long lesson, letting them stand on a loose rein at the center of the arena. “Just follow the dress code when you compete. Your horse isn’t going to knock down more rails because you didn’t wear a hairnet. And you especially shouldn’t worry when you’re just training. Most of the time I wear old stained breeches and paddock boots. Half the time I’m too lazy to change into breeches and just train in jeans. As long as you are focusing on your riding, wear what you’re comfortable in when you train.”

  “But I thought gay guys were supposed to be into fashion and looking good,” Taylor commented.

  Bethany shot her a look and Taylor seemed to suddenly realize that she might have said something offensive. Her face went bright red and she started to apologize.

  Vince just smiled, more amused than offended. “When you’re just starting out and need to save up to pay competition expenses, training in the nicest clothes isn’t important. Looking good isn’t the key to winning. I only had one set of show clothes until a couple of weeks into this show series. Now I still only have three while most riders have five or six—well, four, but I don’t plan on competing again in the red coat they gave me last week. The thing to think about is whether you want to spend a lot of money on your looks or on winning. If you can do both, great. If you have to really budget your money like I always had to, focus on your goal.”

  “What about helmets?” Bethany asked. “Are the super expensive designer helmets better than cheaper helmets?”

  “Are you asking if you or someone close to you wasted money on that Roger Maxel helmet you’re wearing that probably cost six hundred dollars?” When she blushed and nodded, he went on with a shrug. “You’re paying a premium for the name and the design. It probably won’t do all that much more than a helmet that cost a sixth of that price. They’ll all save your life, but that one isn’t going to prevent a concussion if you have a bad enough fall. And if you do have a serious fall that damages the helmet, are you going to shovel out that much money again to replace it? Spending hundreds of dollars for a helmet is silly, but that’s just my opinion. When you ride, you will fall off. There’s no way around it. It happens to everyone. Hell, it happened to me yesterday. To spend that much on something you will have to replace sooner or later doesn’t make a lot of sense. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no problem with having an expensive helmet if that’s what you want, but it’s not really better than less expensive helmets. Though I wouldn’t buy anything too cheap because those definitely won’t be as durable. My main helmet is three years old and cost a fraction of what yours did. My spare is even older. And I’ll keep using it until I need to replace it, at which time I’ll stick to the same affordable brand. Unless someone gives me a different one.”

  “But you win a ton of money all the time,” Taylor commented.

  Vince shrugged again. “Why waste it when there are other things I c
ould spend money on, things that make me happier than expensive designer helmets? If having expensive helmets and riding clothes makes you happy, go for it. It’s just not my thing. Look at my horse. He’s an ex-racehorse who was rescued by my local Humane Society. Someone had abandoned him in one of my dad’s stalls at the track over the winter. We found him emaciated, covered in sores, living in his own waste, and terrified of people. The adoption fee I paid for him was less than the cost of Bethany’s helmet. I trained him myself with some help from my old trainer. By the time I got him to feel safe with me and trust me, he would jump a tiny crossrail fence. Every time I asked him to jump something, he did it willingly. Then he started doing it eagerly. He would get excited every time I jumped him, like he loved what he was doing now. And each time the jumps got higher and wider, he kept giving me everything he had. He’s the best horse I’ve ever known.”

  He saw the looks on Bethany and Taylor’s faces. They were completely absorbed by the story, clearly stunned. There was more to the story though, more that he wanted people—these young, aspiring riders—to know so that they didn’t get fed up with the unfairness of the sport.

  “I never trained with a famous rider. My trainer was someone in my hometown who was into eventing. All I wanted to do was the jumping, not the dressage or the cross-country. So she taught me to jump. She taught me everything about training and respecting horses. Xander and I are here because I knew how to train him, I knew how to listen to what he was telling me, and I knew how to keep myself together. That’s why I’m trying to help other riders in this sport. I don’t want anyone giving up or giving in to what others in the industry tell them about how the best horses and riders do it. Yeah, it takes time and money to get here, but it shouldn’t take as much as everyone thinks. Taking chances, working hard, and budgeting is what it takes, and a good trainer who doesn’t want to suck students and their parents dry to be associated with a name. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to help people get where they want to go.”

  It was time to talk to his dad.

  “ALL WE have to do is move the pastures to the area behind the barn.”

  Vince stared hard at the cell phone he was holding out in front of him. He’d chosen to use the speaker option so Dustin, who was sitting close beside him on the couch, could hear the entire conversation. Dustin put a hand on Vince’s knee and squeezed gently.

  “You’re serious?” Vince asked, hardly believing how completely enthusiastic his dad was about the plan.

  “Of course I am. I’ll pay for the cost of moving the pastures as long as you pay the cost of building your new facility.”

  “I want to keep training for you too.”

  “You can. I’m sure you can figure out how to balance your time. Plus, it’ll help the business. Some of your students might be interested in having a thoroughbred retrained by you. Things are already picking up a bit.”

  “Really? I haven’t really mentioned the business much in interviews or anything.”

  “Your social media sites are linked to the stable’s sites,” Dustin explained. “They always have been.”

  “I think Anna was planning on talking to you about hiring another hand,” Wes went on. “Even when you guys are home, if you’ll be working with students, it’ll be tough to keep everything running smoothly without some extra help.”

  Vince nodded, even though his dad couldn’t see him. “Good point. She can hire someone. But we have to save a stall for Cody.”

  “Who’s Cody?”

  “The pony I bought for Hunter.”

  Wes laughed. “I should have seen that coming. I’ll let Anna know.”

  “I can call her,” Vince argued. “It’s about time I check in on things anyway.”

  “All right, I’ll leave it to you.”

  “Thanks, Dad. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After the call ended, Dustin ran his hand along Vince’s leg. “So what size barn were you thinking of getting?”

  Vince shrugged and leaned back against the seat, slipping one arm around Dustin. “It’ll have to be smaller than what we have, I guess. Maybe ten to fourteen stalls. Because I’ll need lesson horses and two arenas too.”

  “What about your idea for a house for out-of-town students?”

  “I doubt I can afford that too,” Vince sighed. “It would be helpful. I plan to talk to Jason about the whole thing, but I don’t think even he can give me a very big break.”

  Dustin leaned into him and his touch turned hesitant. Finally, he looked up at Vince and declared, “I want to help.”

  Vince was surprised. “What?”

  “I know that you’re the trainer and I can’t help with that, but I want to help you do this. I want to help pay for it, at least a little. And you’ll need someone to work in the barn. Even if you have students working off the price of lessons, you’ll need someone to supervise them.”

  Vince stared into Dustin’s honest eyes, amazed by what he was hearing. Dustin wanted to go into this venture with him. It seemed like a serious plan for their future, an act of commitment.

  “Yeah?” Vince asked softly.

  Dustin nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I want to get my own car first thing when we get home, and I might save some money, but I really want to help with this. I want to be a part of it.”

  Vince gently stroked Dustin’s cheek, then pulled him in for a lingering kiss. “Thank you,” he breathed.

  Dustin smiled against his lips. “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  THINGS STARTED to feel routine again that week. Vince overcame his embarrassing fall on Sunday afternoon with a win on Wednesday, and then continued with the usual success of never finishing below third place. Anna called in the middle of the next week to let him know that she’d hired another stable hand. Her name was Laura, and she was a former groom from the local racetrack, but had quit working there after being continually harassed. Sometimes the track wasn’t an easy place for women to work, as he’d learned when hearing about how rough his mom had had it as an exercise rider before meeting Wes. Vince looked forward to meeting the new addition to the Anderson Stables family when he got home.

  He continued working with Bethany and Taylor on Mondays, and he never did see Harold Becket around anywhere, which he was glad of. Vince didn’t want to have it out with the guy over stealing his students.

  VINCE DIDN’T realize St. Patrick’s Day had snuck up on them until they were making a routine grocery run and he noticed all the store employees were wearing something green. So he stopped at the alcohol aisle.

  “We don’t have anything left in the trailer,” he said, nodded down the aisle. “What do you want?”

  Dustin shrugged. “I don’t really care at the moment.”

  “Dust, your last name is O’Brien. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule somewhere that says you need to have one drink on St. Patrick’s Day. And I’d be an accomplice if I let you get away with it without at least giving you the chance to drink.”

  Dustin chuckled and grabbed two bottles of the most Irish drink he could find. “Okay, I won’t argue with one drink.”

  He ended up drinking more than one drink. They had grabbed one of the movies out of Dustin’s basket of to-watch DVDs and enjoyed their snacks and alcohol. By the time the movie ended, Dustin was clearly drunk, which was pretty rare for him.

  “I guess you really did want to follow that Irish rule,” Vince commented. He was feeling a bit buzzed himself, but he wasn’t nearly as intoxicated as Dustin was.

  Dustin leaned back against the couch and shrugged. “Guess I decided that drinking would be nice, after all.”

  Vince ran his hand down Dustin’s arm and gripped his hand. “You don’t look all that relaxed, though.”

  Dustin was quiet for a moment, then softly confessed, “There’s something I need to tell you that I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. Not something I’ve been trying to keep from you, just something I�
�ve been meaning to tell you and haven’t been able to.”

  Vince felt something cold settle in his chest. “What’s it about?”

  “When I was on the streets.”

  “You don’t have to tell me everything about that if you don’t want to,” Vince whispered. “All I need to know is that you made it out alive and okay.”

  Dustin shook his head and Vince was dismayed to see tears slipping down his cheeks. He wasn’t looking at Vince, just staring straight ahead.

  “I need to tell you,” Dustin repeated. “I can’t keep it from you anymore. I want you to know even though it’ll make you hate me.”

  Vince squeezed Dustin’s hand tightly. “Nothing is going to make me hate you,” he promised, despite the fear blossoming in his chest.

  Dustin shook his head. “Let me tell you. Don’t make me stop until I’m done or I’ll never finish.”

  “Okay. Go ahead.”

  “I was a prostitute,” Dustin stated, the tears still coming. “I worked for a guy we called Carlos. He had this building in the city where we all lived. A bunch of us, guys and girls. Downstairs was a pawnshop he ran to cover up being a pimp. People would come in and give a code word and be let upstairs to our rooms. Carlos would go find kids on the streets and offer them work. Found me and I was there for a full year. I hated it, but I had shelter and we got pretty good food. We had freedom when we weren’t working too. One full day and night off a week to do what we wanted, could even leave the building and go spend money. Had to buy our own clothes and anything else we wanted besides food, so he paid us pretty good, I think. Tried to keep us safe too. Had these two big bouncer ex-Marine guys always on guard, one on each of our floors. One downstairs in the shop too, I think. He had rules about condoms too. If someone refused to use one Carlos let you take time off until you could get tested if you wanted.

  “When you asked how I survived, I told you I was raped because I was scared. I hardly knew you and I liked you a lot and I didn’t want you to think I was gross for choosing something like that. But sometimes I did get raped. Guys decided they didn’t have to listen to you when you said you didn’t do certain things. All they had to do was cover your mouth or even knock you out so you couldn’t yell for the bouncers. Both things happened to me.