Sugar Daddies

by Jade West

  The officials were trying to stop Samson struggling, but he was wild, his legs flailing. He couldn’t get a grip against the slope of the bank, trying desperately to get enough leverage to take his own weight and failing. Both of his front legs were bloody, but one looked worse, his hoof hanging awkwardly as he flailed.

  I felt sick. So fucking sick.

  Not so much at the injury, but at the expressions on the faces of the people who knew this kind of shit. The people calling for medical assistance on their walkie-talkies.

  They hitched Samson enough to free Katie’s leg, and she screamed a terrible scream as they pulled her out, and pulled her clear. Her mother was at her side, and so were we, trying to tell her it would be alright, that she would be alright, but she wasn’t even listening. Her eyes were fixed on Samson and were streaming with tears.

  “Help him,” she said, and her hand clutched at mine. “I don’t care about me, just help him! Oh God, Carl, don’t let them hurt him. Please don’t let them hurt him!”

  She pushed me towards him, and I moved, a tentative step towards the fallen animal. And I was impotent, for the first time in my adult life I didn’t know what the fuck I should do.

  The paramedics arrived, and gave Katie some oxygen, painkillers, too, talking in calm voices as they tried to examine her leg. They made her lie flat and fastened her into a neck brace, splinted her leg as she cried into the oxygen mask, and I was scared, so fucking scared. I shot Rick a pitiful look and he was ashen, too, crouched at Katie’s side while she death-gripped his forearm, her mother on the other side of her with tears in her eyes.

  I closed the distance between me and Samson, and David appeared at my side. He gave me a look that said this was futile, and his knowledge of eventing horses filled me with absolute dread.

  “We have to save that horse,” I said under my breath. “Whatever it takes, David.”

  He nodded, patted my shoulder.

  A guy who was clearly a vet was crouched at Samson’s forelegs as a couple of stewards held the animal down, and his face was stern.

  “How bad is it?” I asked. “Please tell me you can fix him.”

  My heart was in my throat as he tipped his head from side to side. “We need to get him up, he fell awkwardly, I hope he can stand.”

  “And if you can’t get him up? If he can’t stand? What happens then?”

  David gripped my elbow, and I knew. And so did Katie.

  “No!” she screamed. “Carl, don’t let them! Whatever it takes, Carl! Please don’t let them hurt him!”

  It broke my heart to see her there, in so much pain, with so much fear. The paramedics busied themselves preparing her for the ambulance, and Rick and Debbie looked so helpless, as helpless as I felt.

  “He has to be able to support his weight,” David said, his voice so low. “If they can’t get him up, Carl…”

  I shook my head. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much this horse means to that girl. We have to get him on his feet.”

  He nodded.

  “Clear some space,” the vet said, and they gave Samson some room. He braced his forelegs on the ground, even the mangled one, and attempted to push himself up. I held my breath, willed fate to give him a break, but the poor brute slipped and fell, collapsed back against the bank, his sides heaving. I cursed under my breath.

  The vet shrugged, shot me a fatalistic glance.

  “He just needs some help,” I said. “Let’s give him some help. Come on David, help me.” We joined the stewards, and as the poor brute strained for a second attempt, I put my hands under his flank and lifted, pushed him upright with all my strength. “Come on, Samson,” I hissed. “Come on boy, get on your feet. There’s a good lad.”

  David pushed and I pushed, and we gave it everything we had to help that horse back to standing. He braced his weight on one of his forelegs, and he wavered just a moment as he struggled for grip. We gritted our teeth, held him steady, and his weight shifted as he lurched and heaved. His leg held, took the weight, enough for his back end to come up and under him.

  A big lurch, and a shove from us at his side, and he was on his feet. The boy was on his feet.

  I was breathless, heady, my forehead pressed to Samson’s sweaty neck as he struggled to limp forward on his battered legs.

  “Tendon damage,” the vet said. “Extensive, I’d say.” He looked at me, looked at David. “This horse is unlikely to work again.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.”

  “His recovery will be expensive.”

  I waved my hands and so did David, and for that one moment our thoughts aligned in perfect sync.

  “Whatever it takes,” I said.

  “Fine,” the vet said, and got to work.

  They limped Samson from the course, and applied cold compresses as the horse ambulance arrived.

  I let them do their job, let the experts take over.

  And I begged fate for mercy.

  “You saved him,” Katie whispered as they lifted her into the ambulance. Her voice was muffled and fragile, her eyes so sad.

  Our beautiful girl looked so broken, so weak, all trussed up on a stretcher.

  I leaned over her. “No,” I said. “I just helped him up.” I gestured towards David. “We both did.”

  “Good job, Carl. David,” Rick said, and Katie’s hand was still clamped tight to his wrist.

  “I want to ride in the ambulance with her,” Debbie said. “Can you follow us?”

  “There’s room for one other,” the paramedic said, and Rick looked at me.

  “Go,” I said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Katie tried to move, tried to lift her head to me, but Rick and Debbie held her firm. “Don’t leave Samson!” she cried. “Please don’t leave him, Carl! Don’t leave my boy!”

  “I won’t,” I promised, dipping my face to hers, and she relaxed, her eyes fluttering as they took her away.

  I watched the ambulance pull away, sirens blaring, and my heart dropped through the floor.

  “I’ll go with Samson,” I said to David. “Wherever they’re taking him.”

  He looked across at an ashen Verity, a shocked-looking Olivia at her side. Seb and Dommie looked sullen, and I realised we were all feeling it, every one of us. Olivia took a step towards David, beckoned him over, but he didn’t move. He held up a hand, indicated she should stay put, that they should all stay put, and then he turned to me, his eyes on Samson as they tried to load him into the truck.

  “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  We followed the horse truck, thoughts heavy as I kept the Range close behind. My legs were shaky and my nerves were shot, my mind veering between the poor brute in front of us and my poor sweet Katie on her way to the hospital. I hoped they’d stabilised her, hoped to God she wasn’t in too much pain.

  “I’m having Samson directed to our vets,” David said. “They’re the best, Carl, we use them for Verity’s show breeds. They’ll do their very best for him.”

  I nodded. “I’ll take your guidance. I know fuck all about horses.”

  He sighed. “Poor girl. Poor, poor girl.”

  “Just so long as the horse lives, David. She’ll be ok as long as Samson’s ok. She’s tough.”

  “Like her mother.”

  “And her father,” I said.

  I could feel his eyes on me. “You were right there beside her. You looked as damn well rotten as we did, Debbie and me.”

  “We love her, David. As I said.”

  His hand landed on my arm. “I can’t say it’s the situation I’d have opted for my daughter, being with two men. I can’t say the revelation filled me with joy, Carl. But despite my initial reservations, having thought things through, having known both you and Rick long enough to know the kind of men you are, you have my blessing.” He laughed gently. “For all that’s bloody worth.”

  “It’s worth a lot,” I said.

  “I’ve never been much of a fan for the path
well-trodden, Carl. You know me. I make my own route, go my own way.” He sighed. “I should have expected Katie would share my lack of respect for mindless convention.”

  “We work well, the three of us. You’ll get to see that. Hopefully.”

  “Hopefully,” he said. “I’d like that.” He shifted in his seat, exhaled a long breath. “I’d love to get to know my daughter, Carl, that’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “You’ll be impressed. She’s really something.”

  “So many years to make up for.”

  “Better late than never, David. Tomorrow is a brand new day.”

  We followed the truck to Cirencester, parked up alongside as they pulled to a stop at an equine facility. It looked the business. I felt the tension ease just a little.

  He was in safe hands, efficient hands. A team of vets and assistants got to work, unloading him with care and supporting him through to their treatment suite.

  We took a seat in the waiting area, grabbed a coffee, just like we were at a regular hospital.

  “Thanks for this,” I said. “I wouldn’t have had a fucking clue.”

  David sighed, took a sip of coffee. “I knew she loved the horse, Carl. Even I knew that. But seeing her on him, the way they rode, before the fall. She was incredible.”

  “She loves him.” I smiled. “And he loves her.”

  “So much I don’t know,” he said. “So much I need to know. Need to learn.”

  “You won’t go far wrong by starting with Samson. He’s her greatest joy. Her dreams revolve around riding, revolve around him.”

  “Harrison Gables was a chance call, because of Verity. I figured Katie would enjoy the same trip.”

  “You got that right.”

  “We’ll be here a while,” he said. “Before we get the prognosis. You could go, I’ll stay.”

  “I’ll go as soon as I can, but not until I know the situation with Samson. She’d never forgive me for turning up without answers.”

  “Who’d have ever thought it, Carl. What a twist of fate, you ending up loving my daughter, building bridges for a sad old man who’d give anything to get to know her. And finally us, ending up here, waiting for a horse’s salvation.”

  “Life is strange,” I said.

  He turned to face me, eyes warm. “Another favour for a sad old man, Carl, if you’d be so kind.”

  “You’re not so sad, nor so old, David. But fire away.”

  He smiled, a wistful smile. “Tell me about her. Tell me about my Katie. Tell me about her life, Carl, the big things, the little things. Tell me about the things that make her smile, the things about her that make you smile. Tell me what she dreams of.”

  I took a breath, and settled into my seat, taking a moment to listen to the hustle and bustle of efficiency all around us.

  And then I told David about his daughter.

  The words no rider wants to hear. A tibial plateau fracture. I mean, I’m no fool. I knew it was bad. I knew as soon as I landed, I even heard the crack. It sounded like a twig breaking, the most surreal sound.

  And then there’d been pain.

  So much pain.

  Fear, too. Fear for me, but mainly for Samson.

  My poor furry boy.

  I was delivered to some posh hospital, courtesy of my father, and for once I didn’t argue about taking something from him. I just wanted to walk again, wanted to ride again one day, and if he was my best shot, then I’d take it gladly.

  I was kept in for over a week. The first days were the worst days. Confined to my bed, in agony every time a muscle twitched, every time I shifted in half-sleep. They brought me a wheelchair after three days, but getting in and out of it was an ordeal, all for the reward of Rick, Carl or Mum wheeling me up and down the corridor awhile. One day we made it outdoors, just to the hospital’s twee little garden, but I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to smell the grass or feel the breeze on my face. Knowing my furry boy was likely shut away inside somewhere, scared and alone, made my gut churn.

  I’d dream about him constantly those first few days, picture him every time I closed my eyes. Reliving those horrible moments over and over, wishing I’d have taken more time, wishing I hadn’t been so reckless, so bloody stupid.

  I asked so many questions, about where he was, about how he was doing.

  Torn tendons, in his right foreleg. Both superficial and deep digital flexor tendons. They were treating him with cold compress therapy, realigning his hoof with support braces. The rest would be rest. Plenty of rest.

  It was doubtful I’d ever ride him again.

  It ripped my heart into pieces.

  They hardly seemed worth it, the wheelchair excursions, nor the visits Rick, Carl and Mum insisted on daily only to find me doped up or morose, but I made myself smile, made myself say thank you, made myself keep going. Dad stopped by, too, with flowers and a big bright get well soon card. But it wouldn’t be soon. Not by a long way.

  The surgeon waited for the swelling to go down enough to operate, and then there were pins, screws, and a big jagged scar running down my calf.

  I tried not to look at it. Tried not to think about it. Tried not to let the gloom swallow me up.

  The regime was intense and the days were long. Physiotherapy on my knee, drugs for the pain, scans and examinations and consultations.

  And then finally, after the longest ten days of my life, they allowed me home.

  I cried when I saw the effort Carl and Rick had gone to. They wheeled me inside with a ‘tada’ and the dining room was no more, replaced by a downstairs bedroom. They’d moved their bed, our bed, all the way from upstairs and set up a chest of drawers for my things. They’d even put some photos up, me and them, and me and Samson, me and my mum, too.

  “To keep your spirits up,” Rick said. “Cool, eh? The Katie recovery suite. There’ll be masseurs, and cocktails… the full luxury experience…”

  “You didn’t need to do all this,” I blubbed, but Carl kissed my head.

  “We wanted to, Katie, we both wanted to.”

  “Don’t think we haven’t missed you, pretty lady,” Rick said. “It’s felt so empty here without you around. Guess you’ve got us pretty hooked.”

  I smiled through the tears. “Yeah, well, you’ve got me pretty hooked, too.”

  We had to be careful. My position between the guys was no longer tenable, and I was relegated to the outside edge while the two of them slept at a safe distance, their fingers reaching out to touch mine. It was a comfort. They were a comfort.

  They became everything in the world to me without even breaking a sweat.

  You have no idea how much you take for granted until every little thing is an impossible task. Moving out of bed, getting dressed, taking a pee. Reaching for a drink, showering, grabbing some food.

  Any semblance of modesty or personal space I’d ever enjoyed was smashed into oblivion. They bathed me, they dressed me, they wiped my shitty ass. They brought me meals, kept me comfortable, and entertained me.

  They made me smile when I didn’t feel like smiling, made me laugh despite the pain. They made me forget my sorry situation when they were around me, when they were loving me just as much as they had before.

  And how I loved them for it.

  I loved them so much it made me cry at night, when they were asleep, crying for my luck at having them, even though everything else had turned to shit.

  I loved them for everything they did, but I loved them most for taking me to see Samson, even though they didn’t think I was ready.

  “Where is he?” I said, as the car turned in the opposite direction of the equine hospital. “Is he not in Cirencester anymore?”

  Carl shook his head, and he looked wary, shifty.

  “What?” I said. “Where is he, Carl?” The panic engulfed me. “They can’t send him back to the yard! It’s being repossessed! There’ll be nobody there! Nobody who can take care of him!”

  “He’s not in Woolhope,” Carl said. “He’s
not far.”

  “Where’s not far?”

  Carl looked right at me as he answered. “He’s at your father’s house. They have facilities, Katie.”

  I can’t deny my heart pained. “Who’s taking care of him? Who’s going to be there for him?”

  “Verity,” he said, just like that. “Verity and a team of equine physiotherapists. He’s doing well, I promise you.”

  “Verity?!” I could hardly comprehend it. “Verity is taking care of my Samson?”

  He nodded. “You’ll see for yourself.”

  They wheeled me through the stalls, the ones I’d hated so much when I was a kid, and I could feel my heart pounding, nausea threatening to make me vomit.

  Rick and Carl were so quiet, the whole yard was so quiet. A couple of horsey faces peered out to say hello, but none of them were my Samson.

  They pulled my chair to a halt at the stall on the end. I held my breath. Hardly daring to look.

  And there he was.

  He poked his head over the door, and his ears pricked forward, and I could hardly see him through the tears. Relief and guilt and love, all mushed together.

  “Help me up,” I said, squirming in my chair, and even though Rick and Carl protested, they helped me stand, held me tall and balanced while I threw my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” I cried, my face in his mane. “I’m so sorry.”

  I leaned over the door to look at him and his forelegs were still bandaged, still swollen and sore and messed up. But he was still him, still happy, still snuffling around for mints.

  “He’ll be alright,” Carl said. “He’s doing well.”

  “I did this,” I cried. “It was my fault. All my fault.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Rick said. “You were amazing, you were both amazing. It was just an accident, that’s all. Just one of those fucking awful things.”

  I shook my head. “I wanted to win, it was all I was thinking about. I was stupid, and selfish and reckless.”

  “It was a split second,” Carl said. “One split second of bad luck. Everyone on that course wanted to win, Katie. Everyone. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Look at him.” Rick’s voice was so warm. “He’s doing just fine. Snug in his stall with an endless supply of hay and mints. He probably thinks he’s on fucking holiday.”