15. Miles #2
The ponies are handed off to the grooms, and we collapse into the clubhouse for a much-needed rest.
“Fucking hell,” Jack says. “That was too close for my liking. We should’ve played much stronger than that.”
I scrub a hand down my face. I agree with him, but I also don’t want to sound pessimistic or discouraging. Maybe we’ve gotten too cocky the past few weeks, with easy wins against weaker teams. The matches we’ve played definitely haven’t been as cutthroat, that’s for sure.
Instead of replying, I turn to Ruby and Diego.
“What do you think?”
I can see hesitation on Ruby’s face, teeth strumming her lip. I don’t know if she’s still intimidated by Juan, Jack, and Billy, or if she’s unsure whether she has anything worth adding.
“Ruby,” I say. “Say what you have to say.”
“Okay.” She narrows her eyes on me and takes a deep breath. “Miles, you hog the ball too much. Billy was open so many times, and you didn’t pass. Twice we missed scoring opportunities because of it, and by the time you finally took the shot, your angle was wrong, and it went wide.”
I blink. Guess she’s not intimidated, after all.
“You also didn’t give Messiah enough room in the gallops to turn. That’s something you’ve drilled into us constantly, but you don’t seem to be taking your own advice.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay. Noted.”
“I’m not done,” she says, standing.
From the corner of my eye, I see Billy trying—and failing—not to grin. “Old ball and chain giving it to you?”
“Shut up, dickhead,” I mutter.
I probably shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, especially because she’s correct.
“And Billy,” Ruby continues, “you were all over the place. That Tom dude had far too many chances because you kept letting him through. Miles specifically told you before the game that he needed to be separated from the boards, and it wasn’t until the fourth chukka that you finally managed it.”
My gaze slices to Billy, whose eyes have widened dramatically.
“Well,” he grumbles, “she told you too.”
“Juan,” Ruby adds, “you were sitting too deep in defense. We should’ve been attacking more.”
Juan nods in response.
“All right,” I say, before our egos take any more of a battering. “Anything else?”
Ruby glances at Diego. He shakes his head, and she finally sits back down. “Nope. That’s all. Apart from that, you all played amazingly well.”
We all sit back, shell-shocked.
“Sounds like we’ve got a lot to do before the next game,” Juan says in his thick Spanish accent.
For the next hour, we strategize. We change out of our sweaty kit into clean clothes and work through our final pony selections, debating which horses should start first. Eventually, Ruby leaves to inform the grooms.
“She’s good, Miles,” Billy says the second she's out of earshot. “She knows what she’s talking about. Where the hell did you find her?”
“Aspen Polo Club,” I say. “Met her at New Year’s.”
Jack raises a brow. “I like the way she stands up to you.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “She definitely does that.”
“She’s probably the only woman I’ve ever met who isn’t afraid to put you in your place. Makes a nice change,” Billy adds.
I roll my eyes, but I don’t disagree. Every point they make is exactly why I haven’t told the boys anything about Ruby and me—nothing about the marriage or our relationship. No one outside my immediate family and the solicitor knows, and I plan to keep it that way.
Ruby returns and says, “The Maximum Effort Devils are through to the finals. Apparently, they’ve dominated every game today. No one managed to score against them.”
“Just means they’ll be more tired—”
“What kind of name is Maximum Effort Devils?” muses Jack before the six of us lapse into silence, each contemplating what winning this game means.
It’s still the same number of points, but it feels a whole lot more important.
One-day tournaments differ from those that span weeks. There’s a lot of waiting around between games—too much time to think about what’s ahead, instead of being able to leave once the match is over.
Juan scrolls through his phone. Jack and Billy lie stretched across the benches half asleep.
“I like those,” I say as I watch Ruby adjusting the ribbons in her hair.
“You do?”
“Yeah. I think you’re my good luck charm.”
Eventually, time is called, and we make our way toward the main stadium. The crowds get louder the closer we are. I can’t see them, but somehow, I can hear Hendricks and Max screaming as we gallop onto the field and line up opposite each other for the final of the Chatham Cup.
There’s great fanfare as Holiday trots onto the pitch to throw the first ball of the final along the starting line, and once it’s out of her hands, we’re given the green light, and the first Cup game of the season begins.
It’s obvious Billy’s taken Ruby’s advice to heart. He hooks the ball, spins Messiah sharply, and charges up the sidelines before crossing cleanly in front of the goal and scoring within thirty seconds.
I’m not sure who looks more shocked—our team, the Devils, or the umpires who are still trying to work out whether it was a legal move.
“Fucking hell.” Jack laughs, trotting back. “How do you even do that?”
“No fucking clue.”
The ball resets, and off we go again.
The crowd—filled with guests who’ve spent most of the day drinking champagne and are anticipating a closely fought match—is raucous.
The chants spur Calamity on, and she charges down the field like a race car, outrunning every pony on the pitch, worth every penny of the $200,000 I paid for her.
She positions herself perfectly, and I drive the ball toward Juan.
The Devil number three charges forward, and Billy and Brimstone tear after him, bolting up the field and bumping two Devil ponies aside.
He’s not quite so lucky, however, when one of them hooks the ball from in front of her, taking it away to gallop down the pitch in the opposite direction, where the Devil scores, bringing it to one all at the end of the first chukka.
“At least we broke their clean sweep,” Billy grumbles.
The match becomes more of a bloodbath than a closely fought one, and increasingly more violent as it goes on.
Ruby and Diego scream instructions from the sidelines.
By the fourth chukka, one of the Devils had been substituted due to a concussion from a high ball, and Fire was taken off after his shoe came loose. Juan took a mallet to the elbow but managed to play through. And to top it all off, the sky has turned an ominous shade of dark gray.
But the Devils have only managed one goal thanks to a lucky hook off Jack’s mallet that ricocheted underneath Mary before being picked up and driven home.
The fifth chukka begins one up. Two minutes in, and I get a chance at the goal, only for my mallet to snap in half. Ruby sprints onto the field with a replacement.
“You need to stay wide on their number four!” she yells, shoving the new mallet into my hand. “I think his elbow’s bothering him. He keeps shaking it out. Stay to his right, and you might be able to take advantage.”
I do exactly as she says, and unsurprisingly, I score. I’ve already lost count of how many times I’m thankful Ruby’s here.