“Let’s just take a break and see where we are in a week or so.” Those were his last words to me that day. I couldn’t stop my face from contorting in ugly ways as I wailed. I was so mad at him too, for giving up just like that, like what we’d had wasn’t worth fighting more for. And I was furious at myself for ruining everything with my jealousy.
Linda saw me as I staggered into the barn. I was still crying, but more quietly now. I told her about the photo shoot and how he was looking at Mary Beth. She acted like the perfect friend and blamed Chris. She said he definitely should have told me about the photo shoot and that he should have had the decency not to break up with me in the parking lot. He should have waited till later. As she spoke, I felt queasy that she didn’t know the whole truth—how I was paranoid about MB, that maybe my behavior had pushed Chris to the brink, giving him no other choice.
She told me to go to the house. That she didn’t need me for the rest of the day. I didn’t know what I would do at the house that would make me feel better, but it wouldn’t be right to have me sobbing the rest of the afternoon at the barn either.
On the way upstairs, I passed Dakota. She was coming down in her bikini, headed to lie out by the pool.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Chris broke it off with me,” I said, my voice thick with all my crying.
“Oh.” Dakota grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
She actually sounded genuinely sympathetic and it made tears flood to my eyes all over again. “I know it was your birthday,” I blurted out. Suddenly the whole world seemed so grossly unfair and like both Dakota and I had been wronged, that we shared a common pain.
Dakota made a face and I could tell she was trying not to cry.
“Did your parents even call you?” I asked bitterly.
“Texted. They said I should pick out a new show coat or whatever else I want.” She sucked in her lips, making her face look severe but I knew she was just holding it together. She was so pretty. Her Nordic features and skinny adolescent body in her tiny bikini. It killed me to think that she was almost date-raped.
“I was thinking I should throw you a big party or give you some really perfect gift, like something real, not something expensive but even if I found the perfect thing it wouldn’t make any of it better.”
Dakota said so quietly I had to pause to make sure I’d heard her right. “You gave me a good gift.”
I knew she meant coming to find her and bringing her home, unhurt.
I wiped at my eyes with both my hands. “Why does life have to suck so bad at times?”
“I’m sorry about Chris,” she said again. “He’s making a big mistake.”
Dakota was fourteen and had never had sex or been in love, for all I knew. But somehow those words coming from her meant the world to me.
Chapter 31
I took my phone with me everywhere, intent on not missing any text that might come in from Chris. Surely, he would text to see how I was doing, or say he’d realized he had made a big mistake and couldn’t go another day without me. I took my phone with me to the bathroom, left it on the counter while I showered, slept with it next to me in bed. But he didn’t text or call. He’d said we needed a break and I clung to that statement, hoping for another chance. But as the week went on, I was sure it was just a nice way of his saying he wanted to break up for good.
I stalked Facebook and Instagram, looking at his page and Mary Beth’s. Chris’s accounts were silent. Even when he placed third in the CSI-3 with Arkos, he didn’t post anything. Mary Beth posted: “Great photo shoot for Animo!” But that was it. I checked HorseShowDrama but miraculously no one had posted yet about our break-up. Maybe that was worse. I almost wanted to read what people thought about us, what our chances of getting back together were.
I gave in and chewed my nails down to the quick. The worst part was, it didn’t even feel good to do it, and now I had to look at them and see what I’d done.
While everything with Chris was falling apart, things between Dakota and me were the best they’d ever been. Finally, she let me into her world. We ate meals together, we talked about horses, and also about life. She told me things I don’t think she’d told anyone before like how she missed her parents all the time and often cried herself to sleep at night. She said she slept with a light on. She said she truly loved riding and she wasn’t one of the kids pushed into it by hyper-competitive parents. She also loved that it gave her a life and a family, of sorts, because her parents were never around.
“They would be so much happier if they hadn’t had me,” she said, which made my heart ache for her. For everything with my parents, I knew they both wanted me. “It’s like they had to check some box—have child—and I don’t think they thought about what it’d be like. They would be so much happier if they could just dedicate themselves to saving the whales, feeding the poor, and fixing the ozone layer.”
On Sunday, Linda said I needed to get out for the night. She wanted me to go to JoJo’s with her. I knew she was genuinely trying to make me feel better. She also needed someone to go with her on her continued quest to find a man. She told me that she had decided, maybe too late for this year, that an Irish guy would be good. “The Irish guys come here and sow their oats but they’re also really family guys at heart. They want to get married and have a family,” she said.
I guessed these Irish guys might be different than Dermott, the dirtbag Zoe had slept with in Vermont.
It broke my heart a little that Linda was so honest about her hunt for a man to marry. The horse show world made it nearly impossible for people to have healthy relationships with guys in the real world. As I was painfully learning firsthand it was even hard to have a relationship if you were both in the horse show world. I was still very young but I could see how it was to be Linda—thirty-four and wondering if she was ever going to find a man to marry and have kids with, or whether she would become one of those lifelong single lady horse trainers.
I decided to go with her because I figured at least it would distract me from thinking about Chris. As I was getting ready to go out, I got more into the idea. I decided to put a little more effort into my outfit and appearance. I straightened my hair and put on makeup. Looking at yourself in the mirror when you’re feeling mildly pretty can be dangerous. I checked myself out and vengeful thoughts spawned in my head. Screw you, Chris Kern, I thought to myself. Just look what you’re missing out on.
Linda remarked on how hot I looked as we walked into the bar. She had her sunglasses on like a headband again—apparently she was even going to wear them in the bar.
“You are so right that I need to get out,” I told her, shaking my hair over my shoulder and loving the way it felt.
But what I really needed was someone to tell me to think twice about what I was about to do. To tell me that when your heart has been broken by the first man you have ever loved and you don’t know what the hell you’re going to do with your life, you can make disastrous decisions.
JoJo’s was packed, which only added to my careless, quickly-turning-reckless attitude. We let the Irish boys buy us drink after drink. Linda could hold her liquor and knew how to space out her drinks. I had never drunk so much before and didn’t know how to space out my drinks so I couldn’t really tell how drunk I was getting before I was already sopping drunk.
It felt wonderful at first. It felt freeing and adventurous. A few of the Irish boys flirted with me and I loved every second of it. All I could think was how sorry Chris would be, how if he could only see me now, surrounded by guys who would love to take me home. I told myself he could have MB—that they deserved each other. I thought about how serious he was all the time—the opposite of the fun-loving Irish guys.
It probably would have been fine if I’d stayed with the Irish boys. I think I would have shut down any real attempts by them to get me to go home with them. I would have felt alive and sexy and gone home and cried again for Chris, who I was still very much in love with.
But McNair Sutter took the seat next to me when one of the Irish boys, Cormac, or was it Cian, had gotten up. McNair put his nearly finished drink on the bar next to my half-finished one.
“Chris know you’re out like this?” He gave me the once-over, checking out my outfit. I could tell he liked what he saw.
“We’re on a break,” I said, getting close to him so he could hear me over the din.
McNair gave me an intrigued smile. “On a break, huh?”
“Probably means we’re broken up for good,” I said.
“Could be. Either way, no use crying over rotten milk. People come to bars to forget things.” He nodded to the bartender to bring him another of whatever he was drinking and asked if I wanted a refill. I polished off what was left in my glass and said yes.
“So what are you trying to forget?” I said.
“My heartless, soulless social life.”
“Social life? You call what you do a social life?”
“What would you call it?”
I had to think about that one. “Drowning yourself in conquest-sex?”
“Conquest sex?”
“Yeah, it’s when—”
He held up a hand. “I think I can figure it out.”
He looked into my eyes. There was no doubt he was incredibly hot but his attractiveness had never effected me viscerally before. Now, with too many drinks in me, I felt sucked into his stare. So this is what all the girls went crazy about. That’s when I should have gone home.
“Does it get old? Sleeping with different people like every night?” I said.
“Every night might be an exaggeration. You know I have had longtime girlfriends.”
“What’s longtime to you?”
“Months, a year.”
“What happened?”
He gave a terribly sexy shrug. He wasn’t a big guy, but he was completely confident in his stature. And there were his green eyes and slight stubble.
“It just ran out of steam.”
“Do you think you’ll ever settle down? Do you think it’s about meeting the right girl?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
“And that doesn’t bother you? Not having it all figured out?”
“It bothers me when it’s a horse I can’t figure out, but my life is pretty good. It’ll sort itself out.”
I envied him. He had the horses Chris needed. He didn’t just have one great horse, he had a few so that he could manage their schedules and decide which horse would contest which big class and which would get to rest. He could decide which venue suited which horse—what would give him the best chance at the win. He had young horses coming along to take the place of his top horses as they aged. He never had to try to scrape together money just to buy a complicated ride like Athelstane.
So maybe it was that he was the anti-Chris. Maybe it was that I was drunk. Maybe it was that I just wanted to feel something, or that part of me wanted to hurt Chris as much as he’d hurt me. Or, it just happened, the way some things do. They aren’t planned. They aren’t thought out. They don’t have reasons. But that doesn’t mean those things don’t shape your life for years to come.
Somewhere in that night, Linda went home with a nice Irish bloke, and I went home with McNair Sutter to his gorgeously decorated place in Palm Beach Polo with sleek modern, low, steel furniture and large framed black-and-white photos. On the way to his place I checked my phone one last time. Still nothing from Chris. Would a text from him have changed what I was about to do? Even if it just said ‘hi,’ the answer was yes. It would have changed everything.
McNair had a whole wall of his trophies and ribbons, all from the biggest classes. We kissed standing in front of the trophy wall and he greedily moved his hands all over my body. Then, in his bedroom, we started to take each other’s clothes off. First my shirt, then his. My bra, his pants. My pants. He rolled down my underwear, twisting it in his grasp as he did so the fabric bit into my thigh.
“Very nice,” he said when he saw the work of Irina, the laser hair removal queen.
That was when my stomach lurched and I knew it was all wrong. That what I was doing was a big mistake. McNair wasn’t Chris. He could never be Chris, and Chris was what I wanted.
I wish I could say that I gathered my clothes back up, got dressed, and went home. I didn’t, though. I stayed and had sex with McNair. He was gorgeous, even more gorgeous with his clothes off. His chest was tan and his stomach and arms ropey. He was absolutely amazing to look at but I didn’t feel anything much beyond the recognition of his good looks. I didn’t feel the heat and passion I felt for Chris. I didn’t feel the connection. Perhaps McNair had never had such a connection and so he didn’t know to miss it because he seemed perfectly satisfied with what we were doing. He told me how hot I was and how much he wanted me as he moved on top of me, his eyes wide open and staring at me the whole time.
I felt the sour taste of the liquor coming up my throat as he thrust into me. It didn’t hurt but it felt hollow and sad. Perhaps it felt sadder since he seemed to be so turned on.
When it was over, I did gather my clothes.
“You don’t like to cuddle?” he said.
“I guess not.”
He lay completely naked on the satiny gray sheets of his upholstered, low platform bed. He wasn’t self-conscious about himself at all, not even the fact that his dick was now flaccid and small-looking.
“Chris doesn’t seem like the cuddling type anyway,” he said.
I hated that he had brought Chris’s name into this tarnished moment. And Chris was the cuddling type. He didn’t have a dark heart like McNair.
I probably shouldn’t have driven home because I was still fairly drunk. But I made it home on the mostly empty roads. I made it to the bathroom just in time to throw up. I slumped by the toilet, retching. I knew that what was happening was a simple physical process—my body had consumed too much alcohol in too short a time and was trying to rid itself of the poison. But somehow it felt more metaphorical, like my body was so disgusted with what I’d done it was trying to purge it all out or to punish me for what I’d done. A punishment I felt I keenly deserved. When I finished, I threw myself face first into bed. I pulled the covers over my head. All I could think was, what have I done? What in the world have I done?
Chapter 32
“Is it true?” Zoe woke me up with her phone call. I had nearly fallen out of bed trying to find my phone, which was still in my purse, thinking maybe it was Chris calling. If I hadn’t been so hung over I would have known it wasn’t Chris because it wasn’t the MISSION ringtone, but in my still addled state my brain went straight from phone to Chris.
“What? Is what true?”
“Someone posted on HorseShowDrama that you went home with McNair.”
“Oh my God,” I said. My head throbbed and my tongue felt as big as a horse’s. I needed water. Gallons of it. I made it to the bathroom with the phone still pressed against my ear. Somehow I was able to cradle the phone against my shoulder, fill a glass with water, and drink it while simultaneously pulling down the sweatpants I’d thrown on when I got home and sitting on the toilet.
“Are you peeing?” Zoe said.
“Yes. Please, give me a pass. I had a really bad night.”
“So it is true? Did you sleep with him?”
I hadn’t yet figured out what I was going to do about what had happened with McNair. Technically Chris and I were on a break and he hadn’t called or even texted me in a week but I knew full well that none of that meant sleeping with McNair was permissible. I hadn’t decided yet if I was going to try to lie and not tell anyone about McNair and just hope Chris never found out. I had basically just passed out but now it was clear that there would be no covering up what I had done. Unless…
“Do you think Chris will see it? He said he never goes on that site. But will other people tell him? Will he find out?”
Zoe’s voice was impatient. “God, first, just co
nfirm that you slept with him.”
“Yes, okay? I slept with him. I slept with McNair. I was totally drunk and I made a horrible, horrible mistake. I knew it was a mistake when it was happening but for some stupid-ass reason I didn’t stop it.”
“I know. I’ve been there before. It’s like you get to a point and you just wait till it’s over.”
Zoe’s words were some consolation although I didn’t really like the fact that she had faced similar sexual situations.
I started crying. “I’m so lost, Zoe. I don’t know what I was thinking. I screwed up so badly.”
“You weren’t thinking. We already established that one.”
“I guess I was also so pissed at Chris. Maybe for a second I thought I’d make him jealous. Oh God, it’s over now. For good. He’ll find out if he hasn’t already and he’s going to be so disgusted with me and he’s never going to want to get back together. I mean—McNair?”
“Yeah, you probably should have picked someone else. Anyone really. You know what happened with them right?”
“No, I know Chris doesn’t like him.”
“He got their team disqualified from a Nations Cup because he had weighted boots on his horse. You can imagine how Chris felt about that.”
Zoe was quiet on the other end. I was still sitting on the toilet, my sweatpants bunched at my knees.
“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be between you two,” she said softly.
I said through my tears, “I can’t believe that. I won’t accept that.”
“Are you going to tell him? He will find out. If not today, then in a matter of days. No one in this sport keeps their mouth shut. I also wouldn’t be surprised if McNair says something.”
The idea of Chris finding out from McNair, of him bragging, made me feel like I might need to throw up all over again. “I have to go tell him myself.” I knew as I said it that I had to, and that it would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to do. But if there was any chance he’d ever forgive me, it had to come from me.
Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) Page 22
