One year later . . .
“Put. Your. Heels. Down. Do you not speak English anymore?”
I swear, if Billie didn’t currently have my sleeping baby strapped to her chest, I would jump off this damn horse and give her the noogie she’s so desperately asking for right now.
“It’s my prosthetic,” I grit out instead of, Fuck you, it’s my prosthetic. I’m trying really hard to not swear so much now that I have another girl in my life. A far more impressionable one. Okay, she’s only a few months old, but if I practice now, then I won’t have to worry about “fuck” being her first word when the time comes.
Billie rolls her eyes dramatically, one palm resting gently on Lilah’s bald little head. “Suck it up, buttercup. If our Paralympic athletes can manage, then so can super soldiers.”
My teeth grind, but I push down on my leg as I trot around the ring, trying to find my center of balance and get that joint at the angle Billie requires. We’re not doing daily riding lessons anymore, but we try to keep up two per week. Billie is busy, and so am I, but she never complains. Even if it’s at the very end of her day, she’ll come out and help me.
I’ll probably never admit it to her, but I love Billie. I jokingly call her Little Sis, but the truth of the matter is, that’s exactly what she’s become. She gave me an ass-kicking and then patted my back. And now, I’d say we’re friends. Family.
“Yup. Now you’ve got it.” Her hand swirls around on Lilah’s head.
“She’s not a dog, Billie.”
“I know.” She peeks down at the tiny human strapped in a carrier to her chest and smiles. “But she’s soft like one.”
I chuckle and slow to a walk, feeling the ache in both my legs from the no-stirrup work she just had me doing. Total fucking masochist. “I thought you didn’t like kids?”
Her eyes narrow at me, and she cups her hands over Lilah’s ears. “Shh. Don’t tell her that. She’s the only one I like, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “You’re a fuckin’ psycho—”
“Cole Harding. I know you did not just swear in front of our baby.” Violet walks up to the fence of the outdoor ring in those tight riding pants I love so much with a teasing smirk on her face. Beside her, Vaughn shakes his head. They just gave a press tour of the newly finished vet clinic, something neither Billie nor I wanted any part of. Cameras. People. Attention. No thanks.
“How’d it go, pretty girls?” Billie asks, walking toward them. “Want your baby back, Vi?”
“If you wake her up and ruin my couple hours of freedom, I will kill you.” Her eyes flash with humor and a smidge of desperation. She’s joking, but only sort of. New babies are both wonderful and exhausting.
Turns out Violet got pregnant as soon as we got back together, after Pippy’s maiden race—possibly in what’s become known as the baby-making stall. Something that makes me cringe every time someone says it. The timing wasn’t ideal for Violet’s career, something that stressed her almost instantly, but with her doctor’s blessing, she finished the season. (Something I spent many hours on Trixie’s couch hashing out. There’s no finish line where therapy is concerned.) But ultimately it was fine. Lilah was born in our farmhouse in February and a month later, Violet was back up on a horse. Violet is happy. And that makes me happy.
I think my dad would have loved Violet. He’d have respected her. Just like I do.
“It was great. Vaughn is made for the camera. You should see him. It’s like they hit a switch, and he just turns on. All charming and mature.”
“I am charming and mature.” My brother grins with that playful look in his eye. Something I love seeing. It reminds me of when we were kids. A time I can now look back on fondly, rather than with bitterness and longing.
“Ehhhh. You’re charming . . .” Violet says, rolling her lips together and going pink at her own joke. Fuck. I hope she never outgrows that blush. It makes my dick twitch every time.
Motherhood has changed her, in all the best ways. I knew as soon as we found out that she’d be an amazing mom, patient and gentle. I just didn’t foresee the fierceness it would bring out in her. It’s added a little spunk to her, a little possessiveness that I live for.
I watch Billie and Vaughn sometimes and feel like Violet and I missed out on the fun, playful part of our relationship. But I’m not sure we were ever that type of couple anyway.
“Where’s Mira?” Billie asks, only for Vaughn to pipe up with, “Hey! You’re supposed to defend me.”
She just raises an eyebrow at him and gives him an unimpressed look.
Everyone laughs, even Vaughn.
“She got called out to Dalca’s farm,” Violet answers Billie’s question warily, almost predicting the growl that she emits at the answer.
“Billie. It’s not about him. It’s about the horses. You wouldn’t have her ignore a horse who needs help just because it belongs to Dalca, would you?”
Billie sighs and whispers something in Lilah’s ear. I already know she’s going to get her into trouble once she’s old enough. Aunty Billie is going to be a problem.
“Really mature, Billie!” Vaughn laughs at his own joke like a total dork.
I jump off my horse to plant a kiss on my wife’s cheek. “Hi, Sunshine,” I murmur against her skin, only for her to nuzzle in and reply with, “Hey, Butterface. I’m hungry.” A nickname that has stuck.
“For dinner?”
She smiles, and her eyes dance with mischief. “No.”
And suddenly, I want Sunday dinner over with and Lilah put to bed as quickly as possible.
We all turn together and march back up to the barn to finish with the horses and then head over to Vaughn and Billie’s place. Sunday dinner is a tradition that Billie started, and it’s now become a regular part of our week.
Especially since I never moved back into the city. I go back weekly, but the ranch is my home. I feel tied to the property in a way I didn’t realize I could. It’s the family connection, knowing that my grandparents met here. Lived here. Knowing my dad was born here. It feels right to be here. Like part of my feeling lost was just a complete lack of connection to my history—my roots. So that picturesque blue farmhouse is where I want to be, with all my girls. Pippy included. She still lives out front in the shelter I built her. A champion sprinter in the making, and also the family pet.
Because we are a family now. In the very traditional sense of the word. In the way that I’ve longed for. Once Violet finished having her freak-out about being pregnant, I got down on one knee and let her freak out about marrying me. That was a happy sort of freak-out, though. We traveled back to her family ranch, to a real cowboy sort of town in the prairies and tied the knot with her entire family in attendance. They got to see the new Violet, the butterfly that emerged from the cocoon. And judging by the number of farm boys shedding a tear during our ceremony, I’d say they’re impressed with her too.
“Hold up, want help getting your horse put away?” Vaughn walks up quickly from behind me and gives me a quick shoulder shove.
“Dick.” I shake my head and laugh at him.
Our talk on the front porch that night about my leg turned into a talk about a lot more. It turned into a pile of beer bottles on the ground and a big old shame spiral and headache the next morning. But it had been worth it. Vaughn and I talked about our feelings—something I’m getting better at—we reminisced. I’ve never felt closer to my brother, and my regret over pushing him away has slowly ebbed.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Lasagna. Billie made it this morning, so the place has smelled like it all day. I’m only going to help you because I’m starving.”
I can hear Billie and Violet walking up the path behind us, talking animatedly and laughing airily. Music to my ears. It doesn’t even bug me anymore. The talking, the questions, that incessant chatter comforts me. It’s the sound of my girl being happy.
“Charming,” I say, looking at my brother, who grins happily back at me and claps my shoulder.
“Have a beer with me?”
I sigh. Why did this have to become our bonding ritual? “Okay, yeah.” I can’t say no. I’m too . . . happy. Too relaxed, too softened up from reflecting all this light that surrounds me.
I tie up GD, the old gelding I like to ride, and get to untacking him while Vaughn brushes him down thoroughly. I smile as I watch him talking to the horse and doting on him. Our dad would have fucking love this. To see us like this. At his farm, working together, continuing his legacy. My throat feels thick at the thought. Maybe he can see us; maybe he knows. Wherever he is. I hope he sees this. I hope he sees us happy.
Violet once said something to me about wanting to earn what she gets. Wanting to struggle and come out stronger on the other side. It’s a sentence that changed my perspective. It gave my day-to-day life a purpose. It made me want to come out stronger on the other side too. It made me want to get to the other side, period. To step out of the dark and the mundane, and into the light. Life was bitter, and now it’s sweet.
I pat GD firmly and pull off his saddle. “Thanks for putting up with me, old man,” I grunt, as I pat his back. A perfectly golden palomino that Billie found for a novice like me—one with a heart of gold to match, and who I had jokingly named Golddigger. Who is now the pony horse that leads Violet’s mounts to and from each race. And so long as I’m not stuck at work, I’m the one riding. I’m the last one to wish her good luck and the first one to congratulate her. I may not be jockey material, but being out there on the track with my wife—where my dad loved to spend his days and where I’m starting to as well—it’s special. Especially when I get a front-row seat to see the look of pure joy on Violet’s face as she crosses that finish line.
Win or lose. She’s always smiling out there. Smiling right at me. Lighting me up.
Because she’s my fucking sunshine.
