CHAPTER 24 Ruby
Ruby
“All right,” Hendricks says, snapping another carrot in half and handing it to Maverick. He swallows it before he even chews and nudges Hendricks for more. “All right, boy. Don’t give yourself indigestion.”
Maverick seems to take the advice on board, chewing the next carrot painfully slowly and sticking his tongue out afterward like he’s trying to show us.
“Good boy.” Hendricks strokes along his neck, finishing with a hardy pat, and scans an expert eye down his body.
He’s looking every inch the thoroughbred he is.
Maverick was clipped after Hampshire, and it’s emphasized how much muscle he’s packed on since we’ve been here—long taut legs, the thickened hind quarters.
“He’s looking good, Ruby. Filled out well. ”
“He really does. Miles has been working him hard.” I nod proudly at my boy. “Yesterday on the gallops, he cut ten seconds off his time.”
“A racehorse in a past life.” He laughs, and his eyes briefly slice to mine. “I know Miles is impressed.”
I smile and nod.
“And how are you doing?”
I look over at him, leaning against the stable door.
It’s strange how similar he is to Miles yet nothing like him at all.
With Miles, all it takes is for him to walk into my space for my heart to race and my whole body to be on the verge of combustion.
But with Hendricks . . . there’s nothing. Not even a flicker of interest.
They’re supposed to be identical, but Hendricks smells different, his energy is different, and the way he moves is different. They could be strangers as far as my body is concerned.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say. “Just tired. Don’t tell Miles, but I’m actually glad we got to have a few days off.”
Hendricks laughs. “Is Miles still pissed off about last weekend?”
I’m about to say yes, but pissed isn’t quite the right word. In the week we’ve been back, Miles has been more focused than I’ve seen him before—intense bordering on extreme—and I’ve seen him blow up at the grooms more than once for the most insignificant thing.
Pissed is an understatement. He’s seething.
Days fueled by rage, and then at night, when he hasn’t worked it through on his ponies, he turns into a sex demon. Which I wouldn’t complain about so much if he was present, but he’s not. He’s elsewhere.
So last night I waved the white flag of protest, and when I woke up this morning, he’d already left for the yard. But at least I can walk.
I nod, feeling disloyal, but if Miles confides in anyone, it’s Hendricks. “Yes. He’s barely sleeping. He’s up and out before I’m even awake . . . He’s obsessing more over the points table than he was. And I don’t blame him. Torres is a shit. I wouldn’t want to ride against him.”
“Torres?”
Maybe he didn’t tell Hendricks why we crashed out. Panic sets my heart off, like I’ve divulged something I shouldn’t, and I scramble to save Miles. “You know . . . just over the summer.”
Hendricks rubs along his brow. “Where is he?”
“Down in Chester’s box. I think.”
“I’ll go and—”
“Hey.”
We both turn at the sound of Miles’s voice to see him striding up the stable corridor toward us. His usual swagger isn’t there, but the effect it has on my insides is the same. Squirming and tight.
He looks at Hendricks and frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Chester’s three-month dental checkup,” he replies, carefully. “You knew I was coming.”
“Sorry, must have forgotten.” Miles stops beside me, draping his arm around my shoulders like it belongs there permanently, and I lean into him.
Hendricks turns to see if there’s any reason for us putting on this display of affection, and when he doesn’t find any, he focuses back on us.
I’m just learning Miles’s expressions, but whatever Hendricks is wearing right now is new.
I’m guessing Miles hasn’t told him we’ve moved out of whatever fake marriage category we were in.
Though we’re still in it, we’re just adding a complication.
“You guys seem to make a good team.”
“Yeah,” Miles murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “We sure are. She’s the only thing keeping me sane at the moment.”
I scoff. “I think you’re giving me way too much credit there.”
“No,” he replies, his tone deadly serious. “I’m not.”
Hendricks regards him, twin on twin, and I wonder if I should excuse myself. “What’s going on, Milo?”
I glance up at Miles, wondering if he’s going to admit how stressed he is about Torres.
The dark circles under his tan are visible from a mile away.
Winning means everything to athletes. They train themselves into the ground for first place.
But standing this close to it is more worrying than enjoyable.
“Nothing,” Miles says, shrugging it off like it really is nothing. When the reality is deeper, like something buried under his skin. “We just bumped into Torres at Hampshire Polo Ground.”
Hendricks’s brows shoot up instantly. “Santiago Torres? What was he doing there?”
Miles shakes his head. “Fuck knows.”
“I thought he was at Guards.”
“He should have been, but he’s fucking with me.” Miles runs a hand through his thick hair, letting out a beleaguered sigh. It’s clear how much this is weighing on him. “I checked with Angus, and somehow his timing magically lined up with ours. It’s a two-hour drive.”
“How did he get on at Guards?”
“Out in the semis, but enough points on the table to bring them into second place with our loss. I’m going to be playing against him again.
I know it. That’s why he’s trying to get into my head .
. . I just need to focus.” Miles pauses, anger flickering momentarily behind his eyes.
“Guess what he said to me as we left? He told me to say hello to Clem—”
“What?” Hendricks’s head snaps up.
“He told me to say hi to Clementine.” Miles rolls his eyes. “This is the level of shit I’m putting up with. How the fuck does he even know her name? It’s a joke.”
Miles is feeding Maverick carrots, so he doesn’t see the panic flashing on Hendricks’s face before he masks it, but I do.
“He mentioned Clementine?”
Miles hands over another carrot. “Yup.”
“You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“Yes.” Miles’s hand stops just out of Maverick’s reach, and he looks at his brother. “Why?”
Hendricks doesn’t reply, but he’s worrying the inside of his cheek. The two of us wait for him to speak.
“Has Clementine spoken to you about anything recently?”
Miles shakes his head. “No. Actually, I haven’t really seen her in a while. Every time I’m at Burlington, she’s not there.”
“Why?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he replies, but the grimace on his face says otherwise, and he turns away sharply. “Fuck. FUCK.”
“Hendricks,” Miles snaps, repeating my question. “What is going on?”
Hendricks braces both hands against the stable door and bows his head like he’s physically wrestling with himself. “I told her to tell you,” he mutters. “I told her she needed to tell you.”
Miles folds his arms tight across his chest, and his biceps flex under the strain he’s holding onto. “Hendricks,” he says carefully, “what exactly is Clementine supposed to tell me?”
When Hendricks straightens, his eyes are worried. Whatever he’s been holding on to has caused him real pain.
“Do you remember the Valentine match a few months ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Torres was there.”
Miles frowns deeply. “Sorry . . . what?”
“Santiago Torres was at the Valentine match.”
Miles pushes his hands deep into his pockets. “Why am I only finding out about this now?”
“Because I didn’t tell you,” Hendricks says, and looking at Miles, it’s obvious why. His entire body pops with tension as he runs a hand over the thick stubble coating his jaw.
His tone is scarily even. “Okay . . .”
“I went looking for Story and took the back path, and I saw Torres talking to Clementine.”
“What do you mean talking?” Miles asks sharply.
Hendricks hesitates. “They were arguing—”
“Hen, spit it the fuck out. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying something is going on between Clementine and Santiago Torres.”
The silence is deafening.
My stomach drops, and out of nowhere, my mind returns to the evening of Agatha’s full moon party, and how upset Clementine had been.
That had only started after I called Torres a bastard.
I’ve returned to that moment over and over because I couldn’t put my finger on why it didn’t feel right, or what I’d done wrong.
She wasn’t upset because of Miles, who’s gone completely still beside me.
“There’s no way,” he says finally. “How would they even know each other?”
But his question fades because Hendricks just keeps staring at him, the air loaded with things neither of them wants to say out loud.
Then Miles snaps, “Fuck this. I’m going to find Clementine. I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
And before either of us can stop him, he storms off.