“Ready to get out of here?” he asked.
“Beyondready.”
Thirty-Eight
Tuesday morning, Reese dressed for his usual run, tied his hair back, laced up his Nikes, and stepped out into the hallway, expecting to find it deserted, just as he had every morning for the past couple weeks; ever since things had fallen out so suddenly and strangely with Tenny.
But Tenny was there, in the pre-dawn dark of the hall. In compression leggings under shorts, a white tank top with the arm holes cut down deep along his ribs. A water bottle in one hand.
Reese felt a fluttering in his chest; a burst of pleasant warmth.
Tenny didn’t speak, only lifted his brows.
Reese nodded, and they walked out together. Left their bottles on a picnic table, and started off at a slow jog across the parking lot.
This was as usual: turning out onto the street, lengthening their strides, settling into a fast, sustainable rhythm, the only sounds the light slap of their shoes on pavement, and the regular rushing of their breath. They didn’t speak, but they never did. Wasted effort; a lack of efficiency. For all that Tenny liked to run his mouth and give the impression of disregarding authority, he knew the value of silence, same as Reese.
They ran.
They stood after, as the sun was coming up, bright fire on the brown-blue of the river, drinking water, and Tenny’s uplifted profile glowed against the dazzling backdrop of the water. Reese didn’t know he was staring until he accidently poured water down his front, and then he turned away, face strangely warm in a way that running hadn’t made it.
They went inside, still not speaking, to their dorms. Showered. Returned to the common room, where Deacon and Boomer were shuffling in half asleep, and Chanel was making breakfast. They ate hash and eggs on the sofa, like normal, if sitting farther apart.
Once, Tenny snorted and said, “That’s stupid,” of something on the TV. A movie trailer, one of those action films full of stunts achieved with harnesses and wires. “Why don’t they get actors who can actually do those things?”
“Aidan says because they can’t find anyone good-looking enough who can.”
Tenny snorted again, and when Reese looked toward him, found himself the subject of a smirking half-smile, and a low-lidded look. Before he could ask what it meant, Tenny ducked his head over his plate again, and the moment was gone.
Ghost was giving him some hours at the shop today, and though Reese didn’t ever forget that Tenny was supposed to go exercise horses for Emmie Walsh today, he wondered if Tenny still planned to go. His answer came in the form of Tenny himself, appearing right at five, sunglasses in place and helmet tucked under his arm. He was frowning.
“Are you still going to come?”
“Yes.”
They rode over together, the light dappled on the long, snaking driveway of Briar Hall, the soft reverse of the light on the river this morning. They parked in front of the barn, and took off their helmets. Reese wanted to say something, though he hadn’t decided what – but didn’t get the chance, because Emmie came out to greet them.
There was something Reese had always found reassuring about Emmie. She didn’t ever balk at the things he said the way some of the other old ladies did, nor did she ply him with sweetness and maternal concern the way Maggie and even Ava did. There was a brisk efficiency about the way she moved and spoke that he approved of; she was completely without artifice, and that was a trait he could see that the horses appreciated, too, the way they nosed at her and crowded her space automatically, until she gently corrected them. They felt safe with her, and animals were honest things; Reese appreciated that about them.
“Do you ride, too?” Emmie asked him, and he shook his head. He stood in front of Emmie’s personal show horse, Apollo, and the large gelding snuffled at his shirt, lipped at his cut.
“No,” she told him, patting his velvet nose. “Shame. They seemed to like you. If you ever want to learn, I’ve got some nice schoolmasters you could take lessons on.”
The idea held a certain appeal. He liked acquiring skills, and it was a quiet activity; an activity that rewarded technique, and sensitivity. It would also give him something else in common with Tenny – who, he saw, turning, was saddling a horse with obvious knowledge and familiarity. He didn’t own true riding pants – breeches, Reese reminded himself – but he’d put a pair of black leather chaps on over his jeans, and Emmie approved his harness boots as adequately safe.
“Your whole foot will go through the stirrup if your shoes aren’t heeled,” she explained to Reese, “and that’s just asking to get dragged.”
Emmie was riding, too. She saddled a chestnut. Tenny’s horse was gleaming black with four white feet, and a white diamond on his forehead. He danced and fidgeted while Tenny tacked him up, but settled when Tenny stroked his neck and murmured to him, too quiet for Reese to hear.
When they led the horses out, Reese followed. There was a bench in the shade down beside the arena, and he took up a post there. Tenny and Emmie mounted, and they only walked at first, the reins long, the horses stretching and blowing. Emmie was talking: “…likes to stretch first, I usually put him through some big circles and figure eights and let him have his head for a few minutes, then collect him more slowly.” Birds twittered in the branches overhead, and a breeze touched his face, and for one rare moment, Reese felt his hypervigilance melting away. Physical sensation receded, but not in the focused, detached way that it did on an op. He felt light, weightless, suffused with quiet.
Peaceful, he thought, absently. A bird landed beside him, and then fled in a quiet flutter of wings. It left a feather behind, small and striped.
Tennydidknow how to ride. He was boastful, yes, but he never lied about a skill, and he hadn’t lied about this one. The long, slender lines of him seemed molded to the horse as he put it through its paces. The young gelding was full of energy; he tossed his head, and even bucked, once, but Tenny never looked close to unseated. There was a quietness to his movements; it was impossible to see him giving the horse cues, but the horse’s slow transformation from loose-reined colt to steadily-working, collected chess piece confirmed that Tenny was using his hands, and seat, and legs effectively.
“Good,” Emmie would call, from time to time. “A little more outside rein – yes, there, good.”
Reese heard cars come and go at the barn, voices calling back and forth, but it was impossible to look at anything else. He sat, transfixed, hands playing with the splintered edge of the bench, trying and failing to think of ways to properly describe what it was like to watch Tenny slowly blossom, a faint smile touching his lips as the horse responded to his cues.
