15. Melanie
Chapter 15
Melanie
T hings with Nick are incredible. When we’re not butting heads and arguing, we’re an unstoppable show jumping team. He does tease me about how much of that is down to me listening to him and taking his advice when I’m on horseback, but I’d like to think some of the show jumping magic comes from him being head over heels in love with me. Mentioning that usually distracts him, which eventually earns me a growly reprimand, which I don’t mind at all, because those reprimands lead to intense kisses, his hands in my hair and heat in my veins.
Nick is part of what’s working for me in competition, but it’s more than that. I feel calmer and more focused—more like myself. Somewhere between storming out of my parents’ house and the bar in Nebraska, I stopped caring about other people’s expectations. Trying to please the people around me wasn’t getting me any closer to my goals. It didn’t get Nick to stop resisting the pull between us, it didn’t win me races, and it didn’t make me happy. Listening to my own instincts is helping me more than following instructions ever did.
With a week to go before the last competition of the season, I’m finally feeling confident about making the cut for the national team. I can place as low as sixth and still make the qualifiers in the new year. It’s something I used to dream about, so it’s surreal to be making plans for it. But that’s exactly what I’m doing.
The last competition is in Denver, so GT won’t be exhausted from a long trip in the trailer, and I won’t be stiff either. In ideal conditions like that, it would be easy to go in over-confident and unprepared. To counteract that, Nick and I have been training regularly—no days off and no skipping gym sessions. My days are full, but I don’t mind because I’m doing what I love, with someone I love. I’ve never been this centered before—this comfortable. For once in my life, I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop or for something to go wrong .
Two days before the competition, that all changes. Nick has to run up to the house to take care of some paperwork while I finish GT’s post-training grooming. I don’t think anything of it; he’s been burning the candle at both ends lately to handle the influx of business he’s gotten since the livestream in Salt Lake. But as I’m heading out of the stable to head up to the house, I don’t hear the sound of a tony ski mom signing her kids up for riding lessons—I hear Paul. And he’s not talking to Nick—he’s talking to Edwin. I freeze in the doorway, unsure what to do.
I knew Nick was working with Paul to solve things with his dad. We haven’t talked about it, but I figured we never would. Nick isn’t particularly comfortable talking about his dad, and I’m not too jazzed about discussing Paul. Once everything was settled, I assumed Paul would fade into the past, and Nick and I would move forward as though the two of them had never spoken.
Obviously, that’s bonkers. We were never going to avoid this situation. Standing here, looking at Paul and Edwin while my stomach turns into an angry beehive and my neck starts sweating, I’m painfully aware of how naive it was to pretend otherwise.
“I won’t keep you any longer, but seriously, I can’t thank you enough,” Edwin says. “Nick probably grunted at you like a disgruntled house cat being woken up from a nap, but he’s grateful too.”
Paul laughs, looking happier than I’ve seen him in ages. “He was more articulate than that. Truly, I’m happy to do it. Nick and his mother did so much for Diana—I’m simply doing a favor for a friend.”
Edwin cocks his head to the side. “Oh, Diana Walters . Your sister! I can’t believe it took me so long to make the connection. Wow, I haven’t heard her name in forever.”
It’s Paul’s turn to look confused. “Pardon the question, but do you know who referred Nick to me? When he reached out, he used my personal cell number, not my office line. I assumed Diana was the one who gave it to him, but it’s become clear that isn’t the case.”
What’s left of my stomach-beehive shrivels. Edwin chooses that moment to glance over toward the stable and spot me, which inevitably leads Paul to look my direction. I wave awkwardly.
“It was me,” I say. “Hi.”
“Melanie! I didn’t realize you knew Nick,” Paul says, startling when I lurch out of the shadows like some kind of Ghost of Girlfriends Past .
He sounds genuinely pleased to see me. Either he’s more mature than me, or he’s an incredible actor. For so long all I wanted was for him to see me thriving without him and regret dumping me, but now that he’s standing here, all I want is for him to disappear.
“I’ve been show jumping again. He’s my coach,” I say, wondering how Paul hasn’t figured that out yet. It’s been in enough publications, splashed across social media, and circulating through all our mutual friends. It’s hardly news anymore that Nick’s my coach.
And my boyfriend! Why didn’t I say he’s my boyfriend? Judging by Edwin’s expression, he’s wondering the same thing.
“Oh, wow! Mel, congratulations. That’s amazing news,” Paul says, his hazel eyes alight with surprise.
It washes over me in two waves. First, I realize he didn’t know I was jumping again. He’s not looking for hints of me in conversations, or combing through social media to find traces of my life. Second, and worse, he cares enough about me to know how much this means to me, and be happy for me. There’s no hatred or resentment, not an ounce of passionate feeling one way or another. Four years together, and he’s immune to me. We’re officially acquaintances.
“I’m really happy,” I say, hoping he can tell I mean it, despite the way gravity has suddenly stopped working and my scalp is prickling uncomfortably.
“It’s so good to hear that, Mel, honestly. I know our break-up wasn’t ideal, and I have a lot of regret about how I handled it. I’ve been worried about you,” he says. “But you’re really doing well?”
“Thriving,” I say, because that’s as many syllables as I can get out past the horrible thrum of my pulse in my throat. Why isn’t Edwin helping me? Where is Nick? Why do I have to have this conversation on my own? Or at all?
“That’s great. Really good, Mel. Do you…have a minute to chat?” Paul asks, his tone shifting from casual to serious in the space of five words.
I look to Edwin, panicked, for help. His frown deepens.
“This seems personal, so I’m gonna dip. Good to meet you, Paul,” he says.
Edwin jogs toward the house, leaving me alone with Paul. I’m officially inside of a nightmare.
Paul puts his hands in his pockets and looks down toward the polished tips of his loafers. My heart speeds up because I know that posture; he’s got news, but he’s not sure how to break it to me gently. It was the same way he stood when he suggested we skip Christmas with his family the first year we were together, because he didn’t want to cause a scene with Diana, and how he looked when he had to cancel our ski trip to Aspen because he was scheduled to be in court for one of his pro bono cases after he swore up and down the matter would be settled before we left. It’s how he looked right before he broke up with me.
“Spit it out, Paul,” I whisper.
“I was going to call you, but since you’re here…I don’t know how you’re going to take this, exactly, but I don’t imagine it’s going to feel good,” he says softly. He looks up at me, his expression inscrutable. “I wanted you to hear it from me, and not through the grapevine, so you have time to process it before it’s common knowledge.”
I arch an eyebrow at him to prod things along. I can’t speak, though, because I’m suddenly nauseous with anticipation. What could he have to tell me that’s so earth-shattering I need to hear it before the general public? We’re broken up. I’m nothing special to him. Why should I get first dibs on any of his news?
“I’m going to ask Alicia to marry me this Christmas,” he says.
The world around me blurs.
“Oh.”
“I have every reason to believe she’ll say yes, so--”
“I think you should leave,” I whisper.
Or shout. I can’t tell the difference at the moment.
Paul—non-confrontational, mild-mannered Paul—nods. “Sorry, I’ll go. Good to see you, Mel.”
Then walks away from me. He gets in his car, drives off without a second glance, and I’m stuck, standing in front of the stables staring at the empty spot in the road where his taillights disappeared. I’m not sure how long I stand there, stunned. Then a pair of hands—rough, familiar hands—cup my cheeks and I’m looking at a very different man.
“Melanie? Are you okay?” Nick asks, his face the picture of concern.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I mumble, pushing his hands off my face.
Paul’s known that woman less than a year. June to December, and now he wants a lifetime. Four years with me, and we never came close to a proposal. I thought he was the love of my life, but I was a pit stop for him. A blip on the radar. Nothing special. How long until Nick comes to the same conclusion? How many years of my life will I spend pouring my love into him only to discover there’s a hole in the bottom of his heart, letting it all leak out and soak into the ground? How long is this pit stop?
I don’t know how I’ll survive it a second time. It’ll be so much worse with Nick. When Paul left me, it was like losing a limb. It was agony, but I could still hobble around, figuring out new ways to navigate the world with one less support. But if I lose Nick— when I lose Nick—it’ll cleave me in two. Permanently.
“Bullshit. Edwin said you and Paul were having some kind of uncomfortable conversation, and now you’re standing here looking shell-shocked. What’s wrong?” Nick asks.
I have to swallow three times before the lump in my throat clears enough for me to talk.
“He’s marrying her.”
Nick nods slowly, brow furrowed with worry and confusion, his gaze fixed on me. Then the pieces click together. “Oh. Paul and the new chick. Okay. Bit of a surprise. They certainly aren’t wasting any time. But it’s not your problem, Melanie. I’m sure they don’t expect you to go. No reason to dwell on it.”
“No reason to dwell on it?” I repeat, dumbfounded.
“You’ve both moved on,” he says, as though it’s that simple.
“Nick, we were together for four years. He’s known her six months! How are they getting married?” I ask, my voice cracking on the final word.
Nick’s jaw tenses and all the concern in his eyes disappears. “Okay, maybe only one of you moved on.”
“I don’t want him back,” I say, frustrated. “You’re not understanding me.”
“No I heard you loud and clear.”
“Nick, I—”
“Look at it from my perspective, would you? I think you’re the one not understanding me. I’m head over fucking heels in love with you. You know that. I’ve told you a thousand times, and shown you the best way I know how,” he says, hurt flashing in his eyes. “I’ve never said those words to anyone before because I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. It’s a big deal to me. You are a big deal to me. You’ve turned my life inside out and upside down—and you’re falling apart over some other man. He broke your heart and I thought I’d picked up all the pieces, but apparently not! You’re pining after some what-if, and all I want is you.”
“For now,” I say, just as hurt.
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he yells.
“All you want is me for now ,” I shout back. “You think Paul didn’t say the same romantic crap to me? You think he didn’t say, ‘I love you’ a thousand times, or swear I was special? Because he did! He said it, and I believed him, and then four years later he changed his mind and now he’s giving some other girl a freaking ring and the rest of his life not even a year later, so forgive me for not being so naive this time around!”
Nick scoffs, and shakes his head. I’ve never seen him so agitated, unable to stand still, but seemingly unwilling to walk away.
“Is that what this is about? You want a ring? Fine! I’ll go get you one right now—whatever you want, remember? You want proof I’m all in? Get in the truck. We’ll go to Vegas. Tonight. You’ve got the rest of my life, Melanie. What’s it gonna take for you to believe that?”
“Stop yelling at me!” I yell, which really doesn’t help me sound mature or reasonable. I want to believe him so badly, but I’m overwhelmed. It’s hard to think straight, let alone turn any thoughts into coherent sentences.
Nick reaches for me, then drops his hands, like he thought better of it. He lets out a frustrated growl, then whirls around and stomps toward his truck. Then he stops and turns around.
“I love you,” he says calmly. “I’m pissed off, but that hasn’t changed, and it’s not gonna. I’ll be back later.”
This time, he makes it all the way to his truck and drives off, leaving me once again staring down the driveway, furious and miserable. I could get in my car and head back to my house, but I haven’t been there in weeks and I’m not feeling steady enough to drive. Instead, I stalk back to Nick’s house with every intention of flinging myself onto the couch for a long, angry cry. Unfortunately, Edwin’s standing on the porch, glaring at me and blocking the door.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I say weakly.
“Too bad,” he says. “What was that?”
I sink onto the steps, all my adrenaline seeping out of me at once. “You were eavesdropping?”
“No, but I’m not dumb. You saw your ex and referred to Nick as your coach, not your boyfriend, then you shouted at Nick and he left in a huff. It’s not exactly rocket science.”
“Nick found it pretty hard to understand,” I say.
Edwin drops onto the stairs next to me with a sigh. “He didn’t want to call Paul, you know. I had to talk him into it.”
“Why? It’s the kind of thing Paul does. He does way more complicated cases for total strangers all the time,” I say .
“Because of you. Paul broke your heart, and that pissed Nick off, so he didn’t want anything to do with Paul,” Edwin says, exasperated.
“That doesn’t make sense. We weren’t together when I gave him Paul’s number,” I protest. “We’d only had one conversation without insulting each other at that point!”
Edwin shrugs. “Nick’s only had about five conversations in his life where no one tossed out an insult. Maybe it didn’t seem significant to you, but for him, that’s a red-letter day. He doesn’t trust easily, not after all the crap he went through with his dad. But he trusts you. Whatever your hang-up is with Paul, get over it and apologize to Nick.”
“Apologize? For what? For being upset that my ex-boyfriend is getting engaged to some random woman he’s known for two seconds?”
“Why does it matter to you?” he asks. “You’re with Nick.”
His phone rings, cutting off my indignant response. He pulls it out of his pocket, then shows me the screen. It’s Nick.
“I’m going to tell him to stop being so dramatic and come home so you can talk this through like adults. I suggest you take this time to do the same,” he says. “And go inside. It’s cold as fuck out here, and you’re going to get sick and fuck up your competition this weekend—all ’cause some lawyer got engaged. Ridiculous.”
He heaves himself off the steps and heads off toward the stables. I stand up; he’s got a point about the temperature. My nose is runny and my fingers are numb, so I head into the house where it’s warm. I don’t take Edwin’s advice, because I don’t agree that I’m being dramatic. I think I’m having a perfectly reasonable, rational reaction to what’s going on, so I call Olivia to vent. She was there for my whole relationship with Paul, so she’ll understand why this bit of news is—rightfully—throwing me for a loop.
Because she’s Olivia, she declines my call and FaceTimes me instead. Whoever invented video calls is my least favorite person of all time. I answer anyway.
“Oh, this is a bummer,” Olivia says, pouting so deeply I half expect her lips to pop out of my phone screen. “I was hoping to get a glimpse of your sexy new boyfriend. Tears weren’t on the agenda.”
I’m about to argue that I’m not crying when I spot my face in the corner of the screen and discover it’s not just snot on my face, but the tears Olivia mentioned. Aggravated, I swipe them away.
“This is the stupidest day of all time,” I grumble. “Paul’s getting freaking engaged, and God forbid I have one tiny reaction to that information, because apparently it means I’m having second thoughts about Nick, when we all know that’s crazy, because Nick’s the one who’s going to end up leaving me, probably about four years from now when he gets bored of me, and then I’ll be right back to eating Lean Cuisines in my underwear because I am a pit stop, not the final destination, and I can’t even vent about it to my best friend without getting crap for crying!”
Olivia grimaces. “See, this is why I wanted to tell you about Paul’s engagement—so you could have this little bout of insanity in private, and not in front of Nick.”
“What?! You knew? How could you know?” I ask. “Paul hasn’t even asked her yet!”
“Kennedy saw him buying the ring. She was getting a few links taken out of the diamond tennis bracelet her dad gave her for her birthday, because it was originally for her stepmom and—”
“I could not care less about Kennedy’s tennis bracelet.”
Olivia sighs. “Yeah, she noticed. But, fine, not the point. The point is, Paul went to the jeweler’s to pick up a big-ass diamond ring while she was there. He was super squirrelly about it, so Kennedy figured it had to be an engagement ring.”
“That was weeks ago!” I squeak.
“Weeks you spent seducing your coach,” Olivia points out. “You’ve barely answered anyone’s texts. I had to tell Kennedy you weren’t mad at her, and the reason you’ve only sent one-word answers to all her messages is because you’re too exhausted from all the sex you’ve been having to write out a full sentence. You’re welcome for that.”
“I’m also training for some pretty major competitions,” I point out sullenly.
“Which we found out about from Horse & Hound , not from you, by the way,” she says sourly. “You’re clearly going through some shit, so I’m not going to get on your case about shutting us out. Because I’m such a good friend, I’m going to talk you off this ledge, and then once you’ve finished with all the make-up sex you’re going to have, you can answer a fucking text and maybe invite your friends to come watch you compete this weekend, since it’s a fifteen minute drive away.”
My shoulders slump. “Wow, don’t hold back.”
“Do I ever? Now what is this shit about pit stops? What are you talking about?”
“I’m the pit stop—you know, the place men hang out for a bit to refuel while they’re on the road to their real partners,” I explain weepily.
Olivia wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Oh, gross. I didn’t know your mom had figured out how to fully take possession of your body and use your mouth to say dumb shit. Hi, Sheryl! How’s it going? Get out of your daughter’s head before you ruin her eyebrows, too! ”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” I deadpan.
“It’s not funny, though, and it’s not true,” she says. “You’re projecting all of your insecurities from your relationship with Paul onto your new relationship because you’re uncomfortable being happy. Cut it out before you fuck up something that’s been really good for you.”
I gape at her, not sure where to start.
“Shut your mouth. I’m serious,” she says. “You were constantly on edge when you were with Paul. Every little thing felt like the end of the world! You texted me, like, eight times a week convinced he was going to dump you.”
“Which he very much did,” I remind her.
“Yeah, because neither of you were happy. So, thank you, Paul, for finally having the balls to pull the plug on that dead love affair!”
“There were some happy times,” I argue. “Probably.”
She snorts. “Remember what happened when he asked you to move in?”
“Yeah, I moved in,” I say.
“Incorrect. You moved half of your clothes into his closet a month later, and you didn’t even pretend you were going to sell your house, because you were convinced he was going to change his mind.”
“I was being cautious,” I mumble, not meeting her eyes.
“You’d been together for two years!” she says. “Now, if we contrast that with your current situation, it’s obvious how different your feelings are. You moved in with Nick, like, immediately.”
“I did not,” I argue. “I still have my house.”
“I’ve had your location turned on for the past six years, Melanie. I know you’re at Nick’s house right now, and that you haven’t gone to your house for more than an hour or so in nearly a month.”
“Don’t you have stuff to do other than cyberstalking me?” I ask.
“No, work’s super slow this time of year, so I’ve been watching you like a Sim character,” she says with a shrug. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about the fact that you’re on Nick’s couch, freaking out about Paul’s engagement, while Nick is nowhere to be found. What’s going on there?”
My cheeks flush. “I don’t know. We, uh, yelled some stuff at each other and he drove off.”
“What kind of stuff?” she prompts, brows raised .
“Uh, he said it wasn’t a big deal that Paul’s engaged, so I tried to explain that I’m not upset because I want Paul, I’m upset because I realized Nick’s going to stop loving me someday, too, and then he said that wouldn’t happen, I said I’m not that naive, and he said we should go to Vegas and get married, and I told him to stop yelling at me, and then he left. That kind of stuff.”
Olivia’s jaw drops. “Well, he can match your energy. I’ll give him that.”
I’m lightheaded and my lungs feel too small. “I may have overreacted to the engagement news.”
“Yeah, just a scootch,” she says dryly. “You put Nick in an impossible situation. How the hell is he supposed to prove he’ll never leave you? You can’t know he’ll stay forever until forever is over. Insisting otherwise just sets him up for failure and leaves you both miserable. Think of it like show jumping.”
“Putting a giant animal through a series of increasingly difficult speed and agility tasks?”
Olivia rolls her eyes. “You don’t just run the races you know you can win. You try your best, knowing you can’t decide the outcome. You control what you can, and trust your horse with the rest. Nick is the horse in this metaphor.”
Footsteps on the porch catch my attention.
“He’s home! Olivia, you’re the best, and I owe you a long, extravagant dinner where you’re allowed to tell me any gossip you want,” I say in a rush.
I scramble to hang up the phone as the front door opens.
“Melanie?” Nick calls, frantic.
We collide in the doorway in a bone-crushing hug. I bury my face in the side of his neck, and he holds me so close my feet leave the ground. For a long moment, that’s all we do—just hold tight to each other, our heartbeats crashing against our ribs, wild and loud.
“I overreacted,” I say, my lips brushing his throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“You overreacted? I was halfway to the jewelry store when I called Edwin to get your ring size,” Nick says. “I’m the one who overreacted. I’m sorry, baby.”
“I will never forgive you if you elope in Vegas before I’ve even met this man!” Olivia’s voice says from somewhere on the floor.
Nick pulls back, startled.
“Olivia, hang up the phone!” I shriek.
“Nice to unofficially meet you, Nick. Be good to my girl! She’s emotionally weird, but worth the effort!” Olivia says .
“Hang up!” I repeat, mortified.
Nick’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Nice to meet you, too, Olivia. If I promise she’ll call you back in a bit, can I talk to my girlfriend privately?”
“Sure thing! Bye!” Olivia says brightly.
I cover my face in my hands, not sure how this day can get any more embarrassing. Nick wraps his arms around me again and kisses the top of my head. I instantly start to feel better. He’s holding me like I’m not a giant mess who just screamed at him for something he didn’t do. Then again, he’s a person who reacted to that screaming by taking concrete steps toward a Vegas wedding with a woman he’s known for two months, so Olivia’s right about us matching each other’s energy.
“I’m not Paul,” he says quietly. “I’m never gonna be Saint Walters, with his tailored suits and shiny loafers. I’m not gonna be polite and mild-mannered and deferential. I’m gonna lose my temper sometimes and pick stupid arguments when I’m insecure. I’ll try not to, but I think I might be emotionally weird, too. Most importantly, Melanie, I promise I’m not going to leave.”
“Thank fuck you’re not Paul, because I don’t want mild-mannered. I want you,” I say, looking up at him. “I really was falling apart at the idea of you leaving me and marrying someone else two seconds later, so I’ve obviously got some things to work on. But I only panicked so hard because I love you.”
He laughs, and I feel the sound rumbling in his chest as much as I hear it. “Miss Manners, was that a four-letter word? When we’re both fully clothed? That’s awfully rough language for this venue.”
I give him a playful shove, and he pulls me right back into his arms to kiss me until I’m breathless.
“It’s six and a half, by the way,” I say when we break apart.
“What is?” he asks, baffled.
“My ring size. For when the time comes.”
His answer to that is another kiss, and this time we don’t resurface until we’re naked and sweaty, the living room couch in disarray beneath us.