I almost correct her.
Almost tell her that fear doesn’t look the way she thinks it does, that being good at something like that doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous, doesn’t mean it can’t go wrong.
But I don’t.
Because the way she’s looking at him right now… I don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her.
Instead, I shift closer, keeping my hand light on her shoulder as I follow her gaze back to the arena. “He’s done it a lot,” I say, choosing something simple. “He knows what he’s doing.”
That seems to satisfy her.
Or maybe it just fits what she already wants to believe.
“Can I do that someday?” she asks, the question coming out so casually it takes a second for it to land.
My chest tightens again, but this time it’s different. Quieter. Heavier.
“We’ll talk about that later,” I tell her, keeping my tone even.
She nods like that’s fair, already distracted by the next rider stepping into position, her attention shifting without hesitation.
It amazes me how easily she moves through it.
How she can take something that felt like too much for me just a few seconds ago and turn it into something exciting, something worth watching again.
I wish I could do that.
I wish I could see this through her eyes and not immediately think about everything that could go wrong.
Around us, the crowd settles back into its rhythm, conversations picking up, laughter mixing with the announcer’s voice as the next ride starts. It’s like the tension resets for everyone else, like what just happened is already behind them.
But it doesn’t feel that way for me.
Because now I know what it looks like when he’s out there.
Now I know exactly how quickly things can shift.
And I can’t unsee it.
Hadley leans into the fence again, completely focused, completely present, and I stay right where I am behind her, watching the arena, watching the riders, watching the way this world moves like it makes perfect sense to everyone inside it.
I’m not part of this.
Not really.
But she is.
Or she wants to be.
And that matters more than anything else.
My gaze drifts back toward the chutes without meaning to, searching for him again, even though I tell myself I don’t need to.
He’s already done his ride.
He’s fine.
That should be enough.
