13. Claire
13
CLAIRE
T he next two weeks are all about Bonnie.
It’s a nonstop rollercoaster of tears and late night calls. Mary-Kate is the “doer” of the group, who coaxes Bonnie through the steps she has to take. Removing a Promise Ring is serious . She can’t just ask for it back. She has to write a letter to the Benefactors’ Society, which can be summarized by the following bullet points:
Confess your mistakes.
Explain what you’ve done to correct it.
Convince us you won’t shame us in the future.
She drafts it twenty times. We spend hours with Bonnie pacing back and forth in my living room, reciting her letter, and each time I hear it, a knot grows tighter in my stomach.
I twist my own Promise Ring over and over on my finger, gently reassuring myself that it’s still there.
She submits the letter and, after five breath-holding days, gets a response back.
She’s been reinstated. Her ring returned, shiny and new.
We celebrate at the Equestrian Club. No one actually says why we’re celebrating—mentioning getting back the ring would have to include why she lost the ring in the first place. So, instead, Bonnie’s parents get their own table and carefully watch us out of the corners of their eyes while us Promise Sisters, stuffed in ruffly, extravagant dresses, talk too loudly, laugh too loudly, and cheer with flutes of sparkling apple cider.
I smile. I clink glasses. I eat fluffy, crusty apple fritters until they clot in my throat.
But I can’t stop this sick, dark feeling that crawls inside of me and makes itself at home in my ribcage. An unwanted guest—like a fox hiding out in the henhouse.
These are my friends. This is a win . I should be happy.
But I’m not.
I excuse myself and go to the restroom marked “Mares.” When I exit, I bump right into?—
Ransom.
He catches me, his hands on my arms. “Whoa, there,” he says. His sly, crooked smile sends butterflies in my chest. “Slow your canter.”
“Ransom.” His name is a low hiss. “What are you doing here?”
Fear, sharp sparks of it, are exploding in my brain.
How is it possible to be equal parts happy to see someone and wanting the earth to swallow them whole?
His eyebrows furrow. “I’m working.”
The low apron. The wet stains on his shirt. Dish washer. Right .
I yank my arms back. “Me too.”
We’re not lazy, half-naked kids lounging on hot stones by the river. This is the elite Equestrian Club, and I’m Claire Preacher.
I can’t be seen fraternizing with the man who cleans my plate.
“Hey,” Ransom says when I start to walk away. “Have some words with your friend Bonnie.”
I knit my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“She broke up with Rafe. Called him some damn terrible things.”
“What does it matter to you?”
“Rafe’s my friend. I’m standing by him.”
“And she’s my friend.”
“So it’ll sound better coming from you when you tell her she was being unkind.”
My jaw sets. “Sure. After you tell your friend he put her in an impossible spot. Do you know what she had to go through to get her Promise Ring back?”
He lets out a noise that sounds like a growl. “Belleflower Queen this, Belleflower Queen that—if I gotta hear one more thing about it, I’m gonna stuck a shotgun in my mouth and pull the trigger.”
“I really wish you would,” I hiss.
There are thorns in my chest. Thorns in my voice. Thorns under my fingernails. The way he’s looking at me, he might twist my thorns into a crown and make me wear it.
Ransom’s amber eyes are blazing. Good . Let him burn. I’m itching for a reason to go off, and Ransom just might be the spark to set me aflame.
We stare at each other, rattlesnakes waiting for the other to strike.
His lips break. A sharp intake of breath.
But then?—
The bathroom door bangs open and a woman adjusts her a peacock feather fascinator as she exits.
Immediately, Ransom and I break away from each other. We turn away, backs to each other, and walk in opposite directions.
I’m furious, choking back anger, and…
I like this feeling .
It’s been so long since I felt anything except my father’s crystal cold indifference and the Promise Sisters’ numbing inauthenticity. I find myself aching for something—anything—to get my blood pumping.
Even a fight.
If Riley Ransom wants a war, he’ll get one.