Chapter 36
Shannon
Over time, the gifts stopped coming. Her phone went silent. Shifts at Coffee Kicks dragged on, and riding lost its spark.
A hollowness grew deeper inside her, dimming her world.
The bus pulled away from Belfast, and Shannon huddled in the back seat, her hood pulled up. Her mind circled back to her limited options, but none of them were actual solutions.
What could she say to Harry? Tell him his son had beaten her again, threatened her with a knife, and even threatened to kill Trixie and hurt Jamie’s dad?
Would Harry believe her over Niall? Even if he acknowledged it, the prick was his legacy. Not her.
Blood ran thicker than water.
The only other choice she had meant running away from everything. Leaving the loft, her career, and Trixie. Could she even face that ?
Maybe that was Niall’s plan all along. Push her into a corner and drive her away behind Harry's back.
When she finally stepped off the bus, the bitter wind slapped at her cheeks, and her warm breath fogged in the cold air.
A thin layer of frost dusted the wooden fence lining the lane leading toward Meadow Dawn. Her sneakers crunched over the gravel, her fingertips tingling with the cold, but she pulled them deeper into her sleeves.
As she neared the yard, she noticed a glossy purple bespoke horse lorry parked near the entrance, the name Ashfield scripted along the side.
She walked faster, reaching the car park and knocking on the side door to the living quarters.
“Mitch? You there?” she called, but there was no answer.
A murmur of voices drifted from the yard and as Shannon marched to the paddock, Mitchell Ashfield was there, riding a stunning dappled grey horse around a course of jumps.
The horse’s tail flicked and swooshed with each effortless jump, its powerful hooves striking the dirt.
She moved toward Harry by the fence, crouching to give Jackson’s wiry muzzle a quick snuggle.
“Why’s Mitchell here?” she asked, kissing the dog before standing and waving to the handsome guy, who urged his horse into a gallop along the long side of the paddock.
Harry clapped his hands.
“She’s a beauty, Mitch!” he called, turning to face Shannon with a broad grin. “That’s his new mare. She’s a retired racehorse, in the prime of her life. She’ll make a cracker eventer in Brussels.”
“She certainly knows how to move.” Shannon watched the horse pop over a combination of jumps.
When he’d finished the course, Mitchell walked the horse over to the partition and loosened the reins.
“Hey, Shannon, great to see you again. How’s Venatrix doing?”
“Really well, thanks,” she said, beaming. “I’ve secured my place in the finals, so you’d better watch out.”
“I knew you would, but don’t expect me to back off just because there’s a new kid in town.”
He flashed her a wide, flirty grin. “From now on, expect total war. I know you can handle yourself.”
At twenty-five, Mitchel had won more competitions than she could keep track of. The guy had a rich preppy vibe with a popped collar, clean-shaven jaw, and kind grey eyes.
Despite his wealth, he had an easygoing charm that always surprised her. Rumours about his roguish ways with women never seemed to match the guy she’s spoken to at events.
There had never been a spark between them, only a playful rivalry and mutual respect for each other’s careers.
“You don’t need to back off, Mitch. I enjoy the competition. Bring it on.” Shannon smiled.
He nodded, tilting the peak of his velvet helmet as the horse sauntered past them .
“I’ll drink to that,” he said. “Speaking of which…”
He angled himself in the saddle, and the horse looped back around.
“You guys should join me at The Curragh Racetrack. It’s Champions Weekend. I’ve got a few VIP tickets in the van.”
Before Shannon could decline, Harry jumped in.
“Great idea, Mitch. She could use a day out,” he said with a silly grin, nodding toward her.
“Brilliant.” Mitchell threw his leg over the back of the horse and dismounted. “It’ll be a fun day, Shannon. I’ll grab the tickets once I’ve loaded Minstrel in the lorry.”
Shannon groaned, her shoulders slumping. She’d have to fake a smile and pretend to be social, not to mention the problem of finding an outfit to hide her bruises.
Over time, they’d faded, but they were still visible…still reminding her of the threat.
The afternoon before race day, Shannon asked Jess to help her shop for an outfit. An overcast sky mirrored her mood, darkening the streets of Belfast.
Drizzle clung to her lashes, dampened her jacket, and her already worn-out energy.
Every step fell heavier than the last, and her thoughts got lost in the fog in her mind.
Even the simplest of tasks had become a chore. Shopping in a high-end boutique with Jess was the last thing she wanted to do.
Jess breezed through the racks, the screech of metal against metal making Shannon cringe.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. “Long or short? Sexy or modest?”
Shannon tucked an unbrushed strand of hair behind her ear, letting out a half-hearted laugh.
“Long, I guess.” She shrugged. “You pick. Something young and sexy, without showing too much. I’m going VIP, so I need to look the part.”
Jess flashed a knowing grin.
“And what’s the budget? Are we talking big bucks, or should we move on to the next shop?” she whispered, leaning in close, minty gum on her breath.
“Harry gave me his credit card.” Shannon’s smile tightened. “I didn’t want to take it, but he insisted.”
Harry had never handed over his credit card to anyone. That man’s frugality was extreme, yet his generosity knew no bounds.
He’d shoved the card into her hand and told her she represented Meadow Dawn and to pick something classy.
“Got yourself a sugar daddy there, Shannon?” Jess shot her a teasing glance, eyebrows wiggling.
Shannon rolled her eyes and scowled. “Wise up. It’s not like that.”
Jess skimmed her fingers over the glamorous dresses hanging on the rack, enjoying the moment.
“Oh, right, I forgot. You were shagging his son, weren’t you?”
The words hit Shannon like a slap.
“Yeah,” was all she could muster. She didn’t want to go there, not now.
Jess’s light chuckle didn’t reach her. Shannon was already back in that dark space, her thoughts drifting to Niall’s threats, the sting of the blade against her throat. The memory pulled her under.
“Loosen up, will ya? We’re shopping, not having an ingrown toenail removed,” Jess teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Ingrown toenail? The absurdity of the thought broke through Shannon’s haze.
“Why are we talking about ingrown toenails, Jess?”
Jess smirked. “Just something my Nana said. She swears it was worse than childbirth. The look on your face... I thought you were about to kill someone.”
Shannon snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, her gaze flickering away.
“Maybe I was.”
Jess shook her head and wandered along the rails, tossing a glance over her shoulder.
“Get ready to wow yourself. I’m gonna turn you into a knockout. Pretty Woman style.”
Shannon cocked an eyebrow, her lips twisting in a half-smile. “We’ve gone from sugar daddy to prostitution. What was I thinking asking you for help?”
Jess held up a bright green dress. “Because, darling, I have style. You, on the other hand, dress like a boy. Not just any boy—a drab, boring, penniless boy.”
Shannon sighed.
“Seriously, keep those insults coming. Kick me while I’m down.” She rolled her eyes. “Just find me something that’ll hide my boy body , okay?”
Jess shot her a mock glare. “I didn’t say you had a boy body, grumpy. Your curves are killer, and I’ll prove it once you get into the right dress.”
She twirled a hanger in her fingers and dangled it in front of Shannon. “This one?”
It was short, sexy, black, and sparkly, everything she loved in a dress... Except the thought of her bruises killed the idea.
“Nope. Something longer.”
Shannon looked over at the changing rooms, dreading the moment she’d have to strip in front of the mirror and pray Jess didn’t barge in.
“Seriously, where do you go in that head of yours, Shannon?” Jess’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Shannon hadn’t even noticed her friend land beside her, weighed down by armfuls of fabric in every colour imaginable.
“It’s like your brain’s running on a single-digit battery. Come on, you can try these.”
Shannon trailed behind, nodding while Jess rambled on about cuts, shapes, and the perfect material for the occasion.
“Ugh!” Shannon groaned as Jess shoved her into a changing room .
The curtain whipped shut, and the harsh spotlight blazed overhead, revealing her pale complexion and the purplish bags under her tired eyes in the mirror.
She wasn’t sure how she had the energy to even stand.
Shannon undressed, her jeans falling to the floor, followed by the painstaking task of undoing the buttons on her cardigan. A hollow stranger gazed back at her.
Her hip bones jutted out sharper than they used to, her ribs more pronounced. The wave of nausea that had been with her for weeks made eating unbearable.
“I guess this is what heartbreak looks like,” she whispered to herself, taken aback by how much weight she’d lost.
The bruises on her skin resembled dying constellations, an odd pattern of pain that hadn’t left her.
As she stood there, the curtain yanked across. Jess’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open.
“Holy fuck, Shannon. Are those...men’s boxer shorts? I was only half-joking when I said you dress like a boy.”
A nervous laugh bubbled up in Shannon’s throat, but her face turned crimson.
“They’re for riding,” she lied, her voice shaky.
Sinking to her haunches, she grabbed her cardigan and held it against her chest, trying to hide herself.
Jess’s gaze flicked over her, eyes narrowing. With one hand on her hip, she frowned. “Something you wanna to tell me? Some kind of fetish going on here?”
Kind of... yes. A Jamie McGrath fetish .
Shannon clicked her tongue, trying to sound unbothered. “Comfort is king, Jess.”
A sceptical look crossed Jess’s face, and Shannon could already tell what was coming next.
“And those bruises, girl… I get you work with horses, but what the fuck, Shan? Why are you covered on one side? You’re not gonna land a guy looking like that under your clothes.”
“I get bruises all the time. And I’m not interested in guys right now. So, let’s focus on the dress so I can get out of here. I’ll buy you lunch as a thank you for helping me.”
God, she echoed Jamie, his words and even his smile still echoing in her chest.
Jess cleared her throat, her eyes trailing over Shannon’s bare legs. “You hate shopping, and you’re clearly not big on taking care of yourself, either. You’ve got so much potential.”
Shannon snapped her fingers. “Eyes, Jess. Up here. Focus. A dress. We’re not here to talk about my life choices.”
“Not until you agree to a spray tan.”
“No way! I don’t want to look like an orange.”
“You won’t. I swear. My mate does a natural one. It’ll mask those—” Jess gestured at Shannon’s legs, wrinkling her nose, “—ugly bruises. You’ll look like you’ve just been in Spain. Pinkie swear.”
The suggestion had merit. If it turned out natural and helped to disguise the marks, she’d take it.
“Fine, but if I look like I’ve been rolled in shit on race day, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” she warned .
Jess gasped, stepping back with exaggerated shock. “That’s just gross, Shannon.”
“Why are you still staring at me?”
Jess clapped her hands together, grinning. “You’re going to look incredible.”
The curtain flared behind her as she left Shannon alone with her reflection.
Shannon sighed, exhaling as she slumped against the wall.
“Please get me out of here.” Her palms dragged down her face, frustration mixing with exhaustion.
After an hour of back-and-forth, they finally settled on a teal figure-hugging dress with a foil-finished bodice that cinched in her already narrow waist.
The fabric hugged her curves, tracing every dip and contour before ending at her ankles with a thigh-high slit that showed off the unbruised leg.
And to top it off, delicate sheer sleeves provided a subtle cover, blurring the marks she only saw as a weakness.
Jess fanned her face with her hands, her eyes brimming with emotion.
“WOW. Just... wow. After a spray tan, you’ll be unrecognisable. Those rich guys at the races will fall over themselves to talk to you.”