After the Fall

claustrophobic, control-freak nerves didn’t sound incredibly tempting. “I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”
    I didn’t do much after that. My routine for the next twenty-four hours or so consisted of eating enough to take a pain pill, sleeping until that wore off, and then eating again so I could take another dose and fall asleep again. By the end of the second day, the pain was bearable enough to go a little longer between pills, and I spent more time awake and coherent.
    At some point, Brad let me know he’d notified a few of the neighbors so that, in the event of an emergency, someone could help me. Awesome. Because being encased in plaster and stuck in my apartment wasn’t fun enough without the added worry about a fire or something.
    Four days after the accident, the pain was tolerable and the only thing worse than the relentless itching under the cast was the cabin fever. And the need to see Tsarina. Cody had assured me via multiple texts that she was doing fine and hadn’t shown any sign of injury from the other day. Still, I wanted to see her. I hadn’t waited all these years to have a horse only to stay away from her.
    By the fifth day, I was recovered enough and ready to get the fuck out of this apartment before the walls closed in around me, and it all came down to the white pain pill in my palm. Take it now, and I’d spend the afternoon in a pain-free fog. Or at least, in pain but not giving a shit about it. Don’t take it, and I’d spend the day hurting but with a clear head. Or rather, hurting enough to be uncomfortable, but with a clear enough head to get out of this suffocating apartment for a little while.
    I glanced back and forth between the pill in my hand and the phone in the other. After some hemming and hawing, I pulled up Ryan’s number on my contact list, which gave me another pause. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the arrangement we’d made to have him riding Tsarina. Then again, I wouldn’t be riding anytime soon and didn’t have a lot of alternatives, so I made the call.
    “Hey, Nathan,” he answered. “How are you feeling?”
    “Better. Thanks.”
    “Good to hear.”
    An awkward silence tried to set in—how the hell do you talk to the person who put you in a cast?—so I cleared my throat. “Listen, I was wondering, are you still game for learning to ride?”
    “Yeah, absolutely.”
    “Busy this afternoon?”
    “I’m off work at three thirty. You sure you’re up for it? It’s only been a few days.”
    “I’m doing okay, actually. The worst is over, so the pain’s not as bad as you might think.”
    “That’s good to hear. Glad it’s bearable.” He paused. “If you’re really up for it, I can come by after work and drive you to the barn.”
    That gave me pause. It hadn’t occurred to me I still had to get to the barn. “You don’t mind?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Okay.” I gave him the address. “See you around four?”
    “I’ll be there.”

    Right on time, a knock at the door.
    “Come on in,” I said.
    The door opened and—
    Holy hot dude, Batman.
    I hadn’t been in any state of mind to really check him out the other day, but I made up for lost time now. He’d traded his motorcycle regalia for a pair of relaxed fit jeans and a faded Metallica T-shirt with the very edge of a tattoo sticking out from beneath his sleeve. His hair was damp and perfectly arranged, so he must’ve showered before he’d come over here— don’t imagine it, Nathan, don’t imagine a single second of it .
    His boots weren’t what I’d call riding boots, but they had a sharp heel, which was the important thing—if there was a mishap, his foot wouldn’t go all the way through the stirrup. As much as I would have been happy to see him dragged behind my horse while I was still royally pissed off and in a world of pain, I’d calmed down considerably since then and really didn’t want him getting hurt now.
    Besides, he still had one hell of a bruise on the side of his face. I decided we were even.
    “So how is your—” I made a circular gesture at the same region on my own face.
    He gingerly touched the corner of his mouth, then shrugged. “It looks worse than it is.” With a wink, he added, “That was a pretty impressive right hook.”
    I laughed. “Well, remind me not to do it again.” I held up the cast. “This pain in the ass wasn’t worth the trade-off.”
    “I don’t doubt it. So . . .” He spun his keys around his finger. “Ready to