Kinsley

The pasture is mind-boggling.

A barn-wood fence outlines the grassy area. As we walk the perimeter, I run my hand over it. The surface is smooth after years of weathering.

Noel's ahead of me, leading me to the metal gate ahead. When we arrive, he unlocks it, pushes it open, and gestures for me to step through.

Several feet away and to my right are the stables. I can't see much regarding the inside. I hope Noel will give me a tour of the stables.

Steeping through the gate, I wipe sweat from my forehead. Ahead, I see the pregnant mare Noel mentioned yesterday.

Buttercup stands at the far corner, just next to the water trough. She's tan-coloured with a blonde mane. It almost matches my hair colour. Golden-blonde. Similar to wheat beneath the sunshine. A white marking covers her nasal bone and forehead.

Buttercup is a juvenile name. Such a beautiful mare deserves a much more refined name. However, I understand why they chose it. She resembles a buttercup.

The clatter of metal against metal snags my attention. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Noel locking the fence.

"I see why you named her Buttercup."

Noel shakes his head. "It's not because of her colouring. Many people think that. But we named her Buttercup because she was born in April. It was the first day we saw the flowers poking up from the thawing ground. The name seemed fitting. Being the first sign of spring and all. That winter was long and rough. A foal being born—early, I might add—was a breath of fresh air." He squints into the distance. At Buttercup. "Dumb luck is why it suits her."

Okay, maybe the name isn't so juvenile. I love it when there is a deeper reason behind a name. Buttercup is rich with symbolism. Not just the first name they found on Google or dictated by something as simple as colour.

There's a purpose behind it.

My thought pattern makes my logic sound messed up. But it's a side effect of trauma.

There was no purpose behind the accident. It just happened. That drunk driver ruined my life. They shattered the woman I used to be.

"Come on," Noel says. He bumps his shoulder against mine. "Let's introduce you to Buttercup."

"Okay," I nod.

Our gazes are locked. My chest feels tight. Like no matter how many times I take a deep breath, my lungs are never satisfied. It's exhilarating and anxiety-inducing at the same time. 

Feeling overwhelmed, I step around Noel and walk across the tall grass.

However, my feet get tangled with my loose shoelaces. One moment, I'm walking. The next, I'm falling to the ground.

Thankfully, my face doesn't break the fall.

Noel's hand grips my bicep as he steadies me. "Are you okay?"

While my heartbeat calms and the adrenaline lessens, I stare at Noel's hand. His touch is warm through the thin fabric of my flannel.

He releases my arm. "Are you okay?" he repeats.

"Yes," I nod. "Thank you."

"May I?" He gestures to my shoelaces.

No should be my answer. I can't. It's as if an inhibitor is overriding the neurotransmitters in my brain. This feels intimate.

Yet I nod.

Noel kneels. The muscles in his shoulders flex against the cotton fabric of his shirt as he leans over and ties my shoelaces.

I stand here, feeling awkward. Should I make conversation? What do I do? Why am I feeling this way? My body shouldn't be reacting to his touch. To his gesture.

Before I can answer questions, Noel finishes trying the shoelace. Then he stands up.

He cocks an eyebrow. A joking smirk settles on his lips. "You know, you're supposed to keep them tied up."

My cheeks turn scarlet. I flick my gaze down to the ankle-high grass. "Obviously," I murmur. "Difficult to care about something so mundane when you're in love with the scenery."

His grin stretches into a smile. I'm afraid my comment has added to his arrogance.

Clearing my throat, I say, "This is a nice set up."

Noel squints into the distance, at the acres and acres of land. "It is. Normally, we would have Buttercup out with the other horses. She's too close to her due date, though. That's why she's locked in here."

A smile encompasses my face. Buttercup has stopped moving since we arrived. "She seems like she prefers her freedom."

"Trust me, she is," he laughs.

We stop about a metre or two away from Buttercup. Noel steps forward, holding his hand out. She closes the rest of the space, nuzzling against his hand.

Nervousness grips my spine, preventing me from moving. Although I'm fond of horses and have ridden twice, they aren't part of my everyday life.

Approaching a horse is common sense. You're meant to be cautious. But until my class in animal behaviour, I didn't know exactly how to approach one. Until now, I lacked certain points of knowledge. It's what happens when you don't grow up surrounded by horses. 

Approaching the horse is common sense. You never storm over. If you do, there's a high chance you'll spook them. The results wouldn't be good.

What people don't think about is the emotional connection or the concept of recognition. To Buttercup, I'm a stranger. We've never met before. She doesn't know if she can trust me. I have to remedy that.

"Come on," Noel says. He jerks his head to Buttercup. "She won't bite."

With caution, I extend my arm. It's inches away from her muzzle. I can feel the hot hair coming from her nostrils. Allowing her to make the next move will signify trust. There's a sense of balance when you meet halfway. Neither of us is superior or lesser. In addition, I make eye contact with her. Her eyes are a beautiful dark shade of brown.

I hold my breath while I wait. I want Buttercup to like me. We'll be spending lots of time together while I complete my fieldwork.

Curious, Buttercup takes a step forward. She presses her muzzle into my hand and huffs out a hot puff of air.

Before I can prevent Noel from seeing my emotions, a smile blossoms across my face. With trust pushed to the wayside, I'm able to approach Buttercup.

I stand on her other side, running my fingers through her mane.

"Hi, pretty girl," I whisper.

She huffs again. It almost sounds like a snort.

My stupid smile broadens. As does the warmth in my chest.

Being here kind of reminds me of the Calgary Stampede. There are similarities in scents and animals.

Years ago, Mom, Dad, Aaron, Jessa, and I attended. It was a long day of pancakes, hot weather, greasy fair food, rides, rodeo shows, and country music.

By the end of the day, exhaustion had set in.

I, however, hadn't gotten my chance to see the animals.

It was difficult to persuade my parents. They wanted to go home and sleep. Jessa, though, persuaded them. She could charm the hell out of our parents.

Seeing the foals and horses was breathtaking. I fell in love with them. Especially the jet black foal we came across. Ignoring the signs, I stuck my hand through the fence. This foal was foolish or trusted me because it nuzzled against my hand.

Just like Buttercup is doing now.

Bittersweet emotions rise to the back of my throat. Tears threaten with their familiar burning.

Our trip to the Calgary Stampede will forever hold a place in my heart. Being with Aaron and my family... I took it for granted. But at least I have the memory. We laughed and smiled. We had fun.

And then the foal sneezed all over Aaron. He'd leaned down to get a better view.

Jessa almost peed herself by laughing. Aaron was disgusted, but that disgust was soon broken by a smile. Mom and Dad were behind us. When I looked over my shoulder, after cleaning Aaron's face with my sweater, they were smiling. Holding hands. Looking content.

"What are you thinking about?" Noel murmurs.

I blink. His voice plucks me from my memories, plopping me back into reality.

When we make eye contact, I note the question in his eyes. The half-smile on his handsome face.

"A happy memory," I reply. "One that's close to my heart."

My words surprise me. Memories will usually pull me underwater. I get stuck in torrents of emotion. They consume me, filling my lungs with emotions my heart can't bear. The experience is comparable to drowning.

Memories shatter me.

They make me realize I have nothing left. The people I love are dead. We can't make memories together. There will never be a present or future. Just the past.

My current state of mind is rare. There is no urge to cry. To breakdown and scream at the world. Trauma isn't taking control of my conscience.

I'm happy.

Letting this memory ruin my day isn't what I want.

Instead, I want it to be the fuel.

"Must be a good one," Noel smiles.

"It is," I admit.

"If I'm not being too bold, think about that memory more often."

Glancing at Buttercup, I stroke her neck. "Far too bold."

"That smile looks beautiful on you."

I'm too aware of my surroundings. The grass tickling my ankles. I rolled my jeans up prior to the tour. The sun warming my back. Buttercup's breath on my arm. Noel's vulnerable emotions.

"So I've heard," I mutter.

Cole said something similar.

My conclusion is they're both idiots. These scars hold tragedy. My heart is broken. Every time I try to pick up the pieces, I cut myself. It is glass. Nothing will repair my heart.

Noel's hand rests on my shoulder. "Hey. I know that look. I see it in the mirror sometimes. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

A buzz settles in my blood. I'm anxious. Exhilarated.

Trauma and emotions are colliding in my chest. I don't know where to turn.

Noel sounds like a therapist. They think it's easy to discuss events of your past. That's not true. Trauma isn't easy to discuss. I understand the cycle. Repainting the experience in your mind is how you pinpoint the root of the trauma. How you deal with it.

It's just difficult.

Even after copious amounts of therapy sessions and the time I spent in rehab, I still have issues.

Noel drops his hand from my shoulder. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

My silence has made him uncomfortable.

Or so I'm assuming.

Turns out, I'm wrong.

"You're difficult to talk to," Noel says.

His words are spontaneous. I blink several times. "What?"

He sighs. "Where am I supposed to direct this conversation, Kinsley? I... I understand you're closed off to the world. Just tell me if you don't want me here. I'll leave. Now that you've met Buttercup, I don't have a purpose here. At least, that's what it feels like. Like you don't want me here."

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Telling Noel to leave would be a mistake. I want him here.

Perhaps I'm making a mistake.

Moments are like chain reactions. When one happens, it sets off the next. The explosions continue until you're left in a mess of carnage.

It terrifies me.

Wanting Noel to keep me company terrifies me. He's grown on me. Even though I feel like I'm betraying Aaron, my heart continues to yearn for Noel's company. I like his arrogance. How he owns up to mistakes he's made. How kind-hearted he is.

I never want to forget my loved ones. But I know, through therapy, it's my job to close the wounds. To heal. Grief, relief, and thankfulness can coexist. 

An inverted V forms between my brows. My lips part. I close the space between us. Logic tells me not to move closer. The emotions in my heart tell me otherwise.

"I want to continue the tour, Noel. I-I don't want you to leave."

Noel's smouldering brown gaze meets mine.

His brown eyes make me breathless. They're so dark, yet they bring warmth and kindness.

I take a deep breath. Guilt still reverberates through my bones. I haven't worked hard enough to remove it. Haven't healed enough.

But I know I should try.

"Kinsley..."

I'm not sure who moves first. Either way, there's consent on both sides.

Noel's lips are on mine. His hand rests on my hips. One cups my face. He smells of hay and laundry detergent, sending my head into a tizzy.

Everything surrounding us has blended together like watercolours. A collage of colours and shapes that means nothing.

My arms slide around his neck as the kiss deepens.

Despite the potent emotions, we're hesitant with each other.

I should push him away.

We shouldn't be kissing.

What about Aaron?

The trauma?

All these questions are overpowered. We're walking a treacherous slope. One my heart is already addicted to in the worst way.

Several seconds pass before Noel pulls away. There's a frown on his face. Dread fills my stomach. God, I must be a terrible kisser. The last person I kissed like that was Aaron.

Then I realize Noel isn't looking at me. He's looking over my shoulder.

Turning around, I meet a familiar British accent.

"Blimey."

Cole climbs over the fence and saunters to us.

"I leave you two alone for less than a week and you're already snogging."

He pulls Noel into a hug.

Noel welcomes him with a smile. "Good to have you here, man."

"Good to be here," Cole replies.

Then Cole hugs me.

A crease forms between my brows. Cole doesn't seem upset about Noel and me kissing.

Me?

I feel guilty. He must think I'm terrible for kissing his best friend. That's all that runs through my mind when he pulls out of the hug.

When I glance at him, I see a glimmer of hope in his striking green eyes. Hope that intensifies when he glances between Noel and I.

"So," Cole says. "Tell me, what's the plan for today?"