Chapter 100 Aslan
Aslan
My heart stopped.
A cold chill ran through my body as everything twisted into some slow-motion nightmare. Bile rose in my throat as I pushed to my feet, dizzy, unsteady.
I was going to be sick.
Just seconds ago, I had known this would happen.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I couldn’t believe Mr. Thorpe had actually assigned that horse for the jump. I couldn’t believe what kind of delusional, reckless mind thought that was even remotely acceptable.
For a second, I wondered if this had been arranged. If Helena had asked for it, in her prepotent, psychotic mind, intending to draw attention to her family by doing the impossible before the exam even started. We had all seen her with our trainer earlier, not just talking, but directing, controlling the entire atmosphere like she owned it. But why would she risk it? Why would she ever allow her own son to get on a horse like that?
And if she didn’t know the horse was unsafe—if this was Thorpe’s decision alone—then it made even less sense. This was supposed to be a performance. A demonstration. He should have been pairing riders with their best matches, not throwing them into something that could go wrong in front of an entire audience.
This wasn’t strict training.
This was insane.
At first, I thought it had to be a mistake. So, I stepped in and reminded him that Tempest was still unpredictable, still untamed. Okay, granted that I could've said that in private and not loud enough for the entire arena to hear, but I didn't respond well to panic and outrage, so yeah, what can I say?
In response to my audacity, he had shut me down—just as publicly—assuring me I was not the only genius who could ride Tempest.
Mr. Thorpe always said there were no bad horses, only bad riders.
Well, by now, he should’ve known—Garrett was right in that second group.
The moment he stepped forward, when he actually reached for the reins and mounted, something in my chest dropped so hard it hurt.
Holy shit.
What the hell was he doing? I couldn't really stop this, but he could!
We both knew exactly what that horse was capable of. We had been exactly one wrong move away from disaster last time.
Garrett didn’t have that control… And still—as he started moving—a part of me hoped.
Maybe, somehow, under all that pressure, something would click.
Maybe a miracle would happen.
I watched him take control, watched the tension in his shoulders, the way his body adjusted, the way he forced authority into every movement even when the horse resisted him. It wasn’t perfect, not even close, but it was enough to make something inside me tighten with something dangerously close to pride.
Fuck his mother's unrealistic expectations. God, I hated her so much already…
For an instant—
I thought he had it.
My heart was pounding wildly, my hands trembling at my sides as I watched him line up the jump, watched him follow every step, every instinct, every correction I knew he needed.
I had never been this scared in my life.
Not for myself. Not for anything, but for him.
I wanted him to make it. I wanted him to prove them wrong, to prove himself, to stand there in front of all of them—his mother, his father—and show them that he could do this. That he was more than whatever they set him up to be, and I would have given anything to help him do it.
He was ok, he was ok... And then—it broke.
The movement. The rhythm. The control.
I saw it before it happened.
The hesitation. The wrong distance. The shift.
“No—” I breathed. “Oh, God, oh, God…”
I stopped breathing, everything suddenly blurry around me.
And then he fell. It wasn’t just the fall. It was the sound.
Even from where I stood, I heard it—the impact, the sickening crack that didn’t belong in something like this—and something inside me snapped along with it.
I felt a cold sweat drenching my body.
The arena exploded.
Gasps, shouting, people rising to their feet, voices overlapping, chaos breaking through the carefully controlled performance.
I didn’t think. I didn’t see anyone.
Not Thorpe.
Not Helena.
Not anyone.
I grabbed the nearest horse and ran.
I barely registered getting on, barely registered the movement under me as I pushed forward, crossing the arena as fast as I could, my focus locked on one thing, one place, one person. My chest hurt with that familiar pang, but I pushed through it, breathing through the pain.
“Not now! Breathe, breathe… He needs you,” I whispered, over and over, my voice shaking, barely even aware I was speaking. “I’m coming, I’m coming—”
And then I saw him on the ground. Twisted. Not moving right.
My heart stopped. I jumped off before the horse had fully stopped, stumbling forward as I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands already reaching, already searching, already checking.
“Garrett—hey, hey—” My voice broke before I could stop it. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Don’t move, okay? Don’t—just stay with me.”
He was breathing. Thank God, he was breathing.
“You shouldn't—” he whispered, and I saw fear in his eyes. I thought it was because of the accident, but clearly his mind was torn.
“I don't give a shit, babe. You need me. You need me, and I'm here.”
He stopped resisting then and eased in my arms, his breathing steadying along with mine.
Soon after, others rushed in—riders, instructors, the medical team crossing the arena at full speed—but none of it mattered.
Garrett’s face was twisted in pain. I reached for his hand, my own shaking so badly I could barely breathe. Our eyes met, and we didn’t say a word, but I knew he saw everything I was feeling in that moment—everything I had never felt before in my life.
The sickening fear and the overwhelming relief collided inside me, tangled with pain, confusion, anger, and something dangerously close to gratitude just for having him there, still with me.
Emotions I didn’t even know existed. And I saw them reflected right back at me in his blue eyes.
I wanted to hold him tighter, to pull him close, to breathe him in. I wanted to tell him not to ever scare me like that again, but before either of us could say anything, I was pulled away as the medical team took over.
I didn’t leave. I couldn’t.
I just stood there, watching as they worked around him, every second stretching too long, too loud, too real.
And then, just like that, reality came crashing back.
The noise returned all at once—voices overlapping, instructions being shouted, movement everywhere. I caught sight of Helena just a few feet away, her face pale, unreadable, her gaze locked on me with something that made my stomach turn. Aitor’s arms came around me, steadying me, grounding me, protecting me from her, from myself... while Trisha rushed toward the scene, panic written all over her face.
Everything blurred together.
Everything except him.
Because even as they lifted him, even as they started to take him away, his eyes found mine again.
And for a second—
Clarity hit.
Aitor practically had to carry my uncooperative body back to my dorm.
He stepped out to grab me a couple of painkillers for the headache splitting my skull, giving me a minute to myself.
For a while, I couldn’t remember anything. Not the voices. Not the comments. Not the whispers or the gossip that must have followed.
The only thing I remembered was locking myself in the bathroom and throwing up—everything. The nerves, the fear, the sickness twisting inside me until there was nothing left.
Only later, under the shower, did I let the water run over me, through me, like it could wash any of it away. My hands were still shaking, my heart still hammering against my ribs as the weight of it all refused to leave. And then I dropped, right there under the stream, my body giving in as I sank to the ground.
“Fuck… fuck…” My voice broke, barely more than a breath. “What the hell is going on with me? Why am I feeling this…?”
I pressed my hand against my head, like I could stop it, like I could shut it down before it settled into something real.
Before that same clarity from the field hit me again.
The realization that, maybe… Garrett was the one person I couldn’t live without.