16. Nick
Chapter 16
Nick
T he morning of Melanie’s last competition for the season dawns bright and cold. There’s a fresh layer of frost on the ground and a bite in the air that signals oncoming snow. Melanie’s already up and dressed with coffee brewing when I come inside from morning chores.
“Bundle up, California boy,” she says, passing me a steaming mug. “You’re going to be spending all day in the stands, because I plan on winning this thing.”
Her words are confident, but the tension in her shoulders tells me she’s nervous.
“It’s an indoor arena,” I remind her.
“I think you’ll find ‘indoor’ a generous description for the drafty semi-permanent tent out there.”
Two hours later I discover she is, of course, right. While she gets ready to race in the warm-up tent, I take stock of the chilly arena next door to see what we’re up against. The metal bleachers that surround the course are freezing to the touch. I notice the more knowledgeable, experienced spectators are sitting on old saddle blankets and portable seat cushions to protect their rear-ends from frostbite. Among those well-prepared spectators are Melanie’s supporters: Edwin, his wife, and his siblings; Olivia, who is just as loud and enthusiastic in person as she is over FaceTime, chatting animatedly with Melanie’s much quieter friend, Kennedy; Mirielle Cunningham; and, to my surprise, my mother.
I catch her eye and hold up my hands to signal, What the fuck are you doing here? Mom smiles and blows me a kiss. Olivia watches the whole exchange, rapt. It’s not a disaster, but I don’t think a Lisa-Conway-shaped surprise will help Melanie’s confidence. I mime zipping my lips in the hopes Olivia will get the message and resist the urge to spill the beans. She gives me an innocent look that I don’t buy for a second, so I rush toward the holding area to run interference with Melanie. My phone buzzes before I’m three steps away.
I won’t tell Melanie her former idol Olivia might have been teasing about the future mother-in-law thing, but that’s my goal: get Melanie onto an Olympic podium to make her dreams come true, and then get on my knees and ask her to make mine come true.
Not that I’d propose at the Olympics. Melanie would tie me to GT’s saddle by my ankles and let him run through a rocky field if I tried to steal her moment like that. But once we’re home, it’s something I want to build into our plans so that by her second Olympics, Melanie will be riding with my ring on her hand.
Before any of that, though, I need to make sure my two favorite women are getting along. It takes approximately twelve hundred years for me to fight through the crowd to get to them, by which point they’re hugging. Thank fuck. They pull apart and Melanie’s eyes are glittery with unshed tears. Mom brushes a stray hair off her forehead in a gesture so maternal I almost cry, because as much love as Melanie’s got around her right now, I know there are two people missing from the crowd.
“So lovely to meet you, Lisa,” Melanie says.
“You too, sweetheart. I’ll see you tonight,” Mom says.
“Tonight? Any other surprises planned for us, Mom?” I ask.
She pulls me into a tight hug, smirking at me mischievously. “If I’d told you I was coming, you would have told me to stay home, and then I would have missed that splendid performance! Now, I’m overdue a nap at my hotel, but I’ve got reservations for us at Rioja tonight so we can chat more then.”
“See you then,” I say, stepping back to take Melanie’s hand.
“Proud of you, kiddo,” Mom says .
“I learned from the best.”
“I wasn’t talking about your coaching,” she says. “It’s about time you opened your heart to something other than horses. See you two at eight.”
Then, it’s finally my turn to have my champion all to myself. Melanie jumps into my arms and I twirl her around; it’s basically tradition at this point. When I set her down, the glimmer of tears I saw earlier is all but gone.
“I’m obsessed with your mom,” she says.
“I’m a big fan of her myself. You alright?” I ask.
She holds up her trophy, one eyebrow raised. “Is that even a question?”
I shrug. “Your parents…”
“Their loss. Just watch—if I make the Olympic team—”
“ When you make the Olympic team,” I correct.
“Sure. Then they’ll come crawling back. They’ll want to be in control of the narrative when every sports journalist who can tell the difference between dressage and hunter/jumper starts looking for human interest stories and digs up the Roger Peart fiasco, then wants to know how I came back from that,” she says darkly.
“And you’ll tell those journalists the truth?” I prompt.
“Absolutely not,” she says with a snort. “I’ll talk about how I’ve had my parents’ unwavering support from day one, and how much they believe in me, and how there’s nothing they want more in the world than their little girl’s happiness. They can either call me a liar and admit they put their reputations above my dreams, or they can support me.”
“Oh, that’s diabolical,” I say, grinning.
“Olivia helped me brainstorm.” She takes GT’s lead in the hand that’s already clutching her trophy and grabs onto my arm with the other. “Also, fair warning for when we get back to the stable, she and Kennedy are waiting there for an official introduction. I’m pretty sure Olivia didn’t hang up that FaceTime call the other day until after we fell asleep on the couch.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised by that,” I say with a sigh. “Any chance Kennedy’s well-adjusted?”
“Her stepmom’s two years younger than she is, so I’ll let you use your best judgment on that,” she says. “Still feel lucky to have me riding for you?”
Her cheeks are pink from the chill in the air, her hair is matted to her head with sweat, and there’s mud and horse manure caked on her boots, almost up to the knee. No one has ever been this beautiful.
“Luckiest man in the world.”