“Easy.” My tone stays soft. “Easy. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”
The horse snorts and stamps, but I get a hand on the halter, guiding the twitchy animal toward the gate. When I turn back, Tank is watching me.
A flash of something in his eyes makes my whole body go hot. Then his attention returns to Sullivan, who’s breathing slower now, hands dropping from his ears.
“There you go,” Tank says. “That's it. You’re doing great.”
“Sorry.” Sullivan’s voice is hoarse. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. The mare spooked. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I should’ve?—”
“You did everything right.” Tank’s hand lands on Sullivan’s shoulder, steady and sure. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Take your time.”
I watch them together. Tank’s calm is unwavering, his complete focus on Sullivan. No judgment. No impatience. Just his presence and care.
Something cracks open in my chest.
One of the other workers appears. I didn't even notice him arrive. Tank exchanges a look with him, some silent communication I don’t understand. The man nods and settles beside Sullivan.
“I got him,” the worker says quietly. “Go on.”
Tank hesitates, then nods. He crosses to where I’m standing, and his hand finds the small of my back, guiding me away with a touch so light I can barely feel it.
I feel it everywhere.
We walk in silence until we're behind the equipment shed, out of sight.
Then Tank stops, and I stop with him, the air between us thickening.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Me?” I stare at him. “I’m fine. That wasn’t about me.”
“You helped with the mare. That was smart.”
“I didn’t think. I just—” I shake my head. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah. Episodes happen. He knows how to come down from them.” Tank’s jaw tightens. “It’s not the first time. Won’t be the last.”
“And you just handle it. Every time.”
“It’s what he needs.”
Such a simple statement. Such a massive understatement. I think about the calm in his voice, the steadiness of his hands, the way he made himself safe without ever seeming small. He knows exactly what to do and say.
“How?” I ask. “How do you stay so calm?”
“Practice.” His mouth twists, but it’s not quite a smile. “And panicking doesn’t help anyone.”
“You’ve done this before. Not just with Sullivan. Before.”
He knows what I mean. The military. The deployments. The things he doesn’t talk about.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’ve done this before.”
I look at him,reallylook at him. This man who builds things because he needs his hands busy. Who makes coffee for two without being asked. Who steps into a crisis like it’s his natural habitat and comes out the other side still standing, still steady, still him.
