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stables.
    â€˜ You take it easy,’ Luke panted, still swinging.
    â€˜I heard what Grace said to you,’ said Lawson, stepping closer and holding out an arm.
    Lawson shouldn’t have kept talking. He should have known the rules and kept clear.
    â€˜Don’t come near me, Lawson,’ Luke yelled. ‘I’m warning you, get away from me .’
    â€˜Enough, Luke.’ Lawson wrapped his large arms around Luke’s shoulders and tried to pull him away from the bag.
    That’s when Luke swung at him. He punched Lawson smack in the jaw and it felt fantastic, liberating, bringing a gush of relief that left him able to breathe again.
    Until Lawson punched him back, fair in the mouth, sending him sprawling onto the pavers with a pain that was brilliant, pure and intense, like fire marching over his face.
    Lawson shook out his fist. He spoke to Luke in a low, measured tone.
    â€˜She’s right – you’re not one of us. That’s not how we go about our business in this family.’ He turned and walked towards the stable doorway, but stopped and looked back before he went through it. ‘Young Grace is going through about as much pain as you at the moment, probably more. Harry was like a second father to her. Of course she was cut that you rode the stallion.’
    Luke gazed up at Lawson, his head foggy. ‘So I’m not a part of this family anymore, then?’
    Lawson glared down at him. ‘You wanna be a Blake, you gotta earn the name.’ He turned and walked back into the feedroom, banging the door behind him.

6
    LUKE STAGGERED TO the river, sank to his knees and scooped handfuls of water over his head and face, washing off the blood. His lip was swollen and his cheek felt puffy, but the swelling would go down in a couple of days. He knew that Lawson could have done much better if he’d wanted to; the fact that he’d held back was all the more insulting. But it wasn’t the punch that stung the most.
    You wanna be a Blake, you gotta earn the name.
    The river churned in time with the churning in Luke’s gut. He splashed more water over the back of his neck and let it run down his spine, then some more over his face and eyes, so he couldn’t tell if he was crying or not.
    â€˜Luke.’ It was Jess.
    â€˜Not now, Jessy,’ he choked out. He didn’t want her seeing him like this. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this: exposed, stripped bare of everything, his family, his dignity. He didn’t even have a shirt on.
    She was still standing there. He could feel her staring at him. ‘Get away from me!’ he yelled.
    There was silence, and then he heard her walk away. He wanted to call out to her to come back. God, he didn’t mean to say that to her. But he couldn’t. If he tried to speak he knew nothing would come out but big sobs.
    Maybe Lawson was right. He wasn’t a Blake. He didn’t belong around here at all.
    He ran his hands into the coarse river sand and squeezed its coolness through his fingers. It felt good, comforting. He ran his hands in deeper, up to his elbows, and then began digging until he lay with his entire body encased in the watery river sand, and the familiar comfort of the Coachwood River.

    Luke didn’t know what time of night it was when he eventually hosed the sand off himself in the horse wash before heading back to the stables. He knew what he had to do.
    Most of the people had gone home, except for a few at the far end of the arena. He heard Ryan’s voice among them as he walked through the feedroom and out the door into the courtyard. He crawled through his bedroom window, and paused to listen before he opened the door and walked three steps up the hall and into the bathroom.
    He stared at his bruised face in the mirror. There was dried blood around the corner of his mouth, and he had mud caked in his hair. He turned on the tap and squeezed his head into the sink, scratching