by Melissa West
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Heavyweight
Emery stared down at her phone, watching as her mama’s name continued to appear, torn between answering and ignoring it. Like she had the last three times she’d called. The problem was, they’d already had this conversation—twice. And Emery didn’t think she had it in her, today of all days, to have it again.
The crowd buzzed with excitement, chatter carrying down to where she stood in the backside, waiting on Clark to call her to mount Craving Wind. It was her fifth race, and though she loved every second of it, she felt herself only 90 percent in it. Like she couldn’t quite reach that full level of happiness, and because of it, she found herself holding back. She always lost herself when she raced, disappearing in the speed and adrenaline, allowing the thousand-pound animal below her to take over while she became nothing more than a feather on his back, guiding when she needed to but otherwise staying out of his way.
But somehow she couldn’t do that now. She was thinking the whole time, overthinking her commands: when to use the stick, when to hold back, thinking, thinking, thinking. And all that thinking had nearly cost her the last race.
Ducking her head, she walked away and clicked to answer the call. “Hey, Mama.”
“Emery Jane Carlisle. This is the third time I’ve called you and yet the first time you’ve answered? Is there a reason you’re ignoring me or, or . . .” Emery heard her mother’s voice rising and knew she was on the verge of another menopausal meltdown. She had to intercept it before she was responsible for all of Carlisle Farms enduring her mama’s wrath.
“No, ma’am. I’m at the track about to race.”
“Which one?”
“Billington.”
Her mother went silent, and it was as though she had transferred a giant helping of guilt through the phone, dropping it right on Emery’s shoulders. “Mama?”
“He should be there,” she whispered. “This just isn’t right.”
Daddy.
Emery’s bottom lip wobbled, so she clamped it down with her teeth, then drew a breath. She knew people were watching her—cameras snapping shots. It’d been relentless since her first win in Saratoga, and she didn’t need to give them anything they could fabricate into a story about her. Her family didn’t need that. She’d done enough.
“I wish he was,” Emery managed to say, then she saw Trip walking toward her, Clark on his heels, and hurriedly added, “I love you, Mama. And I’m sorry. I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’d say it a thousand more times if it’d change anything. I’m sorry.”
“Emery . . .”
“I’ve got to go. The race is about to begin.”
“All right, honey. Love you, too.”
Then the call was over, and Emery turned away from Trip and Clark, her hand pressed into a nearby wall, steadying herself. She thought she might break down right there, until Trip reached her and slipped in front of her, pulling her to him, ignoring everything and everyone around him. How amazing it must feel to never become affected. To never waiver. She wished she were more like him.
“What happened?”
“Just my mother, and the reminder of what I’ve done to Daddy.”
Trip took a moment to consider this before responding. “I know it’s hard for you. I can see it in your eyes, but I need you to put it out of your mind. For two minutes, I need you to forget. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” No.
He cupped her cheeks and pressed an easy kiss to her lips, though even that felt a little too businesslike. She realized then that she liked the Trip at home a lot better than the Trip at the track. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Just then, the announcer called the riders to the paddock, and Emery went on, her heart anywhere but at that race.
And then she was inside the gate, listening to her breathing, and somehow she couldn’t stop hearing it. Her breath came in and went out, slow, then fast, then slow again. It sounded unnatural, so loud in her ears that she couldn’t hear anything else. Then the gates flew open and Craving Wind broke free. But Emery couldn’t focus, couldn’t lose herself, couldn’t stop thinking about how miserable she was there, riding without her family in the grandstand. Sensing her unease, the colt fell back, but he was a closer. He’d find his pace. And then, suddenly, Emery was suffocating, her colors too tight, the strap of her helmet cutting into her chin. God, breathe, breathe. Just help me breathe. Her lungs burned and her hands tightened on the reins, and unsure what to do, Craving Wind fell back again, a length, then two, more and more horses zooming past them, and then they sailed over the finish line and panic ripped through her. No! It couldn’t be over yet. They’d just started. She had time to fix her delay, she could . . . oh my God. It was over. She didn’t need to see the time or hear who was in the money to know that she wasn’t.
Her heart felt so heavy she wasn’t sure how Craving Wind still held her up. Tears pricked her eyes and she pushed them away, standing tall despite how very, very small she felt.
She’d lost.
Emery sat quietly in the passenger seat of Trip’s truck the next day, staring out the window, unwilling to look at him. She knew he wouldn’t return her stare anyway. He’d barely said two words to her since the race, the disappointment all over his face, and she wondered how the hell it was possible to so fully disappointment everyone she cared about. The thought packed a fresh pound of misery on her chest and, angry, she lashed out, jabbing at the radio.
“I’m tired of this crap.”
“It’s Sports Talk Radio. What’d it do to you?”
She glared over, and he glared right back. “The constant crackling is giving me a headache. Who listens to AM anymore anyway?” She turned back to her window.
“So now it’s the radio station’s fault?”
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Fury rose so quickly in her chest she thought she’d explode. “Pull the damn truck over. I can walk from here.”
Trip gripped the steering wheel tighter. “No.”
“Pull over!”
He stared forward. “No.”
“You, you—”
“What? Let me guess—now it’s my fault? Go ahead, throw the bucket at anyone but yourself, Emery.”
And then it hit her what he was talking about. He blamed her for losing the race and thought she didn’t want to accept fault. Little did he know she had no trouble blaming herself. She’d spent all night awake, replaying what had happened, trying to find a way to learn from it, but it all came down to her. There was no one else to put this on, no one else riding Craving Wind and completely falling apart with each passing second. She remembered her inability to breathe, to focus, all the decisions she’d made and all the pain she’d caused washing over her until she was so close to a nervous breakdown it was a miracle she’d made it across the finish line at all.
“You blame me,” she finally managed, the words hurting more than they should. More than she should let them.
Trip leaned back in his seat, his jaw set, all the answer she needed, and she felt herself losing it all over again, but this time not in anger but sadness.
They pulled into Annie-Jean’s and Emery slipped out, Trip refusing to look at her. She started to shut the door, then paused and swallowed once so she wouldn’t lose it as she spoke. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
Then she shut the door and disappeared into her favorite house, praying Annie had a fresh batch of cookies in the oven. She’d need a few dozen to soothe this heartache.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tight race
Trip pulled into his garage and dropped his head against the steering wheel, so angry at himself he contemplated driving back to Annie-Jean’s and begging Emery on his hands and knees for forgiveness. He’d done exactly what he’d fought all night last night not to do, and the shit of it was, it had nothing to do with Emery losing and everything to do with why she lost and the repercussions of that loss.
>
Beckett had all but tied a weight around her, dragging her down. It was a miracle she hadn’t lost sooner. Then her mother called, and it was done. He could see it in her face, but he thought the strong, feisty woman he knew would put it aside to race. But that Emery wasn’t the real Emery. Inside, she aimed to please, craved it, and without Beckett’s approval and support, she’d slowly and painfully become a half version of herself. He should have seen this coming.
What’s worse, he already had three missed calls from his father. He knew he’d seen the race, knew he’d talked to Sarah Anderson and already put it in motion to have Marcus ride Craving Wind instead of Emery. The thought hit him so hard he felt breathless. How the hell had he lost control so completely?
Feeling like avoidance was the medicine of the hour, he pushed out of his truck and into his house to find a game playing on the widescreen and his brothers both kicked back on his leather sofa.
“Get out,” he said, ignoring them as he made his way to the shower, hoping he could burn away some of this guilt.
“Now, now,” Alex said, standing. “We brought beer.” He went into the kitchen, and Trip heard him crack open a can, then return and pass it to him. Still fuming, he gripped the beer and nearly threw it against the wall.
Nick was to him then, always the calm brother. “Dude, when did it happen?”
Trip’s heart clenched tight. “What? Don’t tell me they already fired her.”
Nick shook his head. “Nah . . . not yet.”
Trip cursed, walking away for fear he might lose it. He lived and breathed by a certain life order—control and patience and intellect cured all. But he couldn’t talk his way out of this, couldn’t order someone to do something, couldn’t think of a single damn way to save her from this misery. And the realization nearly broke him in half.
“Damn.”
Trip glanced over to find both his brothers staring at him, Nick with sympathetic eyes, Alex with a touch of disgust. “What are you two barking about? Spill it already.”
“You love her,” Nick said, his voice low, like he was revealing a secret.
“I . . .” But all Trip could do was trail off, because he knew with certainty that he didn’t simply love Emery Carlisle. He worshipped her, needed her to breathe, to feel whole. And now he wasn’t sure how to be the man he’d always been. Who was Trip Hamilton? The old him was nothing, emotionless and closed off. He didn’t want to be that man anymore, yet he knew he’d not only lost Emery’s trust but as soon as she heard she wouldn’t ride Craving Wind in the Kentucky Derby, she’d never speak to him again. She’d blame him. And she’d be right.
His gaze fell helplessly on his brothers, the two people in the world who understood how hard this was for him. “What do I do?”
Alex opened his mouth, likely to spout out something smart, but Nick hit him in the chest before he could continue. “Hey!”
“Well,” Nick said. “No one needs your opinion.” And then he turned to Trip. “You tell her. You open your heart wide and tell her. And then, when you’re done telling her, tell her about Craving Wind before someone else does. Because we tend to forget all the reasons we have to forgive someone when we’re at our worst.”
“Will she hear me out? Will she forgive me for not telling her sooner?”
Nick shrugged and took a long pull from his beer. “No clue. But you’ll never know standing here talking to us.”
Trip hesitated, and Nick took a step closer. “Look, I know we messed up your love life for you. Screwed up the way you see it.”
“Hey!” Alex called for the second time, but with one look from the brothers, his shoulders fell and he sighed. “All right, fine. So I’m not exactly the poster child for relationships.”
“Understatement.” Nick laughed. “But here’s the thing, Trip, at least we’re trying. I know I lost Brit, but I’d do it all over again if I could. So would Dad. We don’t regret falling in love just because we lost the ones we loved. Talk to her, man. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.”
All the convincing he needed. Trip grabbed his keys off the counter and started for the door as his cell rang. Most of the time he’d ignore it, but Mama V rarely called him. He hit Answer on the phone as he jumped into his truck. “Hamilton.”
“Honey, are you home?” she whispered.
Trip’s eyebrows drew together. Mama V spoke in one tone—loud. For her to whisper, something had to be wrong. Very wrong. “What happened, V?”
“You need to get down to the barn. Fast.”
“Can you explain?”
“Just . . . hurry.”
He threw the truck in reverse and sped down the road, a thousand thoughts going through his head. Had something happened to one of the broodmares while foaling? Had something happened to his father? No. She would’ve called his brothers, too, and she wanted him down at the barn, which could only mean one thing.
Stepping on it, he made the last turn toward the main barn, spotting Emery’s Jeep parked outside, and then his gaze fell on the scene—Mama V wringing her hands. Clark and half the others on the farm standing around, tense. And Emery and Marcus standing off, shouting at each other, their faces so close it was amazing no one had thrown a punch yet.
Dammit!
Trip threw the truck in park and jumped out, slamming the door and racing over. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted as he reached them, and then Emery turned, her face full of pain. She knew.
He took a step back, the weight of her stare too much for him to stand in, but she deserved more than a coward. He opened his mouth to say he was sorry, to ask her to come talk—anything—when she tossed up her hand.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare.” And the hurt combined with the words, so close to the ones she’d used when they were together, sent him reeling.
“Emery, please.”
“Guess screwing the boss didn’t get you very far after all,” Marcus said, and unable to hold his temper another second, Trip stormed him, tossing him into a stable door, ready to punch, before Clark stepped between them, urging Trip back.
“Stop. Take a breath,” Clark said.
Trip stared at his assistant trainer, his friend, his breathing heavy, and then his gaze fell on Emery, walking away.
“Emery!” he called, but she wasn’t stopping. Not for anybody, certainly not for him. He reached her and skidded in front of her, his arms out to stop her. “Please, listen . . .”
“Did you know?” she asked, a hint of hope in her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t know.”
Hanging his head, he stepped back and put his hands on his hips, sure if he didn’t put them somewhere they’d betray him and reach out to the woman he loved. Damn, how had he messed this up when he’d just gotten her back? With incredible will, he lifted his eyes, pushing aside the need to protect himself. This wasn’t about him. “Yes.”
She spun on her heels. “That’s all I needed to know.”
“No, let me explain. Sarah Anderson, she—”
“I lost one race, Trip. One! You’re the trainer. They hire you, not me. They listen to you, not the other way around.” Her eyes found the ground, her teeth working at her bottom lip, and God if he didn’t feel like the piece of shit he was. “Did you even try?” Tear-filled eyes found him. “Did you fight for me?”
He tried to draw a breath and failed. “I . . .”
“That’s what I thought.”
And then she was in her Jeep, and all he could do was stare as she drove away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jump the gun
“Darlin’, you’re gonna have to move to another drug. Vodka, maybe?” Annie said, passing over a slice of freshly made peach cobbler. “I’m all out of sugar.”
Emery dug her fork into the cobbler, stuffing far more into her mouth than her mama would find appropriate, and lay back on the couch, ignoring the memories of Trip and her on that very couch, everything so perfect. Why couldn’t it stay that way? The two of them lost i
n each other, her heart floating somewhere high above.
“I can get behind some vodka.” Kate pushed her own fork into the cobbler and moaned loudly as she slowly enjoyed the dessert. “Annie, you’ve got a gift. Did you sell your soul or something? Nobody makes desserts like this.”
Annie beamed over at them, until her gaze landed on Emery, staring at the TV but not at all seeing it. “Heavens, child, you’re going to make me cry, and I vowed to stop crying in 1995.”
Kate slumped against her and wrapped her tightly in a hug. “We just need to find you another trainer, another horse.”
The thought made Emery want to sob, because it wasn’t about the Kentucky Derby. She wanted to ride Craving Wind . . . and she wanted Trip to feel she was the best rider for him, that no one else could ride Craving Wind the way she could ride him. Instead, she’d lost one race and he’d turned on her completely.
“I think I’m ready for that vodka now.” Emery held out her empty plate to Annie, and with only a moment of hesitation, she shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with drinks for each of them. “Okay, but no puking on this rug. It’s new.”
Kate passed Emery a glass and then sat back against the couch beside her. “I don’t want to make it worse, but what happened at the track, Em? Why did you lose?”
“You can’t win every race.”
“No, but something tells me it’s more than that. I’m not asking why someone loses. I’m asking why you lost.”
Emery closed her eyes, remembering the way her helmet strap had cut into her chin, her shirt tight against her chest. Air had flown past her, yet she couldn’t seem to find a breath. “I just . . . I felt like I was suffocating. I kept thinking about Daddy, and how hard he’s worked for me all these years. He helped me become a rider, taught me how to race. He’s the reason I won the Kentucky Oaks two years ago, and why I would have won it a second time if not for the accident. He believed in me.” She choked on a sob, emotions rising from her chest. “And what sucks the most is, I turned my back on him only to ride for Trip, who clearly never believed in me. And to think I thought I . . .” She shook her head, not wanting to admit it out loud now that things had changed so completely.
