16. Where’s your head at?
Where’s your head at?
BETTY
“Wrong!” Hank called, voice sharp. “I told you to do it in three, Bets!”
I was about to give up. We did the same line three times and every time I tried to put in four strides like a short stirrup rider in remedial math. A simple bit of gymnastics over some unimpressive fences made me look like a weekend amateur.
“She doesn’t have Jane’s stride!” I protested.
“She isn’t a pony, either. Cross your irons, Bets.”
I groaned. “No.”
“Are you really telling me no?”
The others in the ring stared as if I just told him to fuck off. Which, in a way, I had.
I stopped Ginger and sat, hand on my hips as the others continued at a trot.
Hank approached, jaw set, stopping at my boot. “I’m sorry. Did you just say no?”
“I’m standing my ground. My legs are fucking tired and I’m done. You can take it out on me later—”
He lowered his voice, “I swear to God, Bets, if this is you attempting to provoke me for a bit of fun, I’m not—”
I made a face. “Fuck! Off!”
He recoiled, realizing I wasn’t flirting.
Feeling judged and icky, I faded into tears.
His reading of my rage as nothing more than a game wounded me, but his view that the only other explanation apart from rage he would accept was flirting made it worse.
All I wanted was for someone to hug me and understand I wasn’t perfect and needed a minute.
Hank patted my ankle empathetically and didn’t push, bringing me back down.
“Hey, it’s okay. Just take your time, cool her down, and put her away. We will start again tomorrow at the clinic. Take the night to get your head in the game.”
I rode Ginger from the arena and down the lane behind the barn to an overlook. Cold sea air hit, waking us both from our peaceful, oblivious slumber. I turned back, gently trotted up the lane until I came to the arena, walking her in circles by the barn. With a good pat, I dismounted.
“I am sorry I was truly a fuck up,” I sighed.
She snorted in my face, as she couldn’t care less if she tried.
A red mare was a blessing and a curse. Lore said they were hot-headed and opinionated.
Both of those were true for Ginger. They were also smart.
Ginger had only a couple years of experience over fences, but she could get me out of any sticky situation I stupidly put her in.
She was Cici’s prospect first but became my new favorite toy once I swung my leg over her.
And with her upcoming retirement, Ginger became mine.
I slowly tucked the mare in and chucked her a flake of hay to tide her over until feeding time.
Then, like a coward and unable to talk about my feelings, I hid in her stall until the other riders packed off.
I just needed a minute. I sat happily in the dim barn light as Ginger chewed quietly at the manger’s hay.
There was little a horse couldn’t improve for me.
My mobile buzzed. I pulled it from my barn jacket to reveal the truth.
MARY
My band is dragging me to the mixer tonight. I want to apologize to you, but I am not sure if that is the venue. I know you are avoiding me.
Mary’s texts fell on deaf ears. I wrote her off, swearing to myself it would only be more awkward. In her eyes, she was trying. In mine, it was far too little too late.
ME
I didn’t plan to come, so you’re safe.
MARY
Because of me? Shit.
She typed. I ignored it.
MARY
Look, I was a bitch and I’m sorry. But I’d like to properly apologize. I just don’t want to make it worse. There really was a misunderstanding and I want to talk.
I let out a long, frustrated groan. Yes, I was avoiding her. I asked specifically to avoid the Brits yesterday. Brita made it work, even though she felt it was an inappropriate snub. I just couldn’t see Mary again. It hurt too much.
“What are you doing down there?”
Hank leaned on the stall door, looking at me.
“Nothing.”
“Bets, this isn’t doing you any good. Whatever is eating you, you need to come out with it.”
He opened the door, ignoring my protest, patted Ginger on the shoulder, and sat beside me.
His quiet vulnerability in times like this where he went from gruff Virginian to sweet friend always led me to open up.
There were times Hank reminded me so much of my mother—quiet in public but heart on his sleeve in private.
“I am sorry for being such a fuck up,” I played with a piece of hay at my feet.
“It’s not about the barn. I just… I met someone.
I feel so confused about it. I felt all the things.
I feel so stupid now. They ghosted me but I had to see them—and I’m supposed to tonight—but I cannot bear feeling mortified again. ”
“This is another royal? I thought the princes were either married to your cousins or were too closely related.”
I snickered. “No it’s not a prince that is the problem.”
“A prince-ess.”
I furrowed my brow and met his gaze. “What… no!”
“Oh, come on. It’s… look, if it was, I wouldn’t judge you—”
“Hank, how did you—”
“Well, sweetheart, I have seen things. And you keep checking your message history for a woman named Mary. I’ve known you far too long and far too intimately to not put things together. Honestly, Bets, it’s a relief.”
“A relief?” I gasped. “For you, maybe! God, do not make this about you!”
“I am not! I’m saying it’s good to know you let yourself go there with a woman. Who is she?”
I softened. “She’s a musician playing in the UniVox competition. I’m hosting and that damn documentary is following me everywhere. We hooked up. It’s stupid, like I said.”
“And you caught feelings?”
“I think we both did. Or, rather, thought. It felt different—and not just because she was my first.”
His eyes grew wide. He knew I liked women, but I never officially outed myself to him. I waited for him to turn it around somehow.
Instead, he spoke sympathetically. “Oh, wow. I… I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, Betty.”
“You didn’t.” I let out a long breath. “You know, it’s somewhat comforting to say. I haven’t told anyone. Even my brother was prying, and I just let him think Mary was a guy. Because in the end, she’s just a person. It was just a hookup.”
“Yet she was texting you all day? All for a booty call?”
“No. She wants to apologize for fucking everything up.”
“She’s groveling.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. She’s Swedish, so it’s all kind of bizarre. This is why I do not date Scandinavians.”
“Sweetheart, you are Scandinavian.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Regardless of whether you accept her apology or not, just realize it’s okay to just… be you... all of you?”
“Says the southerner!”
“Okay, but I’m not an ogre. And if you’re worried about your family—”
“I am not worried about them. It’s optics.”
“Optics won’t make you happy. If you care about her, you should go for it.”
“I am not supposed to fraternize with the enemy,” I said. “I’m repping Norway. I cannot be caught up with a Swedish spoiler candidate who is playing Britain’s only hope at winning this competition in at least fifty years! And yeah? Did I mention she’s a woman?”
“There aren’t any gay royals?”
“Not that are allowed to stay in. By year’s end, Uncle Olav will step back. Cici needs stability rather than a coming out party for her flake of a charge.”
“Honey, I have known Cici for way longer than I have known you. I do not think Cici would want you to put happiness aside to save face. Nor do I think your countrymen would care one iota.”
“Old people—”
“Should hurry up and die already or shut the fuck up.”
I snickered. “Hank, you’re the worst.”
“I have relatives who would say you’re wrong and all this other stupid shit, but I live in this world.
The first time I did a clinic up here, I was floored because there were two gay couples riding in it.
And they were just normal, happy people.
It’s not like I hadn’t seen gay people before.
It was just that they were allowed to be.
No one up here cares. But now, even in America, things are changing.
Good lord, how many gays are at the WEC? ”
I snickered. “Yeah, gays. But lesbians? And bisexuals they would read as lesbian? I worry people will be all ‘it’s just a phase’ and poke fun. If I were to come out, I’d be some sort of poster child as a gay royal. I’m not strong enough to handle it.”
“Uh… the first time I met you, I watched you hold onto a horse’s neck for an eternity because you refused to fall. I thought, ‘Damn that woman is strong.’ I still do.”
“Even if I couldn’t bother to count earlier?”
“Everyone is allowed a bad day. Now, what is it you are avoiding?”
“Engaging with Mary and attending a mixer I should be. I told Brita I was injured. She is my palace handler.”
“The one who always looks like she’s about to be First Lady?” Hank teased.
“That would be the one.”
Hank stood, holding his hand out. I took it and rose to my feet.
“Do you still have time to get ready and go?”
“Yeah, I have time. I was supposed to bring Jaz, but she swore she was out.”
“I’d go with you if you’re nervous—as a friend.”
“Not as a beard?”
“I am not going if the point is to make Mary jealous or you expect me to cockblock you,” Hank promised.
“I’m going as a supportive friend who is curious about what goes on at these things.
Plus, if Cici sees you ride tomorrow, she will know you lied about being injured.
Do you want to sit out Henrik’s clinic?”
“Fuck. Really? She’s honestly coming?”
“She’s flying in tonight. I told her she could ride Bella. I suspect she’s bored and misses us all.”
“Fine,” I relented. “And you can come, but you’re not my beard.”
“I wouldn’t want to be.”
“Don’t make it weird. And please don’t—”
“Your secrets are always safe with me, Bets. Promise. Besides, I might meet someone hot?”
I snickered. “You have my full support in that, bud.”