The announcer calls Addie's number, and the world narrows to the gate.
She rides in like she belongs there.
Helmet steady. Shoulders relaxed. Hands quiet on the reins. The colt steps into the arena with his ears forward, body loose and focused, like he knows exactly what's being asked of him.
My hands tighten on the rail.
Mae is beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush. Chace stands on my other side, jaw set, eyes tracking every step.
Eli is… somewhere.
I don't look for him. I don't have to. I can feel him the way you feel a storm before it breaks.
But I catch sight of him anyway when Addie clears the second obstacle.
He's standing behind a small group of spectators, jaw set. His eyes never leave the arena. Never leave her.
But his hand—his right hand—is curled into a fist at his side, knuckles white.
Not angry. Tense.
Like he's fighting to stay exactly where he is instead of moving closer. To me. To the rail. To this thing we built together.
He looks like he's barely holding himself in place.
Then he looks away, jaw working, and I understand—he's been tracking my presence the whole time, even while watching her ride.
The buzzer sounds.
Addie moves the colt forward, confident but controlled. No rush. No hesitation.
The colt lifts his feet like he's been doing this his whole life, stride even, balance perfect. Addie guides him through without a single correction, posture calm, eyes already on the next mark.
I exhale without realizing I'd been holding my breath.
Second obstacle—better.
A smooth transition into the turn, tight and precise without losing momentum. The colt listens, adjusts, responds instantly. Addie's hands barely move, trust flowing clean between them.
Mae murmurs something under her breath. A prayer. Or pride. Or both.
My chest aches.
This is what we built at four in the morning when no one was watching. What we worked for through heat and exhaustion and doubt. This moment, right here.
The third obstacle looms—the tricky one.
A tight gate with an awkward approach, the kind that trips up even seasoned riders if they come in wrong. I feel my pulse spike, fear clawing up sharp and sudden.
Addie shortens the reins just a fraction. The colt gathers himself, shifts weight back without losing rhythm.
For one second, everything stops.
Then he does it.
Clean. Fluid. Like the obstacle never existed at all.
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it, breathless and sharp with relief. Mae grabs my arm, fingers digging in.
