Page 8 of Flight of the Omega

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” JP protested, finally taking his limb back and resisting the urge to tuck his arm to his side, like a broken wing.

“Needs ice and rest, at least.” Jack frowned. “How’d you manage that anyway?”

JP flushed. Jack knew damn well how it had happened; he’d tried to tackle “Cerulean” to the ground. JP had reeled and smashed his wing off the metal post of the pen. It had been sore and swollen since, although he hadn’t thought it was that bad. He’d had worse, at least.

“You need a hand with that?” Jack asked as he stood up. He’d drained his coffee mug.

JP shook his head, cradling the injured hand. “I’ll be all right,” he murmured.

Jack considered him for a long moment, eyes piercing through JP, and for a second, JP thought he might have guessed his secret.

“Well, anyway,” Jack said. “You rest that up. You can’t learn to ride like that.” Another critical gaze. “Ain’t seen you in the barn much. Expect that’ll change with the Plate coming up, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” JP stuttered.

With that, Jack strode off, leaving JP to contemplate what the hell had just happened—and why his heart was still racing.