30. Miles
Miles
“Do you owe someone money or something?”
Ruby and I glance up simultaneously to find Eddie peering over his bifocals at us, drying cloth draped over his shoulder.
“What?”
He points at the table. “You two have been sitting in here staring at that envelope for half an hour. You haven’t said a word.”
“I didn’t realize we were under surveillance,” I grumble.
“Don’t give me that,” he gripes back, his mouth curving down under the droop of his mustache. “I can count on my fingers how many times you’ve come in here and not said a word. And the answer is none. So go on. What’s in that envelope?”
I try to speak, hearing my own mouth form the words, even if I don’t have the volume.
The simple—too-long-didn’t-read—answer is my handicap listing.
The more complicated version is that this envelope contains the evidence of my hard work since my accident. Since I had to relearn how to walk. Returning to a ten-goal handicap has been my sole focus.
I’ve allowed for no distractions.
I’ve busted my arse. Played every tournament I could. Worked the Flyers harder than they’ve ever been worked. Spent the off-season in Argentina training with the best of the best.
When the last handicap listing came out in January, I finally made it to nine after a long year at eight. It’s highly likely that’s where I’ve stayed, especially after the disaster in Hampshire. The EPA thinks I’m not ready, and I’ll go to ten next year. But next year isn’t good enough.
I want that ten now. I want it back after it was stolen from me. I want it for England’s Cup, like I had last time.
So it all comes down to what’s in that envelope. If I put off opening it a little longer, I can still pretend the dream’s alive.
I stare at it again, then back at Eddie. I swallow hard. “It’s my future.”
It’s all testament to Ruby that she doesn’t laugh or call me melodramatic, like my siblings would. She just slips her hand gently over mine.
Eddie’s gaze bounces between the pair of us. “Are you trying to tell me you’re pregnant?”
Oddly enough, as someone who’s actively avoided getting anyone pregnant since the first time I had sex, the idea of Ruby being pregnant is something I could actually get behind.
Alex has one with another on the way. Max is around all the time.
The idea of building a little family suddenly seems quite appealing, even if I am getting ahead of myself.
Ruby, on the other hand, lets out a very vocal, horrified laugh. “No, I am not.” Then as her patience officially runs out, she snaps, “Miles, just fucking open the envelope.”
I exhale shakily.
“There’s nothing in there to worry about.” She reaches over and picks it up. “If you’ve gone to ten, we celebrate. If you haven’t, we still celebrate because you’re having a phenomenal season and we’re only halfway through.” Then she turns to Eddie and hands it to him. “Would you do the honors?”
“You want me to open it?”
“Neither of us seems capable,” I grumble, though my insides churn.
“All right,” he says, and rips it open with significantly less care than I would have.
Unfolding the paper, Eddie scans the words silently.
I stare hard, attempting to read what’s printed through the thick cream sheet, but all I can make out is the EPA logo at the top.
Reading Eddie’s expression is equally impossible.
Then without another word, he folds the paper back up and walks away.
“Where the fuck is he going?” I grunt, scrambling to follow.
I get up so quickly my chair falls over, which Ruby promptly picks up.
Eddie disappears behind the bar and starts filling an ice bucket. A second later, he drops a bottle of vintage Bollinger into it. I still have no idea what’s happening.
“If that’s for drowning my sorrows,” I gripe, “I’d prefer something stronger.”
“What was it you needed to get to, Miles?”
“Ten-goal,” I growl, holding my hand out. “Give me the fucking letter.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he eases the cork out with a loud pop, pours three glasses, and raises one dramatically high.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces to the nearly empty bar—exactly three other people are sitting around during a mid-afternoon Tuesday lull, and none of them care about whatever Eddie’s announcing.
“We’re gathered here to celebrate the newest and returning ten-goal polo player.
” He pulls the paper back out with a smug grin.
I snatch it from his hand.
“‘Dear Lord Burlington, I’m delighted to inform you . . . blah blah blah . . . based on our assessment from this current season . . . blah blah blah . . . the England Polo Association is awarding you the honor of a ten-goal handicap. Congratulations.’”
While the letter is printed, underneath is scrawled a handwritten note from Will Chambers-Smyth, the EPA chairman.
Congratulations, Miles, well deserved. Looking forward to seeing you lift the England’s Cup next week. Will.
I read it three times before the words sink in, then only just catch Ruby as she throws herself at me.
“Miles, you did it! You fucking did it!” She grips my shoulders and shakes hard enough to knock some sense back into me.
I wrap my arms around her, crushing my mouth to hers while she laughs against my lips.
“You did it,” she whispers. Then so softly I barely hear it, she says, “Your dad would be proud of you.”
Eddie grins as he tops off the glasses. “Do you know how long I’ve been keeping that bottle?
Your father set aside a whole case for whenever one of you achieved something great.
We already opened one the first time you went to ten, then when Max was born, plus when Lando almost got married—premature that was—and now here’s the next one.
Stay at ten, though, Miles, as I can’t give you any more. ” He winks.
“I’ll try my best.” I laugh helplessly, pressing the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. I fucking did it. We fucking did it. “Ruby made it to one goal in the handicap listings. First time she’s ever been on them,” I say suddenly.
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he slides two full glasses of champagne toward us.
“Here’s to polo’s newest power couple.”
Ruby’s lip curls, letting him know exactly what she thinks of that title. Again, it bothers me less.
“What about the rest of the Flyers?”
“They all went up.” Ruby grins, and on cue, the pub door slams open and clatters against the wall. Billy rushes in first, followed by Jack, Juan, and Diego.
“Well?”
A slow smile creeps across my face, growing so wide my cheeks ache. I wave my letter at him.
“Ten.”
Immediately, I’m scooped up, with Jack letting out a loud whoop. “Welcome back, Milo. About fucking time.”
“Drinks all around!” Billy shouts, and once he realizes there are only three other people in here, he offers to pay.
I raise an eyebrow. Billy is the tightest person I know, a loud advocate of having fun on someone else’s dime—usually mine. If he didn’t play so well, I’d care more.
“What? I’m obviously getting a raise now that I’ve gone up.”
“You’re a dickhead.”
There’s another clatter at the door, interrupting Billy’s train of thought. Any more people coming in and it’ll be me picking up the tab, as usual.
When I see who’s walking in, my throat constricts.
Hendricks.
Hendricks would have been my first call. He should have been my first call.
He’s followed by my mother.
“Jesus, Eddie,” I mutter. “Did you put out an alert or something?”
But he shakes his head. “No, I didn't call them.”
“What are you guys doing here?”
“I was in the coffee shop when Claudia came in. She said she saw you looking miserable.”
“Of course she did.” I roll my eyes, such a fucking gossip.
“Why is everyone celebrating?”
I remove the letter from Billy and hand it over to him, because I don’t have a firm handle on my emotions to say the words aloud. I’ll save the bawling until I’m at home.
“You went to ten?” Hendricks says quietly.
I nod, swallowing the ball of emotion stuck in my throat. “Yeah.”
“Fucking hell, Milo. Congratulations.” He pulls me into a big hug, wrapping his arms around me so tightly I can’t breathe.
The tension between us, all the resentment simmering for the past week, melts instantly, and so does the wall blocking my tears, and I dissolve into one big sob.
A second pair of arms loops around me, and I’m engulfed in my mother’s perfume—the one she’s worn for as long as I can remember. It smells like the garden at Burlington.
My mum squeezes my cheek. “Congratulations, darling. Your father would’ve been so proud of you.”
I step back, swiping the back of my hand across my eyes. “Thank you.” Then I remember Eddie didn’t call them. “Were you in the coffee shop too?”
She shakes her head. “No, I came to talk to you. We came to talk to you.”
I sigh. I know what it’s about, and I’m not having Santiago fucking Torres ruining my moment.
“Can we do it later, please?”
“No, now,” she replies, her face serious. Looks like my moment is being ruined whether I like it or not.
Ruby steps away. “I’ll give you a minute.”
But my mother stops her. “Actually, Ruby, stay, please. You’re part of this family too.”
Ruby freezes, eyes flicking to me. But I’m equally surprised by both the sentiment and my mother’s enthusiasm. Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze as I can, given the circumstances, we follow the pair to a table in the corner.
“I’m sorry,” Hendricks says. “I should’ve told you sooner. I trusted Clementine to tell you herself, and I’ve been too preoccupied to make sure she did.”
I know he’s talking about getting back together with Story, and I don’t blame him for that. Ruby could distract me from a root canal, so I totally know what it’s like, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.
“Okay.”
“I’ve never thought you reckless,” adds my mother. “I see how much work you've put into the yard. Your father would be so proud of you. We are incredibly proud of you. What you've achieved is phenomenal. And I’m sorry I don’t tell you enough.”
My shoulders drop, and I let out a huge sigh. “I know, Mum. I know you’re proud of me. But that doesn’t change the fact that Clementine and Torres are in a relationship, and everyone seems to be okay with it.”
“We’re not,” Hendricks and my mum reply in unison, and I almost ask if they practiced it.
“But . . .” continues Hendricks, “we don’t think it’s serious. Story told me that they met way before your accident. From what Clementine told Story, they were texting mostly, and they’ve barely seen each other in person.”
“Texting?” I blink. “Like in school? Like fucking teenagers?”
He shrugs. “Basically. And phone calls.”
I scoff so hard I almost start coughing, but I don’t miss Ruby’s soft gasp.
“What?”
She shakes her head, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Nothing.”
I turn my whole body toward her. “Ruby—”
“Miles, when was the last time you spent time texting a girl, or hours on the phone with her?”
I don’t even have to think about it. The idea is absurd. “Never.”
“Exactly.” She then focuses on Hendricks. “And you?”
He shrugs. “Story’s the only girl I’ve ever texted much.”
Ruby looks at the pair of us, sitting back with an I-told-you-so expression. Except I’m not sure what she’s told us. Neither is Hendricks by the looks of things.
My mother is equally confused, and all of us wait on Ruby for more explanation.
“It’s worse than a hookup.”
Hendricks laughs. “How, when they don’t see each other?”
“It’s not sex. It’s emotions,” she replies, using a tone I usually save for Max. Or idiots. She looks at me. “Maybe this thing between them really has nothing to do with you.”
“Who gives a fuck? He still tried to kill me,” I growl, though at this point it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall.
Ruby’s hand slips over mine, and my mother follows the movement. Her ring glints in the light.
“May I?” she asks, lifting Ruby’s hand. “It really is beautiful.” Picking up her handbag, she riffles through and pulls out a small black velvet box, which she places in front of Ruby.
“I don’t know if Miles mentioned, but I have quite an extensive jewelry collection, and if I’d known about the wedding beforehand, I would’ve let Miles pick something out for you himself. ” Her eyes narrow pointedly on me.
My mum is as subtle as a sledgehammer.
Ruby’s hands shake as she opens the box. Inside is a pair of ruby earrings, the same color as her ring.
“Miles’s father gave them to me, but I think they’d look better on you.”
Ruby freezes, big eyes blinking. “I . . . I don’t know what to say . . .” She blinks away tears, and it makes me think of how she feels so invalidated by her own family. “Thank you. You’ve no idea how much I appreciate this.”
But I do know.
“Thank you, Mum.” Looping my arms around her shoulders, I kiss her cheek. “And I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you we’re not getting divorced.”
“Really?” Mum’s eyes widen, and I know that look. I’m well acquainted with it. It’s the one she gets before things spin out of control.
“You’ve already got enough weddings to plan with Alex and Lando. We don’t need another.”
Her laugh may as well say, “Don’t be so silly, Miles,” but instead, she goes with, “But I haven’t even met Ruby’s family yet.”
Her words make me pause. I turn to Ruby. “That’s a point. Do your parents even know we got married? Do they know about me?”
She winces. “No.”
I raise a brow. “We should probably tell them.”
Ruby’s saved from answering by Jack yelling from across the pub. “Milo, check your email, scores are in.”
For a split second in all the chaos, I’d forgotten about the other thing hanging over me, and my stomach drops.
I pull up my emails and open the top one from Angus.
I stare at the screen. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
I lift my gaze to meet Hendricks’s. “Los Tigres Luchadores won their match. The Foxleigh Flyers are playing against them for the England’s Cup. I’ll be playing Torres again.”