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Then a surprise.
“Back to the pizza place!” Graves announced. “We’ve shut the joint down for your graduation party. All the wings and pizza you can stand. And salad if you’re into that kind of thing,” he said through a shrug.
“You didn’t have to close it down. We don’t really have any families to invite.” Or friends, except Ryan. But I didn’t want to share that and sound pathetic.
“What are we? Roadkill?” Grave’s eyebrows climbed his forehead, “and we love a good party, so get your asses over there.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Thatcher caught my hand and tugged me to his car. I guessed I was riding with him and Trinity.
We couldn’t all ride with Rhys with our stuff piled in the back. There had been no point unloading it at Beck’s when he was going to be leaving the trailer so soon.
“What’s the plan now?” I turn around to look at Trinity in the backseat.
“What do you mean?”
Last night at dinner we didn’t talk about anything college or future. It actually turned out to be more of a reminiscing for Thatcher and Trinity and I just got to go along for the ride.
I hadn’t minded. Watching them slowly repair their relationship over the last few months had really been something special.
“College. You can go now. Did you apply anywhere?”
Thatcher perked up next to me. It seemed he hadn’t had this conversation with her either. That was crazy. All we seemed to do was talk about our futures together.
“I did.” She coughed.
“And?”
“It’s weird. I don’t really want to tell you.”
Thatcher and I exchanged looks.
“It’s nothing bad, jeez.” She rolled her eyes when she caught Thatcher’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “It’s just, not what I had always planned.”
I smiled, parroting Jonah. “We change. It only makes sense our goals change with us. Isn’t it better to know now before you invest years and money in college for something you don’t want to do?”
Thatcher had always said she wanted to go into the medical field, but I’d never actually heard Trinity say that.
“I’ve been talking to a therapist—” Thatcher’s gaze sharpened as she made that admission. “Not officially where we use insurance or anything, more like a connection made through a friend. And they told me about this program in Southeastern Colorado at a community college there. It’s not prestigious or anything, but it sounds interesting.”
“You’re drawing this out. I need answers. What is it?” I twisted further in my seat to face her, trying to show her I was excited for whatever she wanted to do. Something I never got from my parents.
“It’s an equine science class. They also do classes to teach you how to break horses.”
“But Trinity, you’ve never even been on a horse.”
I slipped down in my seat, not wanting to be in the middle if this diverted into an argument. But Trinity snorted, dispelling that unfounded fear.
“I know. It’s not horse riding that I want to go into the program for. It’s equine therapy.”
“Huh?” Thatcher said, finally pulling his gaze away from the mirror and back to the road.
“Horses can sense human emotion. You also have to be at ground zero to work with them, because they reflect those emotions back. They’re used a lot in therapy programs for abused children or veterans with PTSD. It’s—I probably sound stupid explaining this, but that’s what I’d like to learn about. Maybe doing therapy like that one day for other people. But I can take a few classes first, and even see if I click with horses. Who knows, they might scare the hell out of me.” She tossed her hands up as if she were self-conscious about her decision.
“I think that’s a great idea, Trinity,” I said quietly. “That could be good therapy for you, and who better to teach a type of therapy than someone who has benefited from it.”
Thatcher was quiet, and when I glanced over at him, he was once again watching her in the rearview mirror, unshed tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Trinity. I’m sorry you feel like you need therapy, and I wasn’t there to save you from it.” His voice scratched from his sudden heavy emotions.
