In addition to retinitis pigmentosa, at the start of the year I got diagnosed with optic neuritis, a condition where the optic nerve, which transmits visual signals from the eye to the brain, is inflamed. It explains the intermittent blurriness and why my central vision is starting to weaken.
The constant dull headaches I’ve been experiencing were a head-scratcher for my doctor since it’s not usually a symptom associated with either condition, but since I have both, Dr. Ward said that in rare cases like this, weird shit can happen.
And while she was hesitant to provide an exact timeframe, having both conditions means I won’t lose my vision sometimein my forties or fifties as I expected. It’s highly likely I won’t be able to see the New Year’s Eve fireworks this year.
At best, I’ve got a few months of vision left. I can’t allow myself to get distracted by anything or anyone. I have to stay focused and keep counting, keep mapping, keep memorizing to give myself the best shot of being able to function independently when I lose my sight.
Maverick taking over the sanctuary is going well so far. He’s sticking to our deal, and we’re giving each other a wide berth. He does his thing. I do mine.
And that’s exactly how it has to stay.
6
Maverick
I may not be the robe-wearing, hairless-cat-stroking, security-camera-monitoring creep Jackson made me out to be last week, but I am definitely enjoying the view from my newly refurbished office.
Since starting working on-site, I’ve noticed he’s a creature of habit. Every morning around ten, he brings a horse into the round pen and goes through some gentle physical therapy.
We currently have eighteen horses in our care, a number I hope to increase once the facilities are improved. The last few days, he’s worked with Riven, but today, he’s leading Daisy toward the pen, a stocky draft cross with a grumpy streak and a soft spot for apple slices.
They enter the pen, and he starts the way he always does, by walking around the perimeter, his hand lightly on the reins, letting Daisy set the pace. Once she starts to relax, Jackson transitions into light groundwork, which requires Daisy to move at different paces.
Yesterday, he was leading Riven in circles at the end of a long line. The rhythm of it reminded me of running drills in high school when I played football. Today, he seems to be taking more of a free-form approach, letting Daisy move about however she likes inside the pen. Whenever she comes near him, he adjusts his body, wordlessly communicating with the creature, gradually gaining her trust.
It’s hypnotic to witness. Jackson is able to read Daisy before she even reacts. He’s patient, never rushing or pushing her into anything she’s not ready for. And he’s calm. So calm. No shows of dominance. No trying to break the animal. He simply lets things unfold naturally and reacts to whatever he’s presented with.
Such a striking difference to how he is around me.
Despite working on-site for the past week, our paths haven’t crossed much. Apart from the time I caught him talking to himself near the parking lot, we’ve barely exchanged more than a few words. I keep telling myself it’s because our roles don’t overlap and not because he’s deliberately going out of his way to avoid me.
But I’m deluding myself.
I’ve had more conversations with freaking Pip than I have with Jackson, for crying out loud, and the dude only volunteers here one day a week.
Pip is the only person Jackson seems close to. In addition to steering clear of me, he keeps his distance from most of the other staff, too, only ever engaging when it’s work related, exchanging the bare minimum needed.
But on the day Pip comes in, they’re like glue. Jackson is at ease and talkative and seems to have no issue guiding Pip through the ins and outs of barn work. The inside of my chest prickles with irritation at the memory of them walking with filled-up buckets from the water tanks to the barn, Jackson smiling at whatever Pip was regaling him with, like they’re—oh, shit—a couple?
I assumed they were friends, but what if they’re more than that? My chest burns as I bring the piping hot coffee to my mouth, watching with interest as Daisy lets out a loud snort and charges toward Jackson. But Jackson holds firm, raising his hand in the air. If he’s scared, he sure as hell doesn’t show any signs of it. Daisy immediately halts and drops her head.
“Impressive,” I mutter to myself as a delighted squeal of “Uncle Kiiiiick!” rings out behind me.
I turn around and manage to place my coffee mug on the desk before my nephew leaps into my arms. “Sammy. What are you doing here?”
“Dad wants to talk to you.”
Uh-oh. That’s never a good thing. We all live on the same property, Wagner and Sammy in the main house, and I’ve taken up residence in my grandparents’ small cottage. It’s close enough that I can help out with Sammy whenever Wagner needs it but far enough away that I have my own space and privacy.
Wagner appears, his frame taking up practically the entire doorway. He’s twelve years older than me and has always been bulkier than I am. Even though his military days are behind him,andhe’s a full-time dad,andhe’s working his ass off to save our family’s winery, he still somehow manages to stick to a punishing workout regime.
He assesses my office carefully with narrow eyes and the faintest hint of a scowl. That’s normal. He always has that pissed-off air about him. What isn’t normal is the unexpected drop-in. Something must be up.
Wagner isn’t capable of being spontaneous. He’s the most responsible and disciplined person I’ve ever met. A lover of precise routines. That’s what made him such a great Navy SEAL and such a great brother slash substitute parent to Fenner, Adair, and me growing up.
We had a nanny, Mrs. Thornsby, but she was a real bitch. Old, mean, and always looking for ways to make our lives miserable. Mom and Dad either didn’t notice or didn’t care, so it was Wagner who we all leaned on. Me most of all. He was my support system growing up, and I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it weren’t for him.
But the weight of losing out on his own childhood to shoulder that responsibility and his time spent bouncing between combat zones with back-to-back deployments has had a profound impact on him. I want to return the favor and be there for him the way he was for me growing up, but the man is impenetrable.Every time I try to talk about something deeper, he shuts me down, preferring to keep everything bottled up.
