Breaking the Reins

by Juliana Haygert

  The glint on his eyes made me shudder. “Time for your punishment.”

  ***

  Even knowing there wasn’t much I could do, I kept on running down possibilities in my mind.

  Going to the police in another town. Leaving, hiding at my parents’ house. Or running away and hiding from everyone for a while. Or use my grandma’s old rifle as a defense weapon. However, I doubt I could really shoot a person, or that there were any bullets left in the house.

  Either way, all these options exposed Hilary to Eric’s claws, and for that, I pushed them away just as quickly as they came.

  Once again, I was relieved when I woke up and Eric was gone. After beating the hell out of me the previous night, the last thing I wanted was to see his face first thing in the morning. This time, he was smarter, though. He didn’t hit my face, where it was hard to hide, but he hit everywhere else. My belly, my chest, my hips, my back. I was covered in purple marks, and just getting up from my bed and going to the bathroom was like walking a tight corridor covered in knives.

  That day, Jimmy came in looking for me.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I said, from behind the bathroom door. “I don’t think I’ll be out today.”

  “It ain’t right, Miss Taylor.” His voice sounded a little distant, as if he were standing outside my bedroom. “You’ve been feeling unwell too often. Perhaps you should see a doctor.”

  I assured him it was nothing and, if it persisted, I would go to the doctor. I heard his heavy steps as he raced down the stairs and left the house. From my bedroom window, I watched him walk down the path to the main stable, shaking his head.

  Around noon, the text messages started.

  Leo: How are you?

  After a few seconds, he texted again. Stupid question. The real question is, why the hell did you stay?

  I didn’t answer and he kept on texting.

  We need to talk. I need to understand.

  No. I don’t need to understand. You do. Please, come to me. Or let me come pick you up.

  Please, morena. You can’t stay there.

  I tried not reading the messages, but my will was too weak. I did erase all of them though, in case Eric snatched my phone at some point and searched for reasons to hit me more.

  Jimmy left around 5:30 p.m. and I went to the stable, surprised Eric hadn’t come yet. I was actually hoping he wouldn’t show up.

  First, I checked the other horses. Belle, Dakota, Chip, Black Jack, Dale, Duchess, Zeus, and Abacus. They looked fine and happy and well fed. Then, I stopped by the last stall and peered inside.

  Standing in his preferred corner, Argus looked sadder and weaker than the last time I had seen him.

  “Hey, boy,” I called him, and his ears perked up.

  He turned his muzzle to me and snorted.

  “I know I haven't been around lately. I’m sorry.” I sighed. “Things have been complicated around here, you know.”

  He snorted again and I smiled, translating it to ha-and-you-think-my-life-is-paradise? Poor horse. Just when we both started letting our walls down, I had to run away.

  My eyes surveyed his body. Even when this thin, Argus’s white coat still looked smooth, though I had seen it shinier before. I wanted to bring the shine back. I wanted to bring his strength back. I wanted to bring him back.

  Damn it. Eric couldn’t keep me away from him. Even if he broke every bone in my body, I wouldn’t give up on Argus.

  “I have a proposition,” I said to Argus, my hands opening the lazy Susan. I placed some grain in the bucket and closed the latch. “How about I work on you when he isn’t around, huh? Even if I have to limp my way here with a bruise on my face and all. Would you like that?”

  Argus stomped a hoof on the ground, and I thought he would ignored me, until he turned his body and took a couple of deliberate steps toward me.

  I smiled.

  “I’m glad to see you’re well,” Eric said, entering the stable and making me lose my smile.

  I tensed and Argus neighed, retreating to his corner.

  Eric halted beside me, putting his arm around me. He pulled me close and kissed my cheek. I did my best not to breathe, because if I did, he would notice the tension in me, the disgust in my gut, and I would suffer for it.

  His eyes flickered to Argus. “I forgot all about this horse.” His nose scrunched as if Argus smelled. Well, the stables did smell most of the time, but not Argus particularly. “Look at him. What an abomination. I’ll make some calls tomorrow. Soon, he’ll be out of here.

  Terror gripped my chest. No, no, no. Argus wouldn’t leave. If he did, then he would remain broken. And so would I.

  I didn’t protest though. I prayed he forgot about it again, and when he remembered, the calls and arrangements took more time than he expected, giving me more days with Argus.

  Eric’s hand applied some pressure on my waist, right where a big purple bruise was screaming, and guided me out of the stable.

  “How about you cook us some homemade chicken pot pie for dinner?” he said, with a haunting smile.

  I slapped a plastic grin on my face and went along with his fakeness.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Over the next four days, a new routine developed.

  Eric woke up early and left for practiced. I got out of bed right after he was gone, whipped up a large mug of coffee and went to Argus.

  I stayed with him most of the day, just leaving to have lunch with my mother and my sister. Then, I went back to the ranch, helped Jimmy with chores—and he insisted something wasn’t right, which bothered me to no end—helped Paul with the setting up and cleaning up from each class, and when they were gone, went back to Argus until Eric came back. I cooked us dinner, we talked about things like his polo career and his plans of taking the first place in the world rank back, and I listened to him talk about our glorious future together—the one where I stayed home, primping his house and taking care of his three children. It disgusted me.

  Meanwhile, I tried to behave as much as I could, so his rage would be in control. Which meant ignoring and deleting the thirty-forty messages Leo sent me every day.

  Of course, I read most of them.

  I’m worried about you.

  Please, answer. Anything.

  He’s a sick man, you know that right? I saw him today at the club. He goes on as if he is the star of the world. That is so wrong.

  Please, morena, tell me you’re not on his side.

  I can’t take this silence anymore.

  I’ve been one button away from calling the police for four days, but I figured you must have a reason for not doing so yourself.

  Please, morena, you’re killing me.

  His messages broke my heart every time.

  “How’s your father?” Jimmy asked, bringing my mind to the moment. He took the bridle from me.

  With a tiny smile, I unbuckled the saddle from Belle and handed it to Jimmy. “Well, my dad is finally recovering, so I guess I do feel better.” It wasn’t a lie. My father had finally woken up, and if he kept recovering at this rate, he would be home next week or so. However, he didn’t remember much of the incident. He had been walking from the elevator to his car when two hooded men showed up and shot him. The end. I still had my doubts about Mr. O’Neill and his hand in all of this.

  I guided Belle to her stall and approached Chip to take the gear off him. Paul had just finished a class, and as usual, he dropped the horses and things in the stable and left for his lunch break. If there were other instructors around, I would fire him without hesitation. Alas, there was none and I was stuck with his manners.

  “I’m glad he’s doing well,” Jimmy said as he turned to work on Black Jack. “I hope he remembers more details soon, otherwise the police will have no clue how to start the investigation.”

  “Me too,” I whispered.

  I had asked my mother many times if she had any idea who could want Dad dead, but she swore he had no enemies. Not publicly at least. The only
recent discussions she remembered were with Mr. O’Neill, but the man had his lawyer responding to it already. I wanted to ask my dad about it, but the police had already interrogated him enough. He didn’t need me to interrogate him too.

  In a comfortable silence, Jimmy and I took the saddles and bridles off the horses, put them in their stalls, and filled their buckets with grain and water. Then, Jimmy excused himself and went to his house for lunch.

  My stomach growled, but I ignored it, knowing it could wait a few more minutes.

  First, I wanted to try something.

  For the past two days, Argus was responding a little better to me. He ate all the strawberries I brought him and, when out in the arena, he got close several times, but I refrained from reaching to him and scaring him away.

  Instead of filling Argus’s bucket with grain, I dropped a few peaches in it. From his corner, he watched me and I wished I could read his mind.

  I leaned over the wooden rail as he approached the bucket with slow steps. He sniffed the contents of the bucket then raised his muzzle toward me as if asking me what the hell was in there.

  I smiled. “Try it. I know you’ll like it.”

  He sniffed the peaches some more. I chanted the patience mantra in my mind as he took over eight minutes to snatch a peach into his mouth. He ate it quickly, snorted, and grabbed another.

  “Told ya,” I said, a satisfied feeling growing in me. I extended my hand toward him, then, realizing what I was doing, I pulled back. “You’ll be okay, you know. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Argus stopped munching and looked at me. The depth of his stare, the insecurity in his eyes, was enough to break my heart. Poor horse. I wish I could scoop his past away with my hands and throw it in the never-happened trash can.

  The sound of a car arriving had my pulse speeding up. Eric at this time of the day? Well, not that he ever missed practice to come surprise—or hit—me.

  I walked to the stable’s entrance and saw a UPS truck in the parking lot. A guy, dressed in a UPS uniform, exited the truck with a small package in his hands. He saw me and walked toward me.

  “Can I help you?” I asked when he was close enough to hear me.

  He halted a few yards from me. “Hey. I’m here to deliver this parcel to Miss Hannah Taylor.”

  “I’m Hannah Taylor.”

  “Oh. Here you go.” He handed me the package and dashed away.

  “Thank you,” I yelled as he hoped in the truck.

  What … I turned the package in my hands. A plain yellow envelope with my name scribbled on one side, a handwriting I didn’t know. The truck zipped down the road, and I took a few steps into the stable. A little wary, I ripped the corner of the envelope and took a magazine out. A gossip magazine.

  “What the hell?”

  The cover highlighted scandals with Kim Kardashian, Lindsay Lohan, and Britney Spears. But there was a green Post-It sticking from the middle. I opened the magazine on the page it was marking, and it took me a minute to realize what I was staring at.

  “Oh my God …” I fell on a bench.

  I flipped the page. The article continued for over six pages. Six freaking pages!

  Ignoring all the pictures, I read the text first.

  Living Behind Lies

  You might have seen him on the cover of The Polo World magazine, and even illustrating some pages of Vanity Fair’s polo stars issue, but you don’t really know him.

  Facts you may know:

  —Currently ranked number one in the world, Leonardo Fernandes, 20, was born into a family of polo players and is the third son of polo legend João Pedro Fernandes. His siblings, Ricardo and Pedro, and his cousin, Guilherme, are part of his star team, Montenegro.

  —His career started when he was 10 years old and won the Copa dos Potros with the Montenegro Jr. Team, which was a subsidiary team for the Montenegro Club founded by his father.

  —He was promoted to 10-goal handicap at the age of 18, replacing American Polo star Eric Bennett as the youngest 10-goal polo player in the world.

  As nice as his achievements sound, his life isn’t a fairy tale.

  Due to the intense traveling to attend polo tournaments around the world, Leonardo flunked his senior year of high school and didn’t graduate. His father wasn’t happy about having a son who didn’t finish school, and after a heated argument in which a witness said, “They almost hit each other,” Leonardo left his family’s house and left his team. He quit polo and indulged in a life of parties, heavy drinking (in Brazil, the legal drinking age is 18), and drugs. Girls flocked after him, and Leonardo was seen with a new “girlfriend” every week.

  After a long year, his father interfered in his Casanova lifestyle, and put him into a rehabilitation center against his will. According to our source, father and son had many arguments during that time, and still do. “They can’t stand each other.”

  Convinced by his brothers, Leonardo complied with the rehab program and came back to the team.

  However, Brazilian media and paparazzi were making the routine of the Montenegro Club a real hell on Earth. It is said that other Brazilian teams had lost their respect for Leonardo and his family, making it difficult to maintain the tournaments' peace.

  Some say the opportunity to move and play for a club from the United States knocked on Montenegro’s door. Others say it was the other way around, and a bit more, “They totally forced it,” our source said. Regardless of how it came to be, Leonardo insisted on coming because he would be able to have a clean slate. Here, the polo fans would only know about his ranking and championship titles history, not about his slips and dark past.

  We did a quick search on Google, and at a first look, all we could find about Leonardo was in fact his ranking and championship titles history, and his association with Montenegro Club. Digging a bit deeper, we found dozens if not hundreds of news and articles from the period in which he was living la vida loca.

  “Leonardo is a bad boy through and through,” our source said. “It’s just a matter of time before he slips again and brings the team down with him.”

  Though this time they won’t have anywhere to run and hide.

  The words ended and I searched for more. It couldn’t be. There had to me more to that story, like “Aha, got ya! Happy April’s Fool in July!” but there were none. However, there were pictures. Lots of them.

  Leo at age ten, receiving his first trophy.

  Leo at age sixteen, training younger kids with his father at the Montenegro Club.

  Leo being sandwiched by three girls at a party, his shirt gone.

  Leo, completely wasted, being carried out of a party by Ricardo and Guilherme.

  Leo driving a convertible, with a bottle of whiskey in one of his hands.

  Leo arguing with his father in front of the gate of the Montenegro Club. They really looked like they would hit each other.

  Leo at age twenty, leaving the rehab center.

  Leo, with his team uniform, punching a paparazzi outside what looked like a restaurant.

  Leo standing in the middle of a field during a match with his polo pony behind him, arguing with another player.

  My stomach twisted into knots.

  Oh. My. God.

  Several questions surged in my mind. Was this true? How did this magazine find out about it? Who was this damned source? And why the hell did Leo never tell me about all of this?

  It was like I didn’t know him. At all.

  He lied to me. Or better, he didn’t tell me.

  I thought he was better than Eric, that he would never hurt me, that whatever we had was special, when in fact he was probably laughing his ass off right now, or skipping practice and partying. Apparently, he was another guy behind my back.

  Oh crap. I didn’t know what to make of this, and I had to stop my mind from imagining all the possible and terrible scenarios behind his story.

  Argus snorted, his head over his stall’s door.

  “Oh, just … more drama,” I tol
d him, as if he could actually act as my therapist and help me out.

  Then my phone rang, and Leo’s codename flashed on the screen.

  I considered not answering. Well, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms anyway, so why did I care about this article? I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want to talk to him.

  Ugh, stop being a wimp, Hannah.

  “Hi.”

  He exhaled. “I thought you weren’t going to answer me.” I kept quiet and he cursed in Portuguese. “I’m guessing you saw the magazine.”

  “You’re guessing right.”

  “Merda!” The sound of some metal being hit echoed through the call. “We were on the field when dozens of reporters barged into the club. Pedro suggested one of the guys had hit second in the world ranking, and the reporters were here for an interview or something. Then, they circled us and started firing questions about my past. I was shocked. The club security guards escorted us to a locker room, and we’ve been in here for over an hour while they handle the reporters. Meanwhile, Gui did research on his phone and found out about the article in the magazine that came out this morning.” He sighed. “I don’t know how they found out. I don’t know what happened.”

  How they found out … I held my breath. “So it’s true?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Oh shit.”

  “—they made it all sound bad. Well, it was bad, but there were more bits that they didn’t mention.”

  “More bad things?”

  “No, no. No bad things. Just some events that would explain a lot of what happened. Look, I can’t lie about it—”

  “Not anymore.”

  He groaned. “I never lied to you.”

  “But you didn’t tell me the truth either.” And that was hurting me. He hid things from me because he didn’t trust me enough with the truth.

  “I thought you would hate me if you found out. I wanted to tell you. I really did, but I was so scared you would stop talking to me, stop seeing me, and I’m so into you that I can’t bear the thought of you not speaking to me.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Well, you better get used it.”

  “What? Morena, no, please. Let me explain.”