And when I was strong enough to walk again, he brought me down to the barn to meet Marley. I didn’t want to see a horse, let alone touch one. Not after being tied to Thunder and forced to run or be dragged more than eight miles back to the compound.
But Marley is such a gentle soul. Damaged. Broken. Like me.
Abe takes another step toward Brother Malone, his voice low, controlled, quiet. “No. You’ll say nothing about Nova’s swearing. Or you won’t ride Thunder for a week. It’s the full moon. Her last full moon before the end. Hand on the Doctrine, you will not punish her for this.”
Last full moon before the end.
The reminder lands like a weight on my chest. Twenty-nine more days, and nothing will matter anymore. I’ll be dead, and Grace will be truly gone.
Brother Malone grumbles his agreement, scowling, but not brave enough to challenge Abe. “Thunder is the only horse who doesn’t try to buck me off every time. All right. You get one pass, Nova. But if it happens again…” He draws back like he’s about to slap me.
I lower my gaze to his heavy work boots and nod. After a moment, his footsteps fade away.
“Is he gone?” I ask softly.
“He’s gone, Grace.”
I’m so broken, hearing my real name raises a lump in my throat. In a feverish moment of weakness, I shared it with Abe. And sometimes—if he knows it’s safe—he’ll use it, and I remember who I used to be.
If it weren’t for him, I’d have shattered completely. The days I spent in the box after my escape attempt left me utterly without hope and unwilling to risk even a hint of rebellion ever again.
I haven’t let myself think about my life before in months. My husband’s face is faded now. His voice…I can’t remember what it was like to hear him say, “I love you.” Or feel his arms around me. My friends, my family, my dog…they’ve all slipped from my grasp, dreams dissolved in the light of day. Sometimes I wonder if any of it was real, or if I just imagined it to survive this place.
Knowing I was less than two miles from escaping the flock’s property was bad. Realizing Brother Malone and Brother Vincent were following me the whole time was worse. But they turned running from one of my passions to something I’ll never want—or be able—to do again. I don’t even run in my dreams anymore.
“I can give you ten, maybe fifteen, minutes,” Abe says. “One of the cows is gonna calf soon, but there’s a bit of time yet.”
My heart lodges in my throat as I rest my forehead against Marley’s. “You’ll miss the ceremony tonight?”
“No, no, dear. I’ll be back in time. It’s only three.” Abe approaches slowly, careful not to spook the gentle horse. “You won’t be alone.”
I wrap one hand around the top of the fence and ease myself down to retrieve the lost carrot. My knee pops, and the pain brings tears to my eyes.
“Abe!” I gasp. “My leg…”
He’s at my side before I fall, taking my elbow and helping me limp over to a bench next to the paddock.
“Deep breath, now. The kneecap probably dislocated again. I’ll get it back into place, wrap it up tight, and give you a shot of morphine.”
How can the one man here who seems to care for me at all be the father of the sadistic fuck who stole me from my home, my husband, my life? From the sun-drenched mornings in Austin where I’d share a cup of coffee with AJ, believing my little slice of the world was basically good and safe?
Abe crouches down in front of me. Panic tightens my chest. I hear my heartbeat in my ears.
“It’s okay, Grace. Let me see.”
I pull the hem of the white cotton dress up as far as I dare. It’s already swollen, the angle of the kneecap unnatural. My stomach flips at the sight. “I’ve been so careful the past few months.”
“Look away now,” the older man says softly. “Deep breath.”
Screwing my eyes shut, I nod.
Pop. The terrible, sickening snap as the kneecap slips back into place shatters the tenuous control I’ve kept over my tears, and the first one traces a hot trail down my cheek.
“There we go,” Abe murmurs softly. “Stay right here. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
“Hurry.” My voice cracks on the word. “If Malone comes back and finds me still here…”
Abe rushes off and the cold wraps around me like a shroud. It’s barely forty today. I rub my hands up and down my arms, the motion causing one of my sleeves to ride up. The scar around my wrist flashes in the weak sunlight, thick and pale, like wax melted over my skin.
