Chapter 19
Drew
I wake up stiff, cold, and starving. My mouth feels like I’ve been licking hay, and my back is killing me. I must have fallen asleep in the stall. Date Night’s Off stands next to me, stamping his foot.
“I hope you treat my daughter better than this,” a voice says from outside of the stall.
I jolt upright and come face to face with Thomas Doyle.
“What are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to be anywhere near here.”
“I was just having a wander around. I was hoping to see Zara and show her what type of man you really are.”
“I’m sorry? What the fuck do you mean? It’s too early for your bullshit.”
“It isn’t bullshit when you have the photos as evidence.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and quite frankly, I don’t care. You can say whatever you want to me, but you stay the fuck away from Zara.”
“I’m sure it’ll be the other way around by the end of the day, Mr. Blackmoore. I want my daughter back at home where she belongs, at least until she turns twenty-five.”
“What do you mean? What’s the significance of her turning twenty-five?”
“It’s her wedding day. She’s betrothed to Richard King and has been since she was a week old.”
“Betrothed?” I repeat and then start to laugh. “Betrothed . . . What fucking century are you living in? Next, you’re going to be telling me she needs to be a virgin, too.”
“My daughter wouldn’t give up her virginity to a fucking American. I know her better than that.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop the words from coming. “Your daughter was far from a virgin when I met her, but she’s a lot further from it now.”
“You fucker!” he screams, trying to lean over the stable gate.
“That I am, and damn good at it, too,” I goad him.
He unbolts the gate and pulls it open wide. Date Night’s Off stamps his foot as Doyle walks in. I move slowly around the side of the horse.
“That’s it, Blackmoore, back yourself into a corner,” he says, thinking he’s got the upper hand.
I wait until Doyle is right where I need him and then give Date Night’s Off a little slap in just the right spot. His back leg kicks out once, twice, three times, each time slamming into Doyle until he’s on the floor crying like a baby.
The argument and Doyle’s crying must have caused a commotion, because there are several people looking on in shock.
“Someone call an ambulance!” a woman shouts, and I want to shout back don’t bother . . . but I don’t.
“The horse must be out of control!” someone else shouts.
I appear from behind the horse and step over Doyle’s crying body. “Mr. Doyle attacked me, and my horse is a hero. It saved my life.”
“What the hell happened to him?” Carlos asks, looking me up and down.
“He came to attack me and was talking shit about Zara. I moved out of his way, but he got a little too close to the horse’s back end.”
Carlos looks me in the eyes. He knows exactly what I’ve done, but he doesn’t know the full extent as to why.
Doyle is being loaded onto a stretcher when I spot Zara walking towards us. “This is not going to be fun,” I mumble to Carlos, who simply nods and slaps me on the back.
“Who’s in there?” Zara whispers, trying to look around me.
“Your dad! I’m sorry, he came here and started talking utter crap. He got too close to the horse, and it kicked him. The paramedics said he should be okay, but they are taking him to the hospital to be sure.”
“What’s my dad doing here?”
“He came to cause trouble. He said he’s got photos of me doing something. What, I don’t know. He also told me that your twenty-fifth birthday present is a wedding to King Dick. He wasn’t too happy when he realised, you’re not so innocent anymore.”
“You told him?” she asks, her face scarlet red, and then she turns and sees my mom standing right behind her.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’d have been more concerned if you were untouched at your age,” my mom says, putting her hand on Zara’s shoulder.
Zara covers her face with both of her hands in embarrassment.
The paramedics wheel Doyle towards the ambulance. He turns to look at Zara, but then his face changes. His eyes open wide, and his mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to say something, and when I follow the direction of his stare, it’s not where I thought it would be.
Doyle is staring at my mom. My dad is also staring at my mom, and now I am staring at her, too. I pull Zara into my arms and hold her tight against my body. I need to show him she’s mine, but I don’t understand why he’s locked his sights on my mom.
The ambulance doors close, and it begins to drive away. I look over at my mom and dad. My mom looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“Does someone want to explain what the fuck that was all about?”
“Don’t speak to us like that!” my dad snaps as he wraps his arms around my mom.
“Can someone tell me why you two look like death warmed up all of a sudden?”
“It’s . . . It’s . . . water under the bridge, Drew. Please, sweetheart, not now,” my mom says, her voice cracking as tears appears in her eyes.
The penny drops, and it drops hard. She knows Doyle. “What the hell did he do to you?” I roar. My dad tightens his hold on my mom, and his eyes glare back at me.
“Leave it alone, Drew. This doesn’t concern you. You’ve got work to do, and I suggest you get on with it,” my dad growls, giving me a cautionary look before walking away with my mom under his arm.
I look at Zara, who is as confused and nearly as upset as I am. Carlos is holding Laura in his arms, too.
I want to chase after them and get answers, but my dad is right. I have a job to do—races to win?—??and I’m not letting Doyle ruin one more thing for me.
I try my best to push the morning’s events to the back of my mind, but it’s like a black storm cloud looming over head.
The horses are ready to race. We take a quick trip back to the hotel to change into our race attire, and we make our way over to the owner’s enclosure.
Zara has hardly spoken a word, but neither have I. I have too many questions running round in my head, and she doesn’t know the answer to even one of them. I suspect she’s having the same problem.
Date Night’s Off struggles through the first four furlongs, but he eventually finds his stride. Avril, the jockey, pushes him hard, and when they come into the final corner, he pushes forward into second place, and for a few minutes, the only thing that matters is my horse coming first.
It’s neck and neck all the way down to the finishing line, and as the two horses cross, it’s a photo finish. We all celebrate anyway. Zara jumps into my arms, and I swing her around, kissing her and holding her tight.
The results come in. Date Night’s Off is first. I don’t register who came second and third. I’ll watch the race back when I do my rerun.
The crowd goes crazy as we enter the winner’s enclosure. Buckets of cold water are being poured over my horse’s sweaty skin, steam rising as his body cools. Pride blooms in my heart.
I love my job, I love my horses, and I turn to Zara. “No matter what else happens today, I want you to know . . . I fucking love you, Princess.”
Cameras are flashing, and the press members are shoving microphones in my face, but all I want to do is kiss my girl. My lips find hers, and she smiles as we hold each other tight. “I love you, too.”
We answer a few questions about how I feel about winning the race. It’s all standard stuff, but I feel more elated because I’ve won something greater: the love of a very special human being.
The second race isn’t as good. Red Foot Charlie is pulled up just over halfway around. It pisses me off no end. The horse is good. It could have run the course, but the jockey didn’t ride like he should have done, and he never finished.
Back in the stables, I pull Mason, the jockey, over to one side. “What did you pull him up for?” I ask.
“He lost his rhythm. It happens.”
“I pay you a fucking fortune to ride my horses. You’re supposed to be able to handle a misstep.”
“It wasn’t a misstep. It was more like twenty. He went off the boil and started veering off to the right.”
I watched the race intently, and I know he’s talking shit.
“So, when I watch it back later, I’ll see that, will I?”
He stumbles at first. “Yeah . . . He just wasn’t feeling it!”
“You’re fired! And I’ll make sure you never ride another horse in any race in the country—or anywhere else, come to think of it.”
“You can’t do that!” he protests.
“You’re not supposed to take a bribe, but you did, and I’ll make sure every single owner and trainer knows it, too.”
“I didn’t, I swear to you.”
“I’ve seen and heard enough bullshit today. Get out of my sight, and never ever contact me, or anyone connected to me, again. You’re finished, Mason. I just hope whatever they paid you was worth it.”
I turn and walk away. Zara is standing with Carlos and Laura. “He threw the race, didn’t he?” Carlos asks, and I nod. “He says not, but Red Foot should have won it easily.”
We all stand around in silence for a few minutes and then the flood gates open. I need to see my parents.
“Can you sort the horses out and drive them home? I’ll take my car back. I’ve a few things to sort out,” I ask Carlos, who agrees.
***
Half an hour later, I’m knocking on my parents’ hotel suite. Zara is standing beside me, and my heart is in my throat.
My dad answers the door, but he doesn’t let us inside. “Your mom had a nasty shock today. Be nice, or I swear I will give you the first good-hiding of your life, son.”
My dad has never threatened to beat my ass, so I know whatever is coming is seriously fucked up.
“Mom?” I say, as gently as I can as I sit down next to her on the couch. She’s been crying. I shoot my dad an accusatory look, but he shakes his head and nods for me to speak. “What happened today?” I ask, my voice as soft as it will go.
“I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I thought I could handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“Frank . . . I need you to explain,” she says, taking a tissue out of a box and wiping her eyes.
He lets out a short breath and pulls up a chair.
“Zara, you are the daughter of Thomas Doyle. We suspected as much when you came to New York, but we couldn’t be one hundred percent sure until we asked you outright. It didn’t seem right when you were visiting, hence our visit to you.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I ask.
My dad looks at my mom, who closes her eyes and nods.
“Your father . . . Thomas has always been a wealthy man. He could have the pick of anything he ever wanted, and he picked Meredith. He swept her off her feet, and within three months of dating, he proposed. Everything was going great until your mom found out he was cheating on her, so she broke the engagement off. Thomas didn’t want to break up, and he begged for forgiveness, but when your mom said no, he . . . beat her up and sexually assaulted her. I’m sorry, Zara, that you’re having to hear this about your father.”
“I should be shocked, but I’m not . . . I’m upset he did this to you, but I one hundred percent believe it,” Zara says comfortingly.
I, on the other hand, am only just holding it together. How my dad can say all this so calmly is beyond me. My blood is on fire, and I wish the horse had killed the bastard.
“Your mother and I wanted to be sure it was the same Thomas Doyle before saying anything. Your mom thought she could handle seeing him again. Maybe she would have if she’d been prepared that she’d see him today.”
Zara squeezes my hand, as if she knows I feel guilty for putting my mom in that situation. “He’d no reason to be there, only to cause trouble,” she says.
“Anyway, when I met your mom, we fell in love instantly. I promised her then and I promise her now that that bastard would never ever hurt her again. But it’s like it’s come full circle. What are the chances of you two finding and falling for each other? When Thomas found out about your mom and me, he swore he would ruin me, and he’d make sure I suffered for taking away his love.”
“Do you think that’s why he hates Drew so much?” Zara asks the question I was thinking.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think it is. I know it is. He owned the football club that Carter played for, and he was an absolute bastard back then. I begged Carter to find another team, but he had his heart set, and you kids were too young to understand the past, even if we told you. We never wanted you to find out. It’s dead and buried—or it was.”
“Like that fucker will be when I get my hands on him. I should have held him down and let DNO stamp all over him.”
Zara wipes a tear from her cheek. “So, he’s always been like this? I thought it was just me. But he’s awful to my mother, too.”
My mom looks up at Zara. “What’s your mom called, sweetheart?”
“Carol.”
“What was her name before she was married?”
“I think it was Jacobs.”
My mom stands and walks over to the drinks cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. She pours herself half a tumbler full and drinks it all in one go.
“Can I ask why you wanted to know about my mother?”
Mom doesn’t speak. She pours another extra-large whiskey and again drinks it down in one. I’ve never seen my mom so broken. My dad looks both worried and enraged. I want to join my mom in the whiskey, but I don’t think it will do anyone any good if I get trashed.
Mom finally turns and faces Zara.
“Your mother is about thirty-nine years old?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how your mother and father met?”
“No, no one ever talks about it.”
“Your grandmother used to be a cleaner at the house, and your mom used to go along and help sometimes. She was only young when I . . . was around. A few years later, my friend who I’d kept in contact with called me and told me that Thomas and Carol were getting married. I wasn’t sure who she meant at first, because your mom would have only just turned sixteen. It turns out your mom was pregnant with you, and Thomas wouldn’t have an illegitimate child damaging his reputation.”
“That explains so much. They literally hate each other, and they both hate me.”
“I can’t speak for them, but I don’t imagine your mom had an easy time of it.”
The rage and the hatred running though me finally boils over. “I’m going to fucking kill him. I’m going to skin the bastard alive and leave him in a pool of fucking blood and let the foxes finish him off!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
“No!” my father shouts back “We’re going to do what we should have done thirty-five years ago.”
“And what’s that? Because if it’s anything less than torture, I don’t want to know.”
“Your mom and I are going to the police. She’s agreed to tell them everything.”
“But they won’t believe you. You don’t have any evidence. They’ll laugh in your fucking face!” I yell. They can’t be serious.
“Drew, we have enough. I’ve spoken to our lawyers, and they are already working on it.”
“It’s not enough. He deserves to suffer. He deserves to be beaten like he has to the two of you.”
My mom and dad both look at Zara, and my mom burst into tears.
“Oh god, no! Please no! Please tell me he didn’t hurt you.”
“Of course he did. That’s why Zara was staying with me in the first place. He’s a fucking beast that needs shooting.”
“I agree, I really do. But I’m not losing my son to prison for him. He took enough from me years ago. He needs to pay for what he’s done, and if that means we plaster it on every front page of every single newspaper, then that’s what we’ll do. He’ll never be able to walk the streets again.”
I don’t like it. I want him to feel pain and lots of it, but my mom is right. Me doing time because of him only mean’s he’d have won.
We talk—and I shout—until the early hours of the morning. My voice is hoarse, and my head is completely fucked, and as Zara and I crawl into bed, I know that she was sent to me to protect and to love forevermore, just like my dad has with my mom.
***
The last two months have been nothing but a shit show. The police have been backwards and forwards, and my mom and dad are constantly on video calls with the police and lawyers, but Thomas Doyle is behind bars on remand, awaiting trial. When my mom went to the police, they interviewed several other women who had been in contact with him. Each one gave more names, and he’s now been charged with thirty-seven counts of assault and twenty-two counts of sexual assault. There were more women, but some of them refused to give statements.
It's the middle of the day on a lazy Sunday. Zara has been trying to house train Snow with very little success. It doesn’t seem to understand what puppy pads are for. It pisses and shits everywhere but where it’s supposed to.
“I’m going to take him downstairs and see if he’ll do his business outside if I stay out long enough,” she says, and I roll my eyes. It’s the same every day. I think he’s actually broke, although he has learned to give me his paw on command.
I sit in front of the screens and watch as the pup drags her around the yard. The vet was wrong about it being a medium-sized dog. It’s four months old and the size of a small Shetland pony and as strong as an ox.
I tilt my head as I see a car coming up the drive. I’m not expecting anyone, and all the staff are on a well-deserved day off.
As the car gets closer, I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach, and it only gets worse when the car stops, and the door opens.