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…the voice far too familiar, something ancient and primal reacting to the sound…
— shouting, noise —
…Cassie— that scream had been Cassie. Was she hurt?…
— hands grabbing for him —
…no, no — he had to stay on, he had to get to Cassie, he couldn't let go…
— trying to peel his hands from the pommel —
…if he let go, he could fall. And if he fell…
— unwrap his fingers from the reins —
…if he fell, he could behurt…
— a flash of Cassie's terrified face, her big green eyes wide and worried —
…worried? For him?…
— the sound of a knife slicing through leather —
…she was okay. She's okay, so what's all the fuss?…
— the feel of being lifted down, a shoulder under his arm —
…it's okay, it's okay — I stayed on, I didn't fall…
— trying to reach for her, to reassure her, only for lightning to erupt in his veins at the motion —
…and then…
Nothing.
Chapter 2
What they don't tell you about recovery after a thing like that — after the hospital stay, all the surgeries, the pins, the damn physical training — is that even once your doctor declares you "healed"…
You're still left with all the memories.
See, Cassie hadseenthe accident — had been just coming out of the barn chatting to her friends after their riding class. She had seen the horse rear, seen it take off. She had seen her Dad get smashed against the side of the fencing and fall — but she hadn't seen him get back up.
And how she hadscreamed.
There's something about your own kid screaming that justdoesstrange things to a brain, even if it's not them that's the one hurt. It's the sound of Cassie's screams that has Jakob waking up at night in a cold sweat; leg blazing like fire despite any number of doctors all agreeing it should be "almost good as new" now.
Guess it depended on your definition of "new," Jakob supposed.
In his book, "new" shouldn't come with shooting pains. Or aches when it gets cold. "New" didn't usually lead one to think he would be so reliant on his cane; that he’d have to retrofit his shower and everything else in his life to keep him from having to stand too long.
His arm had been a clean break, thankfully. It twinged here and there sometimes, but was sturdy enough to support his weight on the cane. But his leg…
Jakob was on his fourth specialist at this point. Hopingthiswould be the one that would stop trying to tell him most of the pain was just in his head, that she would actuallylisten.
If all the wishes were fishes, they could walk across the sea, right?
His therapist wanted him to try something new. Thought maybe it could help where nothing else had. She'd had him sign up for an art therapy class, one specifically for victims of traumatic injuries still suffering chronic pain. It was held at night in a local coffee house after hours.
