by CM Foss
Table of Contents
A Note from the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Thank You!
Acknowledgments
Bio
Jock
Copyright © 2015 by CM Foss All rights reserved.
First Edition: 2015
Published by: CM Foss
Editing by: Victory Editing
Cover Art by: Streetlight Graphics
Interior Formatting by: Streetlight Graphics
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
To the ladies of racing, and the horses you ride. You rock.
And especially to Rachel Gray (1983-2015). Thank you for your time, your candor, and your stories.
A Note from the Author
The lifestyle of a working jockey is intense. As spectators, we see the rush and glory, particularly this year with the amazing performance of American Pharoah winning the first Triple Crown in thirty-seven years, and one of only twelve winners in history. I’ve always had a deep love for racehorses, having spent years exercising them during their race careers and taking many of them on to new jobs, teaching them to foxhunt, event, show, or even simply trail ride.The equine athletes are rightly given praise and notoriety, but we often forget about the jockey. They are not just a passenger up there.
The jockey has to be strong but light, aggressive but patient, calculating and compassionate. They have the drive to win every race and the knowledge that it’s not going to happen. The horse is the great equalizer.
In Jock, we see Tessa at the early stages of her career. In racing, there’s a minimum weight requirement for jockeys. It varies from track to track, but the average is 112 to 126 pounds, including about seven pounds for tack. The idea is that the jockey wants to stay as close to that minimum as possible in order to reduce the amount of weight the horse is carrying. But many will keep their weight significantly less, even down to 104 pounds, in order to drink fluids in between races. In the United States, when a jockey first starts out, they have a weight allowance of ten pounds, called a bug weight. The bug refers to the asterisk beside their name in a racing program. A trainer might choose to use that jockey so their horse can carry ten less pounds. Otherwise, why would you choose such an inexperienced rider? After a certain amount of wins, the jockey has just a five-pound allowance, and after that they are considered a journeyman with no weight allowances and need to have made a name for themselves as a good rider, not just smaller numbers on the scale.
Most mornings, a jockey’s day is reliant upon what that scale says. Every bite they eat and drink they swallow is a decision. As a food lover myself, this is a tough concept. They make great sacrifices for the sport they love, but it is something they are deeply passionate about.
They are, without a doubt, some of the toughest athletes in the world.
Chapter 1
Jace
1994
“What’s it like having a baby sister?”
Lawrence shrugged as he brushed his pony. I just watched. Horses were fine and all, but they made me itch if I touched them too much.
“I have a lot of baby sisters.”
“Yeah, but this is a baby baby. Does she cry a lot?”
He nodded and rubbed his arm across his forehead. “Yeah. All babies cry a lot. She’s not so bad. Chrissy was worse.”
I sat down on a trunk across from my friend and traced shapes in the dirt with the toe of my sneaker. I wanted to ask more questions; actually, I had so many I didn’t know where to start. I was an only child, and as far as I knew, I would stay an only child. My parents were great and all, but since I’d met Lawrence in school last year, I’d spent as much time as I could over at the Brookses’ house. There was always someone to play with and something to do. They had a big house and a horse farm and all the room in the world for a seven-year-old to run and play.
I lived in an apartment where we couldn’t have pets. I guess it was fine since all animals made me itch, but I still wanted a dog or a cat. Even a turtle. A turtle probably wouldn’t make me itch.
The sound of brushes being tossed into a plastic bucket startled me out of my thoughts. I sniffed as I looked up, rubbing the back of my hand over my nose.
“Wanna go see her?” Lawrence asked.
I didn’t want to seem overeager, but I’d never seen a brand-new baby before. Not in real life anyway.
So I shrugged my shoulders and stood, stretching my arms over my head. “Sure.”
The Brookses’ farm was so cool—we rode bikes everywhere. There was a paved driveway connecting the barns to all the houses, even down to a pond, though we weren’t allowed to go there by ourselves. Lawrence and I raced side by side, cutting turns and skidding out on fallen leaves and nearly crashing, but we made it to his front door in record time, red-faced and panting, and tossed our bikes on the grass. My mom would have whooped me for leaving it like that, but Mrs. Brooks didn’t care so long as we cleaned up when we were done.
As soon as we crossed through the door, Lawrence went completely silent. I followed his lead, knowing enough about babies to know that you weren’t supposed to wake them. We crept up the stairs, holding on to the thick mahogany railing that followed the curve upward. I winced each time the steps creaked, but Lawrence didn’t seem to notice or care.
We passed the open door to his bedroom, and I glimpsed the wreckage in there. Piles of clothes, unmade bed, random shoes. I would never get away with that. My guess was that Mrs. Brooks had learned to pick her battles with six kids. She was outnumbered.
The door to the nursery was open a crack. I’d been in there over the past couple of months, helping Mr. Brooks move stuff around and paint. Probably I just got in the way, but he never made me feel like I did.
But walking in and seeing Mrs. Brooks in the corner rocker, a cloud of pink in her arms, was different. Warmer. Scarier.
She smiled at us, the kind that let you know you were welcome and that cookie crumbs were cool. And she spoke softly but not whispering, shifting so we could see that the baby was awake. “Hi, boys. Come on i
n.”
Lawrence walked right over, taking the bundle from his mom’s arms with total confidence even though he had to shift his weight to hold her carefully.
“You wanna hold her?” he offered, the same way he’d ask if I wanted a glass of water.
“Uh…” I started to stutter, unsure if I really wanted to take that on.
“Come on. Just sit on the floor if you’re nervous. That way if you drop her, she won’t really fall.”
Mrs. Brooks let out a bark of laughter and my eyes flew to her face. She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her smile. “It’s okay, Jace. You won’t drop her. I trust you.”
I gulped and lowered myself to the thick carpet, crossing my ankles in front of me. Lawrence shuffled over and bent down to place the baby in my arms. “Jace, Tessa. Tessa, Jace.”
The baby blinked up at me, her eyes a deep, dark blue. Her little face was scrunched up, and she was so pink, but… cute. Like a puppy. And she didn’t make me itch, so that was good.
“Now what?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Brooks laughed as she answered.
I shrugged. “Does it do anything?”
“Not much. That’s why she needs you two.”
I looked back up, startled. “Us? Why us?”
She looked pointedly at Lawrence and me. “She’ll need you two as her protectors.”
Lawrence nodded proudly, like he’d heard this speech before. But I was still playing catch-up. “But why us?” I repeated. “Why not Shane?” Shane was years older than us. He seemed like a much better idea for a protector.
“Shane has a lot of sisters to look after already. And I think this one’ll be a lot to handle. The youngest of my bunch will have to be a little wild and oodles of tough. You up for it?”
Lawrence nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
He looked really serious, though his mom was still smiling like she knew a secret. I looked back down at Tessa, who had fallen fast asleep in my arms. My heart raced as I considered all the dangers she’d be faced with, and I nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mom!” I yelled, running inside and skidding to a stop in our small kitchen where my mom was cooking. It smelled awful, but that didn’t slow me down. “I held a baby.” I was grinning proudly at the announcement.
She smiled at me over her shoulder. “You weren’t a bother, were you?”
I shook my head. “Uh-uh. I didn’t even ask. And I sat on the floor.”
“That’s nice, sweetie.”
I peered at the stove. “What’s for dinner?”
“Mac n’ cheese. A new recipe.”
I wrinkled my nose at the odor. My mom was always trying new recipes, and I really wished she wouldn’t. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s grading papers. Will you be extra quiet?”
I nodded, pretending to zip my lips.
“Go wash your hands and you can eat and watch a show. Mommy has papers to grade too. That okay?”
I hid a sigh. Dinner in front of the TV should be fun, but it wasn’t really. It was… boring. But I did as she asked and flopped down on the couch. She brought me a plate and kissed the top of my head.
“Come and get me when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Chapter 2
2000
“You just let Tessa run wild in the barn? All by herself?” I stopped the ball mid-dribble and shook my head at my friend.
Lawrence shrugged, relaxing his guard in front. “She’s fine.”
“She’s six.”
“Going on sixteen,” he muttered. “It’s not like there aren’t other people there. Everyone looks out for her.”
He smacked the ball out from under my arm and ducked around me, cleanly shooting it through the hoop. I stood with my hands on my hips, feet planted, as serious as only a thirteen-year-old could be.
He stopped as well, breathing heavily, ending with a sigh of resignation. “You wanna go check on her?”
“Dude. I think we should.”
He rolled his eyes and tossed the ball into the bushes. I glared at him as I jogged over and rolled it out, running it back to the garage and placing it in the ball bin.
“I was gonna put it away later.”
“Why not do it now?”
He threw his hands up in the air and let them fall to his sides with a slap. “I don’t know. You’re the one who wants to go babysit.”
“Your mom actually told you to babysit. I’m just stepping in.”
“Psht. Whatever, man. Let’s go.”
I smirked at his back as he stomped down the drive, huffing and puffing. I just kicked pebbles and jogged behind.
We reached the barn and stopped short, the scene in front of us complete mayhem, every worker gathered around something—someone?—lying on the ground, a young horse grazing loose nearby. Without a word, we broke into a sprint, skidding on our knees as we reached the crowd.
I’m not sure why we bothered. By the time we got there, Tessa was shoving at the hands that were trying to restrain her.
“Get off her!” Instinctively, I pushed my way through. “Let her up.”
“We don’t know what happened. She shouldn’t move,” one of the barn hands piped up.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Lawrence pushed at my shoulder, shutting me up so he could speak. “Hector, what happened?”
Hector shook his head. “She was grooming one of the yearlings one minute, and out here lying on the ground the next. You know how she is.”
I blew out a breath in humorless laughter. We all knew how she was. She listened to no one and did whatever she felt like, whenever she felt like it. And everyone let her.
By this point the little turd was standing, covered in grass stains and dirt, her blond hair in a ratty ponytail, half undone. She had one hand on her hip, and through the grime all I could see were her bright blue eyes, dry as could be, and a wide, white grin.
“Y’all. That was so fun.”
Silence. Because what could anyone say to this ridiculous pipsqueak?
Lawrence started first. His shoulders began to shake and his hands covered his mouth, but soon he was sputtering and red-faced, laughter erupting out of him. The rest of the crew joined in after a minute, though they started slower, a little more nervous.
I waited, made her squirm. She glared at me, daring and cocky as only a six-year-old could be. I remembered.
“You better watch yourself, little one.” I pointed at her, wagging my finger and trying my best not to join in the laughter. “One day your luck will run out.”
“I’m not little.” She stuck her lower lip out in a pout.
“Not little? You’re basically a midget.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
She stomped her foot. “I am not a midget.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re right. You’re not.” Just as her face got smug, I kept going. “You’re so small, midget is too long of a name. From now on, you’re just Midge.”
That erased the smugness from her face immediately. She jumped forward, kicked me in the shin, then ran off to fetch her horse. While I winced, holding my leg on the ground, I watched her transform as she got close to the animal, calmly grasping the rope that was discarded and untangling it from the horse’s leg. He stood quietly despite his young age and allowed her to lead him back to the barn.
We all just stood there with our mouths hanging open and watched.
About an hour later, I found her sniffling in the back corner of an empty stall. Lawrence and I had gone back to the house, Tessa in tow, only to realize a short time later that she was nowhere to be found. I knew where she’d gone.
“You okay?”
“Go away.” She covered her face with her hands, her hair on top of that, hiding.
“You gotta come back to the house. Your mom’ll be home soon.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“She does too.”
I reached her side and lowered myself to the ground, grimacing as I went. Sitting in a stall, however clean it might be, was going to make me cough and itch for the rest of the day.
Tessa lifted her head and wiped her arm across her eyes. “She really doesn’t mind if I’m down here.”
“Well, I mind. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Then why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
A small snort escaped my nose and I clamped a hand over it, pretending to sneeze. Her eyes narrowed.
“I wasn’t crying.” She stomped her foot in the straw, causing more dust to rise. “I was just mad.”
“How come?”
“Because I fell.”
“Midge”—funny how that name came so easily, so quickly—“you tried to ride an unbroken yearling. And you’re six. Of course you fell. You’re lucky you didn’t get killed.”
She stuck her lower lip out and huffed. “And I didn’t get to get back on. You’re s’posed to get back on.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen. Why don’t you get on something else next time?”
“I didn’t try to ride him.”
She’d mumbled into her hands again, so I wasn’t sure what I’d heard.
“What?” I pulled one of her arms away from her face to reveal her wide grin.
“You said tried. I didn’t try. I did ride him. We went around the whole field before I fell. Twice.” She held two fingers up in front of my face.
I dropped my head in my hands, rubbing at my eyes and biting my lip to keep from laughing. Not funny, not funny, not funny. “Holy shit,” I muttered as I stood up.
“You said shit.” Tessa rose, brushing off the straw clinging to her legs.
“No I didn’t.” Shit.
“Yes you did.”
“Did not.”
“Did too. See, Jace, we all do things we’re not supposed to. Sometimes you just can’t help it.”