Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,23
mix of awestruck wonder balanced by the hint of sadness that still lingers there. “I crave the way the harsh structure and its little tolerance for error transforms into a thing of seemingly effortless beauty.” When I look up, he’s set his cup down, giving me his utmost attention. Thus, I feel compelled to offer up my truth. “I gave my life to the sport”—I move another ice cube in my drink—“and it protected me. It was my safe haven,” I whisper, twirling the straw one more time, mirroring the whirlpool of emotions swimming in my chest. “Until now.”
“What did it protect you from?” He speaks with want of understanding in his voice. It’s a multitude of shades different than the tone most people use where my career, or current lack thereof, is concerned.
While it didn’t occur to me that he’d home in on the most personal part of my description, it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to me either. The man seems to miss very little.
“It protected me . . .” I pause. It seems odd to share so much so quickly with someone who’s still a perfect stranger, but the hesitation is fleeting and the words fall from my lips without any more thought. “It protected me from myself.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “I care only to know so much about your riding, because the passion you harbor there is painted on your face each time I watch you with a horse. There’s a tether between you and the sport, London. Why would you need it to protect you from yourself?”
Momma always said the common misconception in relationships was that people got so caught up in finding someone who understood them when, in reality, all they needed was someone who wanted to understand them. With the right person, that would be more than enough.
“Simply put?” I ask. “I’m that girl.” I drench the word in heaviness. “The girl who bleeds dry for the things she loves. While that’s most certainly something I am not ashamed of, I’m not particularly well equipped to deal with the emotional fallout that comes with caring for something or someone to that degree or magnitude. As such, the sport laid claim to my heart and I deemed it best to give everything I had to the thing I loved most. My momma always made sure to remind us how important the breaks in our hearts are. I just chose to control mine as best as I could, but I never imagined . . .”
“It is always the things we love without abandon that have the power to truly cripple us.” He rests his elbows on the table.
“That’s a terribly scary notion,” I concede, leaning back against the booth.
“Pain comes with heartbreak, and fear often comes with change, but growth is ensured in both. There’s hardly anything wrong with being that girl.” He hovers on the word, much like I did. “In fact, being that girl is one of the very things I like so much about you. People are too coy in the pursuit of their passions, and few would so bravely line up to defend them. Your mother sounds like a smart woman.”
My heart swells in response to the way his words seem to fill the spaces I didn’t realize were empty. “She was,” I say. “I think she’d have liked you.”
“May I ask what happened to her?” He seems unsure of the question, even as each word leaves his full lips.
“It’s perfectly all right to ask.” I smile, hoping to ease some of his discomfort. “She died when I was sixteen after losing a long battle with pancreatic cancer. I’m blessed to have been raised by such a strong woman. I can only hope to emulate half the love she did.”
He gently lays his arm over one of my hands. “I’m sorry for your loss. I would have very much enjoyed meeting her.”
I swallow against the lump forming in my throat. The raw quality of our conversation is both a filling and a purging of the soul. “Tell me about your family?” It comes out as more of a request than an actual question, but amidst the depth between us, I wish to get to know him with equal if not matching intensity.
He draws his hand back and wraps it around the mug, engulfing the white ceramic with its size. I am momentarily envious that he’s now holding it as opposed to me, but I bury my envy in curiosity.
“My