Page 33 of Unbroken (Poplar Springs #2)

THIRTY-ONE

FIONA

“ S he’s so shiny,” Patrick said as he worked the curry comb in circles over Georgia’s ebony flank.

I was hoping that distraction would help Patrick forget about the stomachache he had today, which was why he was standing on a stool brushing horses with me.

His latest bout of stomach troubles meant that Eli had been forced to run to his mom’s to pick Patrick up midday again, nearly making him late to his planning meeting with Josh.

I had happily stepped in to watch him. Having been told in confidence by Eli that the problem was probably more emotional than physical, I’d decided that rather than sequestering him in a bedroom, sunshine and horses might be a better idea.

At the very least, they offered more of a distraction and might help the little boy open up some as to what had his insides in such knots.

“It’s because you’re doing such a great job brushing her,” I said, smiling at Patrick’s gentle handling.

“I love horses, just like my dad,” he said, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he focused on his work .

It was amazing how much he looked like his father, complete with a miniature flannel shirt, the cutest little Wrangler jeans, and cowboy boots. He had his dad’s serious expression as he brushed as well.

“I love horses, too!” I said hoping to possibly gather some intel on the boy while it was just the two of us hanging out in a relaxed way. “What else do you like?”

“Um … I like dinosaurs. And Christmas.” He paused to think. “Frogs. Legos. Cupcakes.”

“That’s awesome, I like all of that stuff too.” I laughed. “Especially cupcakes. Have you tried the ones at Carly’s yet? I heard they’re super tasty.”

He nodded his head hard enough to hurt. “I like the peanut butter ones and the…uh…black and white ones.” He frowned. “I don’t know what they’re called but they have chocolate and chocolate chips and white frosting that doesn’t taste like frosting.”

I ran the comb over Misty’s flank and she sidestepped closer to me enjoying the pampering.

“Hmm, I think you’re referring to tuxedo cupcakes—they’re black and white and they have a cream cheese frosting.

” I rubbed my stomach with an exaggerated gesture that made him giggle.

“You are making me hungry, Patrick Carter, and I’m pretty sure we don’t have any sweets here that would come close to tasting as good as those cupcakes. ”

I finished with Misty and guided her into her stall before starting on Georgia’s other side. “Okay, so what’s some stuff you don’t like? I’ll go first. I don’t like mean people, mayonnaise, and mosquitoes. Your turn.”

Patrick frowned and paused. “I don’t like mosquitoes either. I sometimes like mayonnaise.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “But I don’t like school. ”

The immediate change in his tone—almost like he was scared—made me realize that I might be on to something. “Huh. Was eighth grade really tough on you?”

Patrick erupted into giggles. “I’m not in eighth grade! I’m going to be in kindergarten !”

“Ohhh,” I said, widening my eyes and nodding. “That’s right, of course. Kindergarten. But you haven’t started yet, so how do you already know you don’t like it?”

Patrick went back to brushing and shrugged.

“Kindergarten is really fun,” I said, hoping to coax more out of him. “You get to make new friends, play lots of games, and learn cool stuff. I love learning new things.”

He didn’t answer and his brush strokes slowed. I realized that I needed to proceed with caution if I wanted him to keep talking.

“You get to color,” I said. “Do you like drawing?”

“Yes.” Patrick nodded. “But how do you know if your drawing is the best out of all of them? Will the teacher tell you?”

I walked to where I could see Patrick better. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugged again and refused to look at me, focusing instead on picking at the brush bristles.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘best’ drawing, monkey. All that matters is that you try your hardest, you have fun while you’re doing it, and you’re proud of what you made.”

“That’s not what Grandpa says.” Patrick ran the brush across the back of his hand.

Bingo .

“Is that so? What did he tell you?”

Patrick jumped off the stool and started walking in circles. “He said that I have to be the best. That’s what everyone’s expecting of me, since I’m a Carter. He said all that matters is first place, and second place is just another name for a loser.”

I fought to keep my expression neutral and balled my hands into fists at the audacity of the man.

He put on a pious face in public, but I knew he was a difficult man in private.

I just hadn’t realized he was this difficult.

To say something like that to his own grandchild?

What an asshole. “Well, I don’t think that’s true at all.

And calling someone a loser isn’t very nice. ”

“He says it all the time,” Patrick whispered, looking around like he was afraid his grandfather was going to pop out from a stall. “And I don’t want to be a loser!”

I knelt so I’d be at eye level with Patrick. “Monkey, you are certainly not a loser. Not even close. And I don’t agree with what your grandpa said about needing to be the best. I think working hard, trying, learning, and being kind are more important than being the best.”

“Really?”

The hope in his eyes made my heart break.

“Yes, really. And I know your dad agrees with me.”

“But Grandpa said Daddy has always been the best, and I have to be just like him.”

I shook my head slowly. “That’s not true. Your daddy is super smart, and he works really hard, but sometimes he’s still not the best—and that’s just fine. Like the other day, he and my brother Josh had a little horse race. Guess who won.”

“Daddy? ”

“Nope, Josh did. And they laughed about it! Your daddy’s not a sore loser. No, sir. They had fun together and ran an honest race, which was all that mattered to him. He even congratulated Josh when it was over.”

Patrick’s little body seemed to sag with relief.

“Monkey, is that’s what’s been bothering you and giving you bellyaches? Feeling like you had to be the best all the time?”

He nodded. “And I’m scared of school,” he said in a whisper.

I pulled him into a hug, and he wrapped his little arms around my neck. “Oh, don’t be! You’re going to have a nice teacher, and he or she is going to help you learn everything when you’re ready. That’s what they’re there for, you know? No one will be keeping score, I promise.”

“Grandpa will,” he said, muffled against my shoulder.

I refrained from mentioning that they were probably going to be moving out of his grandfather’s iron fist of influence soon. It seemed like Patrick didn’t know about that yet.

“Don’t you worry. No matter what, your daddy is always going to be proud of you as long as you try hard.”

I heard footsteps on the gravel and looked up to see Eli walking over, grinning at us. My heart tripped out of rhythm for a second as he got closer, the warmth of his smile reminding me of how much had changed between us.

“Look at this hug fest,” he said. “But what’s going on? Patrick, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I said I needed help with Georgia,” I said, widening my eyes at him meaningfully, hoping he’d understand that there was more to the story. “But I think he’s feeling a little better now, right monkey? ”

“I am. Daddy, can I go to the tire swing?”

Eli frowned at him. “I’m not sure swinging is the best idea if you’ve got a sore belly …”

“ Please ! It’ll help, and I’ll swing really slow.”

I could see him fighting laughter. “Okay, but take it easy, you hear me?” Eli said in a mock-stern voice. “If your tummy starts to hurt, you need to stop immediately.”

“I will,” Patrick shouted over his shoulder as he ran away.

We watched him, side by side.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him,” Eli said, finally dragging his eyes from the small retreating figure.

“No problem. How did the meeting go?”

“Honestly?” Eli sighed and shook his head.

“I felt disloyal talking about next season when I’m not even sure I’m going to be here.

And based on Josh’s projections, it sounds like he’s going to need me.

The growth is incredible and he’s talking about adding more simultaneous rides during peak seasons, which means needing more trail guides. ”

“Have you heard anything about the job?” I asked, feeling anxious at the thought of saying goodbye.

Eli frowned, which was at odds with what he said next. “Yeah, they want to set up a screening call with me. Not an interview, exactly, but the first step to one.”

“That’s fantastic,” I said, trying to muster excitement into my voice.

“See? My input really helped.” If this job was what Eli wanted, then I wanted it for him …

mostly. I just wished I knew what it meant for us.

Or if there even was an us. We hadn’t exactly talked about our time together in the tack room—not that I didn’t think about it every time I had to go in there .

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Eli said, staring at Patrick swinging away in the distance.

“Wait … what’s wrong?” I asked, scanning his face.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Stay, go … I have no clue what’s best for us.”

I moved closer and rubbed his back. “It’s a big decision, I get it.”

“And moving away means I won’t be able to rely on my mom to watch Patrick. It’ll be the two of us against the world.”

“Yeah, speaking of your family …” I drifted off, aware that what I had to tell him was going to piss him off—but also certain that he needed to know.

“What?” He jerked abruptly to look at me. “Is something wrong with Patrick?”

I crossed my arms. “Well, I think I figured out what’s causing his stomachaches. He said that your dad has been telling him that he needs to be the best at everything he does, and if he isn’t, then he’s a loser.”

I watched Eli’s face turn red with anger. “What the actual fuck ? He said that to a five-year-old?”

“I know. It really got into his head, and that’s probably why he keeps feeling sick. The stress. He said he’s scared of school. I think he’s afraid of what will happen if he’s not the best at whatever they learn.”

Eli started pacing in almost the same spot his son had just been. “That old man put me through hell, trying to live up to his expectations. There’s no way I’m going to let him do the same thing to my kid!”

“At least you know now,” I offered .

“I know I’m going to punch my dad if he doesn’t lay off Patrick,” he fumed. “How did I miss that? What kind of father doesn’t pick up on something like that?”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re super busy, and it’s not like he was telling him that in front of you,” I said.

“Yeah, but nothing’s more important than my son.

And I should’ve known my dad would pull that shit with Patrick.

He’s got it stuck in his head that everyone is watching the preacher’s family, just waiting for us to fuck something up, so we have to be in peak form at all times.

He refuses to acknowledge that his ‘model family’ was always dysfunctional.

It’s been eight years since they separated, and he still refuses to give my mom the divorce she asked for.

He genuinely thinks that it’s just some sort of phase with her and she’ll come back to him. Eight years!”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

Eli slammed his fist into his palm. “I’m so mad at myself! I’ve been wrapped up in work and the job hunt and trying to figure out what’s best for the two of us that I didn’t stop to see what was going on right in front of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, wishing I could calm him down. “And kids are resilient. He’s going to be fine now that you know what’s going on, and you can deal with it.”

“I’ll tell you who’s not going to be fine …”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be a fun conversation. I’m sorry.”

Something finally seemed to click inside of Eli, and he turned to me. “Thanks for figuring it out.” Weirdly, the words sounded more reluctant than grateful, though maybe that made sense considering the words that followed. “I wish I’d been the one to do it. ”

“Stop,” I said softly, moving closer to take his hands in mine. “What matters now is that you make it right.”

Eli gazed toward Patrick, looking as if he was getting ready to fight a familial battle he was all too familiar with.