28. Leah
Leah
Competition jitters never bother me like this. Maybe I’m choking under the pressure of having four secret boyfriends rooting for me in the audience? Nah, I don’t choke. Especially not when Tally is this excited.
Her energy is powerful, nearly vibrating under the saddle. She’s ready to show off, and admittedly, I’m eager to do the same. It hits different knowing that the people closest to Henrietta are all watching, rooting for me, not Bridget.
Money and power mean nothing when you’re an evil bitch.
Tally snorts, already revved up. Another medley of 90s boy bands, remixed with classical vibes, booms through the arena, our signature at this point. Everything else fades away as my mind zeroes in on our task.
Beat by beat, I guide Tally with precision, her hooves landing in the sand with purpose. She’s putting all of her energy into this show, hitting every cue flawlessly.
That’s my girl.
I believe that she genuinely understands what’s at stake and has put just as much of her heart into our mission. The instant I met this horse, I knew she was special, and every single training session and show has reinforced that belief.
With practiced guidance, I move her through each transition with razor-sharp accuracy. My body settles, finally catching up with my mind—concerns fading with every passing second. Our routine isn’t long, but the skills are far more difficult than any of our past shows.
Nearing the end, I swallow the last of my doubts.
This is simply another day, and we’re going to hit this canter pirouette with no issues.
It’s our first time doing one in an actual show, definitely a main cause of my unexpected nerves.
We’ve done it flawlessly the last five times in training, but it’s a tricky move. Anything could go wrong.
No.
Stop thinking about it. You know what you’re doing.
We move from our half-pass trot to the far side of the arena, smoothly shifting to a collected canter.
I count the beats and hold my breath. Parker has to be quaking as hard as I am.
I want to look at them, see the faces of my men before I do this, but I can’t.
There’s no time to get hung up and let myself—all of us —down.
This competition is my key to the World Cup. If we score well today, we’re in and can focus on preparing for that—pure practice, and choreographing a kick-ass routine that will showcase how strong we are.
This pirouette is the cherry on top of our performance. Parker is right, we’ve played it fairly safe up to this point, putting just enough into these shows to earn decent scores—anything to keep me on the comfortable side of confident.
But this is for us.
We approach the marker, heart stuck in my throat. It’s like the world is speeding by and standing still all at once.
Tally follows my lead, nearly weightless as she pivots. If horses had toes, she’d be spinning on them like a world-class ballerina. Three hundred and sixty degrees of buttery smooth movement, then her front feet come down, and we’ve done it.
I gather my composition and spare a glance at the guys. Parker wipes a tear, tossing his head back. Grady sits up straighter, wearing a small, proud smile. Warren and Quincy are biting back giant grins, practically bouncing in the bleachers.
That’s right, boys, we’re getting out of here.
The last few movements in our routine are a breeze. Before I know it, we’re awaiting scoring, which is always nerve-racking, but this time it’s heavy, crushing. No matter how clean I think our routine was, I still prepare for the worst. Even if the pirouette and piaffe felt flawless.
When the scoreboard shows an eighty-three point five-two percent, I nearly fall out of my saddle. God, I wish I could run and jump into Parker’s arms and let them all smother me with joyous kisses, celebrating right here in front of the world.
Instead, I remain as stoic as possible.
Patting Tally on the neck, I beam as we ride steadily out of the arena. Guiding Tally to her stall, I dismount, celebratory peppermint in hand.
“We’re going all the way. T. You, me, and all four of our boys.
” I lean my forehead against hers and sigh while she crunches away.
“This is going to work. We’re so close." Months of treading lightly, sneaking around, training in secret, are all finally proving to be worth it. I can’t wait to have this hardship pay off and finally have time to find the perfect chunk of land for us.
I busy myself untacking Tally, taking my time to show a little extra love along the way.
Massaging her withers always earns a soft grunt of appreciation.
This time is no different. I can’t help but reflect on where I was months ago—the judgment in my parents’ voices as I told them I was leaving.
How quickly my brothers took their side and told me I was being foolish.
I hope they choke on my success.
It’s not like I didn’t do anything for them with my winnings. I paid off the house, bought them all new cars, and gave each of them hefty amounts of money to spend as they pleased.
But chasing my dreams is “impractical”. Making a name for myself is “unfeasible”.
According to them, anyway.
Today is the first time I’m able to convince myself that they’re absolutely wrong.
I never thought I’d see a score anywhere near eighty percent at this level.
Most hopefuls will only dream of it, yet we’ve been doing it consistently.
I thought for sure that today would be our downfall.
The pressure almost got the better of me. But we rode clean. We deserve it.
The World Cup had better be ready for us. And then, the Olympics are in our sights. I’m a freight train with no brakes now, confidence in overdrive. Nothing is stopping me from achieving this, saving my men from their shitty situations, and throwing my success in my entire family’s face.
My name has been whispered on the wind in the dressage space ever since our debut. After today, it’ll be all people talk about. Nobody else has scored above an eighty at this entire show. The thought is a lot to process.
I went to Hartbrook fully aware that it’s unheard of for a nobody to show up, prove themselves, and earn their place as a frontrunner to represent their country in less than a year.
The tryouts are usually an extensive process, but damn if we’re not showcasing our abilities every time we strut into an arena.
Even if we don’t make it, I’m proud of how far we’ve already come.
Either way, I have a plan and want to surprise the guys, but I need to focus my energy on the World Cup. My scheming can wait until after.
My face is broken. The too-wide grin splitting it won’t leave.
We decided to drive an hour away for my celebration dinner. Nobody in this town has a clue who we are, which means our affection doesn’t need to be secretive.
“I’m so proud of you.” Parker takes my hand as we sit in the booth at this surprisingly fancy diner. I sprung for the best we could find in this little Alabama town.
“I’d be nothing if it wasn’t for you.” I look around the table, getting lost in their loving smiles and soft faces. “All of you.”
Quincy’s ears redden, tucking his chin to his chest. “You were so spectacular out there. I’m unworthy of sharing your air.”
I roll my eyes with a scoff. “Like hell you are. I just hope Henrietta doesn’t get on you too badly. After today, she has to be suspicious that Parker is still training me.”
Warren raises a hand dismissively. “You let us worry about her. Parker, I’m sorry, but Bridget is going to be extra unpleasant when we get back, especially after her horrid score today.”
“She missed half of her transitions, that’s one hundred percent her fault!” Parker huffs, scowling at the table.
Grady watches our exchange, more joy than anything shining in his eyes. Nothing is bringing this man down from the cloud he’s on.
“Buonasera, I’m Adriano. What can I get you started with?” Our waiter appears out of nowhere.
My jolt doesn’t go unnoticed. Though Grady says nothing, his hand finds my leg under the table with a gentle squeeze, simple and comforting, exactly what I need.
“Oh, uh.” Staring blankly at him, my words get lost in the ether.
Parker chuckles. “One order of the family-style lasagna, please.”
“Ah, a splendid choice. Will we be pairing it with a bottle of wine?” Adriano asks.
“Yes, you finest Chianti,” Warren replies effortlessly.
His wine knowledge shouldn’t be so impressive. Surely he has to know these things. But my stomach fills with flutters all the same.
Nodding, Adriano taps at the tablet in his hand, disappearing as quickly as he showed up.
“You g-good?” Grady arches a brow.
“Yeah. It’s silly, but I’m still worried we’ll be discovered.” I offer a tight, apologetic smile.
“Are you ashamed of us?” Warren asks, direct as ever in the way I love and hate.
It’s not a malicious question. He wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t genuinely concerned.
It still stings.
“I’ll never be ashamed of any of you. I just don’t want to get found out before we have plans in motion.”
“Gorgeous, the plan has been in motion. You slammed a brick down on the gas pedal today,” he replies, reaching across the table to take my hand. Our fingers lace together, and he rubs my knuckles with his thumb.
“But, my worry is—”
“Me,” Parker cuts in, voice tense. “Bridget won’t make it to the World Cup, Henrietta can’t buy her way in. She won’t qualify, no matter how hard I try to get her in shape. This has been my worry all along.” His face falls.
Quincy speaks up, “So what? She’s twenty-one. She can go to the next summer Olympics. It’s not like Champ will be decrepit by then. Renegotiate your contract. Tell the old lady that you can get her there by then, even though we won’t be around.” The steadiness in his argument catches me off guard.
“Why did we never think of that?” I tilt my head. “None of us ever considered simply convincing Henrietta that she can make it next time, and just needs to improve. It’s a great idea, Q.”
“I l-love you all,” Grady announces, a spark of realization burning in his gaze.
It’s as if he’s only now letting it sink in that his life is about to change, that breaking free of this prison he’s been in is possible. I lean over and kiss his cheek, giggling when he melts against my lips, large hand squeezing my thigh.
“We’re so close. Just a little longer. We got it in the bag.” I give him a shoulder bump.
If I play this smart, call the right people, and get the right information without being too obvious, I might get us out of here before the World Cup.
Our happiness is in my hands now. Failure isn’t an option.