"Fractured cannon bone," she said, her voice carrying in the quiet night. She was talking to the driver, explaining in terms he'd understand. "Severe, but the X-rays will tell us more. The laceration on Stormdancer's shoulder is deep. She'll need surgery to repair the muscle damage. Midnight has a suspensory ligament injury that'll require months of rehabilitation."
She emerged from the trailer, guiding the fourth horse carefully down the ramp. This one moved with excruciating slowness, each step clearly agonizing.
"And Windchaser?" Yannis' voice cracked on the name.
Her expression was grim. "The fracture extends into the fetlock joint. Even with surgery, even with the best orthopedic specialist in the country…" She paused, her hands gentle as sheexamined the injured leg. "I'm sorry, Silas. She won't race again. We can save the leg, but her career is over."
The man made a sound like he'd been punched. He sank to his knees beside the horse, one hand pressed against her neck as if he could will it to be different.
"Windchaser," he whispered. "That's my Windchaser."
The vet’s expression shifted. She must have recognized the horse’s name. "TheWindchaser? The one racing in the Fall Classic this weekend?"
Silas nodded, unable to speak. Windchaser lowered her head, nuzzling against his shoulder, and the sight of that trust made my throat close up.
I'd heard of Windchaser. Everyone in sports had. Three-year-old filly, undefeated in her last eight races. Projected to win the Fall Classic by four lengths. She’s worth two million now, but could have been worth ten times that with the right wins. Every major racing publication had featured her. She was supposed to be the next Secretariat.
Could have been.
Past tense.
Because of me.
The veterinarian finally looked at me directly, and the professional distance in her eyes was worse than any accusation. "You're the driver?"
"Yes."
She held my gaze for a long moment, then turned back to Windchaser without another word, dismissing me as irrelevant.
"All four will survive," she said to Yannis, her voice gentler now. "But we need to get them to the equine hospital immediately. Windchaser and Stormdancer need surgery tonight. The other two need observation and treatment for shock and trauma."
Survive. The word should have brought relief. Should have made this better somehow.
But watching Silas on his knees, watching Windchaser struggle to stand on three legs, watching a career and a dream and a championship die in front of me.
Officer Branson guided me back to his cruiser while the vet coordinated with the equine ambulance. It was a massive truck designed specifically for transporting injured horses.
"I need to ask you some questions, Mr. Henley. Have you been drinking tonight?"
"No."
"Any drugs or medications?"
"No."
"Then can you explain why you were driving at ninety miles per hour on a rural road at night?"
I stared at the wreckage. At Yannis, still on his knees beside Windchaser. At the three other horses being carefully loaded into the ambulance. At the vet’s professional efficiency as she supervised every movement.
"No," I said finally. "I can't explain it."
Because the truth was, I'd been running from my anger, from my coach's words, from the latest proof that I was exactly like my father.
Officer Branson studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Easton Henley, you're under arrest for reckless driving resulting in property damage and reckless endangerment." He pulled out his handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent…"
The Miranda rights washed over me as he cuffed my hands behind my back. The metal was cold, biting into my wrists. The physical restraint should have triggered my rage. It should have made me want to fight, to resist, to prove I was stronger than this.
But I felt nothing. Just a vast, empty numbness as he guided me into the back of his cruiser.
