Lilac's Chance

Chapter Nine

It's a few years later, and I'm home.

Birthday Cake beneath me, reins in my hands, Kentucky sunshine on my face, it's everything I've ever wanted. Dad doesn't meddle- he knows better, now- and all of this colt's training is my own.

And now we're galloping.

The colt's stride is bigger than life. Asking him to gallop is like opening a door- slowly, cracking, and then it hits the wall and everything escapes in a rush of pure, euphoric speed. It screams at me, smashes into every crevice of my body, visible in the streaky ground below us. Birthday's sleek black neck glints yellow-gold in the sunlight, so much like Last Chance's.

Funny, I can't remember what happened to her.

Frowning at this, I guide Birthday Cake into a slower gait. Perfect as always, he accepts the bit and drops into a canter, a trot, a walk.

It's then that I realize I don't know where we are.

"Lilac, are you awake?"

My eyes fly open. Wherever I am is dark, and the voice unfamiliar, but there's something that resembles light and it only takes my eyes a moment to adjust. "What- what's going on?"

It's Braydon. He's looking intently into my face, and his is a puzzle of momentary confusion. "Was it your birthday recently?"

Nothing about my life is making sense. "What? No- why?"

"You were muttering something about birthdays..."

Already the euphoria of galloping Birthday Cake is fading away, and the reality of my current situation is settling in. "It was just a dream..."

I'm not sure if I'm sad or relieved.

And then Braydon's close proximity sets in, and I'm shoving myself away from him in a crinkled flurry of bedsheets and heavy motel comforters and the glint of the clock on the nightstand. "It. Is. Three. Thirty. In. The. Morning," I hiss.

"I know." And now I recognize the look on his face- anxiety. "Less than eight hours until the race."

"Yes. Which I'm riding in. Which I need my sleep for," I snap. Maybe I'm being rude, but seriously. He woke me up.

Braydon's eyes darken as he looks at me for a long moment. I glare back. "I don't even know why I bothered," he finally mutters, and backs away from my bed.

Maybe it's the whole scenario, or maybe it's the way I remember how nervous I was before my first race, but I feel guilty in this muddle of not-awakeness. "No, wait, I'm sorry," I say, half yawning. "I'm just disoriented. And probably still dreaming. What's wrong?"

"I'm just-" He's standing in the middle of the motel room, looking ridiculously tall, but then he clams up. "Nevermind." And he starts back for the cot the motel so generously set up for him on the other side of the room.

Disbelief rises up in my throat in a low growl. "No, you're not waking me up for 'nevermind'. Come over here and sit down- here, I'll move over- and tell me what's bugging you. Nevermind how boys aren't allowed to talk about their feelings, according to some strange law I don't understand."

"Is that how you really feel?"

"We're not talking about how I feel," I say stubbornly. Braydon lets out an overly done sigh, but turns around and sits on the bed, far away from me. I've won.

"What was your first race like?" he asks.

I draw my knees up to my chest, the cover squishing as I rest my head on them and think, not sure how it's a relevant question. "It was... honestly, it was a mess. Nothing can prepare you for galloping a two year old that doesn't know what it's doing, surrounded by other two year olds that don't know what they're doing. There's dirt flying everywhere, and you don't know who to concentrate on, and everybody around you knows so much better than you do."