Never Say Never (3 page)

He just nods and glances back at my resume. “You graduated in May?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you’re just now looking for a job? What did you do, take a month off to party?” He looks at me like he’s hoping I will say yes, and it’s because he wants me to be a party girl who gets drunks and gives it up easily. Sick.

“Yes, I’m just now looking for a job, but it wasn’t because of partying.” My heart lurches. The sweat is back in full force, and it’s rolling down my back. I nervously rake my fingers through my long hair.

“What was it, then?” He leans back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight.

I close my eyes in a long blink and push the lump down in my throat. My mind races. I want to lie. But I can’t. Unlike the dead, the truth doesn’t stay buried. “My mother and I were in an accident in April. I got hurt pretty badly, and she…she didn’t make it. I needed some time after graduation to deal with everything. ”

“Oh,” he says. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

His eyes roam over my face. “When can you start?”

What? I actually lean back in surprise. That wasn’t an interview at all. “Monday,” I say, since it’s true.

“Great!” He stands. “Let me give you a tour.”

“Wait, so you’re telling me your boobs got you the job?” Lori slides the bottle of wine across the counter, her perfectly manicured nails clinking against the glass.

I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah, I think.” I sigh and watch the red moscato fill the glass. “I mean, I said I’d start and I filled out paperwork, but it doesn’t make me locked in. I can apply somewhere else later.”

Lori takes a drink of the wine and raises an eyebrow incredulously. “You got hired at your first interview. Get some experience before you move on and quit. And know you’re fucking lucky. That never happens.”

“I know.” I reach for the bottle of wine.

Lori snatches it back. “You reached your limit,” she says softly.

“I had half a glass,” I mutter. “And I’m not…” Ah, fuck. “I stopped taking the pills last week.”

“Haley!”

“I don’t need them. I’m not suicidal or anything, and they make me tired.”

She puts the glass behind her. We’re at my house, sitting at the island counter in the large country kitchen.

“They were prescribed to you for a reason,” Lori says. She sticks a stopper in the wine and puts it in the fridge. “And you’re not supposed to stop that stuff cold turkey. You need to call the doctor tomorrow and make an appointment. At least talk about this first, okay?”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, not wanting Lori to see. She’s bossy, but she cares. Having her as my best friend is the only thing that has gotten me through this, and she is the only person who hasn’t put a time limit on how long I’m allowed to grieve.

“I don’t need them,” I tell her. And I can’t afford them. Not only is getting the job at a bigger press one of my goals, but it’ll pay more. “Look,” I say, because she’s staring dubiously at me. “If things get bad, I’ll take them again. But I have to face life. I have to accept things.”

Now tears well in her eyes. If she cries, I’m done for. “You can admit you hurt, Hay,” she whispers. “It’s okay to get some help.”

“I know,” I choke out. I sniffle, wipe my eyes, and stand. I push the barstool against the counter. “I have to feed the horses. Stay in here and put the pizza in the oven, please?”

She nods, knowing I need time alone. I leave the kitchen through a hall that takes me to the laundry room. I open the door and let Chrissy, Mom’s border collie, run out into the yard ahead of me, and step into the garage. Mom’s truck is there. I haven’t been in it since that day. I don’t even know who brought it back, or who took Phoenix away from the burning barn. And I didn’t ask.

Everything was just there, put back like normal. I can’t look at the truck, can’t look at the last place I saw her, the last place we talked and laughed. I never thought setting out to save a life would take hers away.

Tears start to fall freely, rolling down my cheeks. A cool breeze rattles the trees and blows the scent of hay and grain through the air. I bite my bottom lip and suck back my tears. The barn is only yards from the house. On cool nights, when the windows could be left open, you can hear the horses shuffling around in their stalls.

Shakespeare looks out the open Dutch door and whinnies to me. His call brings on a wave of emotion, and suddenly I’m running to him, throwing open his stall door and burying my face in his mane. He turns his head, wrapping me in what I can only describe as a hug. We stay like that for a few beats. It might sound stupid, and not everyone understands, but that horse is there for me. I’ve had him for ten years now, and he was our first rescue. Mom had been a riding instructor my whole life. I’m lucky enough to look back and never remember a time without horses.

Mom heard about Shakespeare’s story from one of her horse friends. He was a registered Arabian and had been someone’s show horse for years. But then one day, he wasn’t wanted anymore. After a few weeks of being for sale, his owner threw in the towel and sent him to the slaughter auction. We got him right before he was loaded onto the truck.

Now he’s mine, and I love that damn horse with everything inside me. We understand each other in an unspoken way. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, warm breath warming my back.

Then I start sobbing, salty tears dripping onto his sleek white mane. Pain stabs my chest, and I can’t breathe. I hold onto him, body trembling from the force of my tears. This was never supposed to happen. I can’t do it all like Mom had. How the hell am I supposed to rehab horses, take care of the ones we have now, and work?

I pull away from Shakespeare and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. He pushes his nose against me and I close my eyes.

“Thank you,” I whisper to my horse. “How many times have I run to you crying?” I ask, running my hands along his neck. Gray speckles his white coat. “Most of the time it’s for completely ridiculous things.” I take a breath and rest my head on his. “Breakups, not being allowed to go out, horse shows,” I say and feel a smile forming. “Remember that time you refused to cross the stupid bridge in trail class?”

He lowers his head and starts munching on hay. “You could do that thing backwards in your sleep, but you wouldn’t go over it. I was so mad I hung a for sale sign on your stall and asked a dollar.” I look at my old guy through blurry tears. “Then I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Mom put a sold sign on your stall and hid you in the trailer.” I burst into tears then, horrified she had let someone buy my horse. Of course I didn’t really want to sell him. “It was her way of teaching me a lesson. I can’t make you do anything. I can only ask. We were partners, and she made sure I remembered that. And that’s what you are. My partner, my friend. We’ve been through a lot together.”

He jerks his head up and nudges me, as if to say we’ll get through this together too.

Chapter 2

I rest my elbows on the stall and watch the mare sniff the feed bowl in front of her. Her nostrils flare, and she hesitantly nibbles on the grain.

“It’s all right, girl,” I say softly. “That’s your food.” Phoenix looks at me, ears going back ever so slightly. Along with the burns, Phoenix got pneumonia. She’s in rough shape, and looking at her breaks my heart all over again. Her medicine is crushed up and mixed into her feed. She’s been picking at it all morning, and I’m afraid if I step away she might tip the bowl and not get it before I leave for work.

She’s already put on a considerable amount of weight, and the burns on her neck are starting to heal. Her tail was singed off right up to the bone, and her black face is covered in scars. Some so deep fur can’t grow back. Others are lined with white fur. Her ribs show with each movement. She is depressed and lonely, and I know she needs to bond with someone, and that someone should be me. It has to be me. I’m the only one. But I can’t.

Looking at Phoenix makes the burns on my body tingle with pain. Looking at her reminds me of the smoke filling my lungs, of the roof flaking apart above us, bit by burning bit, until it collapsed. Looking at her is painful.

She’s only three, but her eyes are those of an old horse. A horse who has lived in agony, in fear. I’ve seen that exact look before—a look that says “I give up”. It’s a look I battle every day not to wear on my own face.

“You’re a good girl,” I tell her and stick my hand out. Phoenix lifts her head, stretching her neck out to sniff my fingers. She doesn’t come any closer. She
won’t
come any closer. “In time,” I say and take a step back. I stretch my arms over my head and look around the barn. Mom would never let it get this untidy.

It’s a small barn, with six stalls and a heated room that houses grain, saddles, and the various supplies needed. I spent my childhood out here. This place has been my safe haven, my escape. And it still is. Being in here used to be my second favorite place, the first being on a horse. I haven’t ridden since Mom…since she left. Every day I think about riding. And every day I don’t.

I slide open the stall door, needing to change the padded bandages and clean her wounds. Phoenix spooks and shies away.

“It’s okay,” I say and reach into my pocket, pulling out a treat.

Her nostrils flare as she inhales the scent of the treat. I keep my hand out and walk to her. She snatches the treat and turns her head. “It’s okay,” I repeat and put one hand on her neck. Spraying her wounds with antiseptic spray is a challenge. I don’t want to chase her around. Instead, we do this treat-per-spray thing that seems to be working.

She flinches when the cool mist hits her bare skin, but she doesn’t shy away. “Good girl,” I praise. I mist her with the spray again. I get the entire section of charred skin on her neck before she moves. “I know,” I say softly. “It hurts. I have burns too.”

She looks at me as if my words make sense. “You’ll get better. I am. Little by little.” I finish her treatment and then clean stalls and sweep the aisle before work. There are four horses at the barn right now. Shakespeare, which is my twenty-four year old retired show horse. Benny is Mom’s stubborn-as-hell thoroughbred. He is dark bay, tall, muscly, and gorgeous. We pulled him from the slaughter pen just minutes before he would have had his head bashed in and been strung up for meat. Sundance was taken from a neglectful home months ago. He’s put on more than enough weight and is physically sound. Mom had been working with him, getting him broken to ride so she could find him a new home. His training came to a screeching halt after the accident.

Phoenix made horse number four.

We kept the barn as empty as possible, besides Shakespeare and Benny. That’s what Mom did. Saved horses, horses no one wanted, horses left for dead. She gave them a second chance, healing them mentally and physically. She trained them, made sure they were ready, and then found them forever homes. Benny wasn’t supposed to stay, but Mom was never able to get him out of his biting habit…or his habit of chewing hair. She couldn’t let him go to a home knowing he might randomly bite you or eat your hair any chance he got.

I go inside, calling Chrissy in from the back pasture, groaning when I see I only have thirty minutes before I have to get ready for work. I grab my ponytail and sniff my hair. Yep. I smell like horse. I have to take a shower.