He’s also at least fifteen years older than my parents, who have both recently entered their forties, but look younger. Mom’s hair is still a sunset fire red and she continues to grin in delight at objections that I could possibly be her son. An older sister surely, other women will cry. Farren’s parents on the other hand seem to lean into adulthood, like aging shouldn’t be something to avoid.
Suddenly, Dr. Walsh speaks. “I know it’s a little empty and not what you are used to, but—”
I stop folding. “It’s more than I could have asked for.” I immediately regret that. I did ask for this. I begged for it, so what am I saying? “I mean, thank you. Thank you, sir. For everything.”
“What did I say about calling me sir?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Not to.” Damn it. “Sorry, Dr. Walsh.”
Dr. Walsh scratches his scruffy blond beard. “Not a huge fan of Dr. Walsh either if I’m going to be honest.”
I just go silent like I always do when I’m unsure.
“Would Patrick be too strange?”
The best dragon veterinarian in all of Toulin didn’t just ask me to call him Patrick, did he? “If that’s what you’d prefer…” I bite my tongue to not add another sir.
“Good. Great. Dragon bait.”
Both of us pause as a dragon roars in the distance. “Ah, I guess this is a good time to go over a few other things.”
Rule number one loops in my memory. No dating Farren. I don’t exactly know how that one could be any clearer.
Dr. Walsh sits on the ground and begins folding a pair of pants with more care than my one arm unpacking can manage.
It takes a second for me to realize what he’s doing, the gentleness surprising me into complacency. “You don’t—”
“Please. You still have the cast, James.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I grab another shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever sat on the ground with a grown man before and, of all things, folded clothes together.
“Good. Now, I need you to understand. There are a variety of dragon breeds on this land. Dragons you might not be familiar with, let alone have trained or treated. No introductions without me, Erin, Jeffrey, or Farren.” He folds a button-down shirt perfectly.
“Farren?” I kind of assumed I’d be under adult supervision at all times.
Dr. Walsh smiles, obviously proud. “Farren knows what she’s doing. In fact, I’d like it if you both could handle some chores and cases on your own.”
“Right.” So, there would be plenty of opportunity for her to enact her kick-me-out plans. And plenty of opportunity to mess up. Great.
“More importantly, and I need you to listen to me on this: Stay far away from the cliffs. Even after you are healed. You hear me?”
I frown, not understanding. Until Dr. Walsh’s eyes drop to my cast. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Heat rises up my neck and stains me red. We’ve flown by embarrassment and delved right into shame.He knows. He knows.The thought throbs against my skull. “Dr. Walsh—I mean. I didn’t… this was an accident. I wouldn’t…”I wouldn’t try to kill myself, I need to shout. But no words come.
“An accident. Like last month when you said Hort threw you and scraped your cheek.”
My pulse is a thudding drum in my ears.
“Just promise me you’ll stay away from the cliffs.”
“I promise.” This one I’m confident I can keep.
“Good.” Dr. Walsh pauses. “You did the right thing coming here. Hort’s going to be just fine.”
“Until my father drags him back into that arena.” Or even worse, the cage he sleeps in. Legally, my father holds Hort in his grasp. Most of the time it feels like he holds my life there too, under his thumb.
A month ago, before our fall, Dr. Walsh pulled me—and only me—aside and said Hort showed signs that his wings weren’t growing properly. It’s a common risk with competitive Sprinters. They need to be small; they need to be aerodynamic. Hort was bred to be perfect, but genetics can’t always be controlled. He was growing too big for regulation racing. Too big for the cage-like stalls the Sprinters live in at my father’s facilities. Which means Hort’s wings didn’t have enough space to keep up with the rest of him. If my dad got wind of this he’d sell Hort off, his championship title a buzzy sales point shouted at the auction block.
