Table of Contents
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
About the Author
Excerpt: Hunter Derby
Winter Circuit
Kim Ablon Whitney
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Copyright 2015 Kim Ablon Whitney
www.kimablonwhitney.com
Cover by Littera Designs
Cover photos by Betsy Smith & Fotolia
Ebook Design by QA Productions
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, all names, characters, incidents, and locations are from the author’s imagination and do not resemble any actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
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Also by Kim Ablon Whitney
Summer Circuit
The Perfect Distance
Blue Ribbons
Chapter 1
It didn’t seem possible that a day could be grayer. Gray sky. Gray buildings. Gray snow. Gray was beautiful on a horse—dapple or steel gray was coveted in the hunters. I’d heard someone talk about a gray horse once, saying if he were bay he wouldn’t be anything special. Even an old flea-bitten gray had its charm. But in the rest of the world, gray was a depressing, blah color. Which, of course, fit my mood perfectly.
I headed across campus, trudging by the President’s Lawn on my way to the Health Center. It was the week after Thanksgiving and there had been an early snowfall the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the day before classes resumed. What had been a pretty white layer over campus on Sunday had turned to ugly gray by Monday when the temperature thawed and a little frozen rain fell. Nonetheless, a few students were attempting to sled down the slope of the lawn on rectangular cafeteria trays—fulfilling what was a Tufts tradition. I watched apathetically as I walked by them. Three guys and two game, sporty girls—hair poking out adorably from under their cute snow hats complete with pompoms—laughed as they jerked down the lawn. One of the guys pushed another to give him more momentum, but it ended with them both rolling into the snow. They stumbled to standing, jeans soaked, laughing even harder. Like it was one of the funniest things that had ever happened. Like it was the best day they’d ever lived. One of the guys made a snowball and tossed it at one of the girls, who smiled like she was loving every minute of college.
And then there was me. Miserable me. All around me kids seemed to be reveling in college life. They walked in packs to classes, went to the gym to work out, formed study groups, pre-gamed before hitting the frat parties. They hooked up with people they wished they hadn’t the next day and seemed to love their ability to do so. They slept little, ate late at night, and generally were imbibing college life.
I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t happy at Tufts. There had to be others or else there wouldn’t be a Counseling and Mental Health Center. There wouldn’t be others walking across campus to talk to a psychologist when they could be sliding down a slope of mushy snow on a cafeteria tray. But, surrounded by all the I’m-Finally-Here Kids, I felt dreadfully alone.
The voices of the happy sledders faded as I made my way to the Counseling and Mental Health Center. Chris was probably getting on his third or fourth ride of the day by now. Maybe teaching a lesson. We had texted that morning and he’d said he had a busy day ahead. Of course I was happy for him. But I was also sad for me.
The Health Center was warm, nearly too warm, the air overheated and dry. I checked in and then sat down in the waiting room to wait for Dr. S. She came out to get me after a few minutes and we went into the non-descript office that I’m sure she shared with the other staff psychologists. Dr. S (I’d given up trying to pronounce her incredibly long and consonant-filled last name) was not what I had expected when I’d decided to go to the Health Center. She had beautiful, natural blond hair. The kind that all the people who dye their hair blond wish they had. She didn’t wear much make-up—she was naturally pretty. She looked like she belonged at a country club, not in a student mental health center. But I liked her even more for that—I made up in my mind that she’d had the most perfect upbringing filled with everything she’d ever wanted and still she’d decided to help people. Then she’d gone and married a foreigner with a crazy last name.
“Hi,” I said, after I sat down.
“Hi,” she said.
I always hated this first part of our sessions. It must be protocol for therapists not to ask something like, “How’re you feeling today?” or “How’s it going?” But I always wished she would. Instead, I would have to start things off. Well, our first session ever she had started things off by asking why I had come to see her. That had opened the door for me to recount everything: how until July I’d lived a quiet existence. I’d been a good student, but had few true friends or life experiences. I’d ridden horses but hated my trainer. Then, my father had decided I should go to the seven-week horse show circuit in Vermont and that I should take care of my horse—all by myself. I had learned over the weeks of the circuit to love caring for Logan. I had learned that I was good at it. I had gotten better as a rider but the most important thing I’d gotten out of the experience was seeing myself as capable of taking care of a large, living, breathing, needy animal.
The other important thing that had happened last summer was Chris Kern. Chris and I had fallen in love and while most people on the show circuit couldn’t believe a gorgeous, accomplished, rising-star grand prix rider like Chris would fall for me, he did. We were still together, but we hadn’t seen each other since the circuit had ended.
“Thanksgiving was okay,” I told Dr. S to start us off. “I went to my father’s in California. I guess it was good to see the sun. I got to see my brother, which was great. But the whole time I was thinking of Chris.”
“What did Chris do for Thanksgiving?”
“He was with his family.”
“Do you have plans to see him?”
“We’re working on it but not yet. It’s like nearly every second of every day I’m thinking about him. I know I shouldn’t miss him so much but I think about the summer and how happy I felt. Here, nothing’s right.”
I explained how I had passed the kids sledding on the President’s Lawn, how they seemed to be living the quintessential college life. And that by contrast I felt aimless and disconnected.
“Are you able to do your course work? You said you were worried about your expository writing class?”
“I’ve been getting the work done. I guess that’s one of the only things that keeps my mind off Chris for a while. It’s not like I’m killing i
t in my classes, but I’m probably getting Bs. I used to care more how I did, though. That’s bad, right? That means I’m depressed?”
Dr. S crossed her athletic legs cloaked in their black tights. She had a deep purple skirt on over the tights. “There’s no one thing that means someone’s depressed.”
“Yeah, but I am, right?”
“It’s how you feel.”
I looked at my fingernails. God, I wanted to bite them. It would feel so good to chew them down to the bare, fresh, pink skin underneath. But I hadn’t done that in a long time and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do it again.
“Do a lot of college students have a hard time first semester? I mean I thought I wouldn’t have homesickness or whatever because, well, first of all I didn’t grow up that far away from here and second of all, living with my mom wasn’t exactly wonderful so I figured I wouldn’t have any of that feeling like I was missing my old life. But now what I’m missing isn’t my life before the summer but my life during those weeks in Vermont.” I smiled, thinking of the horse show, the quiet town of Weathersville, of Chris. “Oh my God, I think of how great it was… it was like my life was finally happening. And now it’s back to… I don’t know… nothing.”
“So you say you think about Chris a lot?”
“All the time. Sometimes it’s good memories. Other times I obsess about his ex-girlfriend.”
“Mary Beth?” Dr. S said.
Sometimes it amazed me that Dr. S could keep track of all the details and names. It wasn’t like she was looking back in her notebook. There had to be countless mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, and exes to remember. I guess you had to have a good memory in order to do this job.
“Mary Beth, yeah. I don’t think they’ve seen each other that much but they are at the same shows together and when the winter circuit starts, they’ll see each other practically every day.”
Dr. S asked me to tell her a little more about the winter circuit. I tried to sum it up quickly, explaining that from January through April, the top riders in the sport on the East Coast went to one of two winter circuits, The Winter Equestrian Festival in Wellington or Horse Shows in the Sun in Ocala. WEF, near ritzy Palm Beach, was the biggest circuit—with twelve weeks of competition and the wealthiest competitors. For the jumpers, there was serious prize money and FEI classes. It had become such a premier circuit that even some of the top European riders came for the winter. Chris would be there all circuit, continuing to rebuild his business. He’d lost his sponsor during the summer, but he still had a few good horses, including Logan, and he had picked up several clients too. Chris would be in Wellington, and so would Mary Beth. While I was stuck in Boston in the grayest weather known to man.
“So you’re worried something will happen between them?” Dr. S asked.
I leaned forward in the uncomfortable, low-budget chair that must have been all the university could afford. “What if he realizes she’s better for him than I am?”
Dr. S cocked her head. “Why would she be better for him?”
“Because she’s a grand prix rider too so she fits into his life better.”
“But when you were in Vermont, you two fit together pretty well?”
I blushed. Dr. S certainly hadn’t meant it like that but Chris and I had fit together well indeed.
“Yes, but that was in Vermont and we’re not in Vermont anymore. He’s in Pennsylvania and soon he’s going to be in Florida and I’m stuck up here. Mary Beth was the one who broke up with him. Well, he found her with another guy—or that’s what I heard anyway. So he probably still loved her and if she’s sorry maybe he’ll forgive her.”
“Do you think he could? If she cheated on him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, or else I wouldn’t be worried about it.”
Dr. S folded her hands on her lap. “But your worry is keeping you from living your life here, it seems.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
We were silent. I looked at the clock, which was positioned so it was kind of hard for me to see and I always felt rude looking at my phone for the time. Our session was halfway over.
“Lots of people at college are in long-distance relationships and still have friends and fun on campus. Maybe you need to let yourself have a life here—worrying isn’t going to change what you and Chris have.”
Every time I went to see Dr. S, I felt a little better because of reasonable, sane statements like these that righted my world a few degrees. But then I’d leave her office and any plans I had to change faded away. A part of me thought maybe if I could just make it through to Christmas break, things would get better. I could go see Chris over break and maybe that would be enough to give me confidence in our relationship. I could spend a week or two with him in Wellington and maybe I’d go back to school in January feeling like Mary Beth wasn’t a concern. Would that make me able to go out to frat parties, or partake in any part of regular college life? I wasn’t sure.
I asked, “Do those long distance relationships work out? I mean in your experience? Or do they fall apart and the people go their separate ways eventually?”
“I don’t think there’s one pattern for long distance relationships.”
“Because it feels like the high school boyfriend-girlfriend who vow to stay together at college don’t make it through freshman year.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Okay, maybe they do, if one transfers to the other’s school.”
“Maybe the problem here is not Chris and you being together, but who you are apart from Chris?”
I looked out the one tiny window at the gray snow and sky outside. Who was I away from Chris anymore? Was I that girl before Vermont again? No, I couldn’t ever go back to being her. That was impossible. So then who was I?
Chapter 2
As I left the Health Center, my phone rang out the song of the summer, MISSION. The song of Chris and me, as I had come to think of it. Now MISSION only played on the radio sporadically and on my ringtone for Chris. Chris’s face popped up on my screen.
Immediately, instead of feeling happy, I felt intensely worried. He’d said he had a busy day. Why was he calling? Was something wrong with Logan? Or worse, was he calling to break up with me? I shouldn’t have been considering this as an option. I had no reason to believe he was breaking up with me, but lately I often found myself imagining scenarios where he would tell me he couldn’t do the long distance thing, or he’d slept with someone else. More often than not, in my imagination, that someone else was Mary Beth. It was kind of like imagining your own funeral. Imagining things going wrong with Chris must have served some emotional purpose that I didn’t know about. As I answered the phone, I tried to make a mental note to ask Dr. S about it next time we met.
“Hey,” I said, making my voice upbeat. I never let Chris know how down I was. Whenever I talked to him I raised my voice those all-important few octaves. I filled my texts with happy-face emoticons. I forced myself to smile when we FaceTimed. He didn’t ask all that much about college life—maybe because he didn’t know what to ask since he’d never gone to college himself, choosing the horse-life out of high school instead. I might casually mention a paper due or a fake party attended just to keep up the front.
“I thought you were super busy today,” I said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“I know. I’ve only got a few seconds, but I had to call you because I have great news.”
“Yeah?”
I hoped his great news—about a new horse, a great jump session with Logan or Arkos, a new client, maybe even a new sponsor—would fill me up enough to get me through the day.
“I’m coming to visit you!” Chris said.
“Seriously? Why? When?”
“I hadn’t wanted to tell you and get your hopes up but I’d put out a few feelers back in October about maybe doing a clinic. I just heard from one of the barns—Maple Valley? It’s in Littleton. They want me to do a clinic the second weekend of Dec
ember. They’re paying my gas and it’s not bad money. They were going to put me up at a hotel near the barn but I said I’d take care of it. I made us a reservation at a place in Cambridge—The Charles Hotel? Have you heard of it? I think it looks nice.”
I had vaguely heard of it and it didn’t matter what kind of hotel it was. I would stay anywhere with Chris. I guess a tiny part of me wished he’d at least mentioned the possibility of staying in my dorm room. Even if it was half-hearted like, “I know I could stay with you but I think this will be much better… We’ll get to be alone together. No roommate.”
But I got over his not mentioning it pretty quickly. Because he was coming to Boston. In two weeks. In two weeks we’d be together again. We’d look into each other’s eyes. We’d have dinner together. We’d talk in person. We’d have sex.
“Isn’t that great?” Chris said.
“Oh my God, so great. I barely have words it’s so great. I can’t wait.”
“Me neither,” Chris said.
I heard someone calling him in the background. It sounded like Dale, his barn manager. I wondered how Dale felt about Chris arranging this clinic and visit to me. It wasn’t like Chris would be missing anything during the second weekend of December. December was the one down-month before everyone headed South. Sure, if you really wanted you could find grand prix classes to compete in. There was a pre-circuit in Wellington and classes in other parts of the South. The European indoor shows were still in full gear with Olympia in London and Mechelen in Belgium. If Chris still had the top horses he’d had at the beginning of summer, he might have been competing abroad. But his number one horse, Nova, had gotten hurt at Devon, and then both Nova and his other top horse, Titan, had been pulled out from him by his sponsor, millionaire tycoon Harris Delaney.
I was definitely a contributing factor in Harris pulling his horses, since my former best friend Zoe had posted a fake online journal, supposedly written by me, that detailed my sex life with Chris. I’d learned that top grand prix riders had to have impeccable reputations—or at least that some owners tolerated debauchery more than others did. Because, of course, where there were top classes, big prize money, cocky men, and pretty girls there was debauchery aplenty. Harris might have also pulled his horses because his second wife told him to, after Chris declined her advances. But either way, by the end of the summer, Chris was down to two horses—one of which was my Logan, a recently reformed children’s jumper with possible potential.
Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) Page 1
