Miles #2
Not that I say it out loud.
After the children’s polo, we move on to the low-goal match, where Alex will play in five minutes. Except right now, he’s running toward us with a panicked expression and waving a polo jersey.
“Milo, I need you to come and play. Tom’s got food poisoning, and we’re a man down.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Al, while I’m flattered, I can’t play low-goal. I’ll use up your entire handicap budget.”
“It doesn’t count today.”
“It does,” I say, as a much better idea comes to me, and I turn to my left. “Ruby can play, though.”
“What?” Ruby freezes, her eyes wide. I could have predicted this, but I’m also right. Even if she disagrees. “No. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, and this is good practice for you.”
Alex doesn’t bother to wait for her to protest again. “Please, Ruby. Otherwise we have to forfeit, and I bet Lando a grand we’d win.”
“No—”
“You can ride Maverick. He deserves to compete with you on his back.”
Her mouth opens, but Alex gets there first.
“Please, Ruby.”
“Come on, Trouble. Let’s get you changed, and you can decide on the way.” I take the jersey Alex is holding and practically push her toward the stables and Maverick.
She changes in silence, and the entire time, I expect her to bolt. When she comes out, wearing Alex’s jersey that’s three sizes too big, she looks like she’s seconds away from throwing up.
Part of me wants to laugh, and part of me wants to tell her she doesn’t have to play if she’s too nervous, but I also know she’d hate that. For now, I’ll just have to believe in her more than she believes in herself.
“Darling, you can do this. You’ve ridden higher-goal polo in our practice games. Mav’s ready to go for you, so get him out there and fucking win this.”
She stares at me like she didn’t even realize I was there. “You promise you won’t leave?”
“No, of course not. I’ll be watching you. They’ll have to throw me off for cheering too loudly.” I place her helmet on her head, fasten the strap, and drop a kiss on her lips, hoping it might distract her.
Alex is waiting outside, holding Maverick. As if sensing his mistress’s nerves, Maverick stands stock-still instead of fucking about like he’s prone to while she mounts him.
“I’ll be standing by the boards, cheering. Remember, relax your hands, elbows in, stay back in the saddle. Now go and win the match.”
I sprint off, leaving her in Alex’s capable hands to make their way to the rest of their team. Pulling out my phone, I shoot off a text to everyone I can think of, inviting them to come watch this match.
Spotting Haven in the seats along the rope line, I drop hard in the seat next to her. “Hey.”
“Oh, hey, Milo. Where’s Ruby?”
I nod to the pitch, ramming my hands between my legs to stop them twitching. “Alex was a man down—”
Her brows shoot up. “She’s playing?”
“Yes,” I reply, sitting on my hands instead. “Where’s Everly?”
“Clemmie has her.”
I crack my knuckles because sitting on my hands isn’t working.
“Are you okay?”
Standing up to let a couple of spectators pass us in the seats helps to distract me. “Yup. Fine. All good.”
“You look nervous.”
I turn to Haven and lie straight to her face. “I’m not.”
“Hmm, okay,” she replies, rubbing along her belly. I hadn’t noticed how big she’s gotten recently.
“Do you want me to go and find you a cushion or something?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. I probably won’t be able to sit still anyway—”
“Don’t be nervous, it’s a low goal. It’s not going to be a hard game.”
She shoots me a knowing side-eye. “Then maybe you should tell that to yourself again.”
I scoff. She has me there. And it’s not that I’m nervous nervous, I’m . . . okay, yes, I’m nervous. I want Ruby to do well. I know in my heart she will, but I also have firsthand knowledge of how crippling nerves can be. And she was nervous.
I try sitting on my hands again. This is worse than when I’m waiting for the ball to drop at the start of a match.
“Come on.” She nudges me. “She’ll be great. If you’ve been teaching her.”
I laugh, which helps. “I appreciate the faith you have in me.”
“Of course I have faith in you, Miles—”
She stops talking as the steward comes over the tannoy, introducing the players. I spin around, checking to see if anyone is coming to support. There’s less support here than the mini-polo, and no responses when I check my phone.
“First up, the Foxleigh Otters . . .”
Haven whoops, and I whistle and clap my hands together.
There aren’t enough spectators to make more than a meager cheer as four ponies gallop on.
Riders wearing the pale blue Foxleigh colors with navy numbers.
Alex is number one . . . Ruby number two .
. . where my focus stays. I don’t even know who else is playing with them.
She gallops in on Maverick, hands relaxed, seat back. She’s sitting up, shoulders straight. They look amazing.
Everything she’s listened to. Everything I’ve said.
“Miles?” Haven nudges me again, and I realize I haven’t heard a word she’s said. “Ruby looks good.”
“Yeah, she does,” I reply without taking my eyes off her, as the opposing team is announced and gallops on.
“Hey, is that Ruby?”
We look up to see Clementine walking along the row, Everly strapped to her chest, wearing a pair of bunny earmuffs. I stand to let her past so she can sit on Haven’s other side.
“Yeah.” I reach over and take hold of one of Everly’s fingers. “Hello, sweetheart.”
She blows me a bubble in response.
“Why’s she playing?”
“Alex was short on his team.” I peer around again. “Where’s everyone else?”
“They’re getting drinks.”
The whistle blows. The ball’s dropped and hooked by the number three on the opposite team, who smashes it up the field.
Ruby hesitates for a second, which allows Alex to charge past her on Messiah, galloping along the far side, but he doesn’t get there quickly enough. When they score, I can see how annoyed she is.
“Fuck.” I hiss and cup my hands around my mouth like a megaphone. “Come on, Otters.”
This time, the Otters are ready for the drop and Ruby—determined to make up for her hesitation—hooks the ball and powers it toward Alex, who’s spun around to receive it in the Otters’ deep end past the forty-yard line.
The other two members of the Otters flank him, positioning themselves, ready to bump the two ponies heading their way.
Ruby spins Maverick, racing after them.
“Come on, Trouble. Remember, sit back. Let Mav do the work,” I mutter, my eyes never leaving her.
“Move, Ruby! Fucking move your ass!” screams Haven, as Alex hits the ball wide, but within Ruby’s path.
She captures it, knocks it over to the Otters’ number four, who hits it forward just before the whistle blows, and the ball speeds between the posts.
Clementine, Haven, and I all jump up and cheer.
“One all.” I clap loudly. “Let’s fucking go.”
When the second chukka begins two minutes later, a fresh set of ponies gallop onto the field, and I don’t recognize any of them. They don’t belong to me, that’s for sure.
Now that Ruby’s playing, I’m way more invested in this game than if it were just Alex. Pulling out my phone, I dial the grooms’ office on the yard.
“Hey, boss,” Charlie answers.
“I’m at the Otters game. Can you bring Chester, Calamity, and Clover down?”
There’s a pause on the line because he’s supposed to be getting them ready to load for Hampshire. Twenty ponies are heading down this afternoon with ten grooms, and we’re helicoptering later this evening.
“Sure, I can switch some things around.”
“Great, we’re just starting the second chukka. Can you bring them for halftime?”
“No problem.”
Haven’s heard every word and turns to me, brow raised. “Clover?”
I don’t let anyone ride Clover.
I miss the throw-in because that’s when Hendricks, Story, and my mother all show up, and trying to see around them as they pass me is impossible. Billy, Jack, Diego, and Juan also arrive to support, taking the row behind us.
With added people comes more chatter.
“Will everyone stop yapping so I can concentrate?” I snap and ignore their shared glances as Ruby thunders up the field. “Fucking go, Ruby, go!”
Hendricks leans into me. “She looks good out there.”
I turn to him, pride swelling my chest. “I know.”
On the next throw-in, the Otters don’t get quite so lucky. But Alex gallops down the wing and, by some miracle, manages to take control of the ball, tapping it over to their number three who in turn passes it to Ruby racing up the near side to receive it.
Two of the opposition are flying up the pitch toward her, and I’m literally on the edge of my seat. Bumping has been her least favorite maneuver to get a handle on.
“Sit back, sit back, sit back,” I mumble, as she does exactly that and plows through.
“She’s clear,” shouts Hendricks.
Spinning around, she positions herself perfectly, swings her mallet, and hits the ball between the goalposts.
Our little crowd of ten goes wild—hollering, whooping, and drowning out everyone else cheering around us.
“Yes. That’s my girl. Fucking yes, Ruby. That’s my girl!” I point at her galloping back into position.
“I think we’ve got it, Milo. That Ruby’s your girl.”
Ignoring my sister, I turn to Hendricks. “Did you fucking see that? Did you see what she did?”
“We saw.”
My heart’s pumping harder than if I’d scored it myself. My smile’s bigger, though. “Fuck, that was amazing.”
By the halftime break, the Otters are leading two goals to one and I hurry to the holding pen where Charlie and the grooms have brought the ponies down.
Alex frowns. “Milo, what’s going on?”
“Giving you a helping hand.” I slap his shoulder. “Now, you’re doing amazingly. But we can widen the gap—”
“Since when did you become our coach?”
“You do play for my club.”