“It’s yours to take. Let’s show these people what Maximus can do.”
Kendrick and I go our separate ways. He goes to the jockey club. It’s their locker room and other jockeys will be there. They’re all friends, but there’s still some jealousy among them, like there is with most sports. I head back to my room and collapse onto my cot. I’m tired and knew better than to go over to Brielle’s, but I’m in love with her and want to be with her. The plan is to tell her father after the race about us and let the chips fall where they may. We’re adults and should be able to do whatever the hell we want.
I’m about to doze off when there’s a loud pounding at my door and Kendrick calls out my name. “Someone better be dying, Kendrick,” I say loud enough for him to hear me, although it’s not hard because the walls are paper thin.
“It’s you,” he says.
I spring from my bed and throw the door open. Kendrick is standing there, looking ashen. My eyes travel from his face down to the newspaper he’s gripping. I don’t know what I truly see first—the picture of Brielle and me or the headline—Scandal in the Stables.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Yeah . . .” Kendrick draws out. “You’re the talk of the club.”
My hands go through my hair, tugging at the ends. “Fuck,” I say again because I don’t know what else to say. “This is bad.”
“It’s beyond bad, Colby. Her father had announced her engagement minutes before this picture was taken. How long has this been going on?”
I don’t have to answer him, but I consider him a friend and know he won’t tell anyone. “A while, but we hadn’t spoken to each other since I left Armstrong’s. When we saw each other at her father’s everything came rushing back. I’m in love with her. I have been since I was a teen.”
“This is heavy. You probably want to be alone to think about what you’re going to do.” I nod and Kendrick so graciously sets the paper down onto my bed before he leaves my room. If I were at home, I’d scream, throw things, and probably punch a wall. Or I’d call Brielle and tell her to come over.
As if on cue, my phone rings. Her name and picture take over the screen. I stare at it for a second before answering on the fourth ring. “Hey.”
She sobs into the receiver.
“Where are you?” I ask her.
“Parking lot.”
I keep her on the phone and make my way out of the stables. My name is called, but I ignore everyone around me. I have no idea where I’m going when I reach the lot. “Where?”
“Your truck,” she says. It warms me to no end that she went to my truck, that she even came here. It means something to me because she could avoid me all together. That thought gives me pause as I approach my truck. Maybe she’s here to end what we’ve just started. If she is, it’s not going to be here.
Instead of embracing her, I unlock and open the door to my truck. “Get in.” She looks around and finally sets her foot onto the running board and climbs in. I rush around to the other side and get it.
“There are reporters by the gate. They’re waiting to come in.”
“Did they see you?”
She shakes her head. As much as it hurts, I say the words anyway. “Duck down.” She does, but not in the way I suspected. Brielle lays her head on my leg and reaches for my hand. We lock fingers, which prevents me from flipping off the media as I exit the grounds.
I think about taking her back to my place, but it’s probably best the enemy isn’t seen at the Lucky Seven ranch until after the race, and her place is completely out of the question. We drive toward the outskirts of town, where no one should bother us.
We arrive at my favorite spot along the Ohio River. It’s quiet, isolated, and there isn’t anyone in sight. Brielle picks herself up and twists in her seat to look at me. “I have to choose.”
I nod, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. It’s sad her father is that type of man, but I honestly expected him to say the same thing if she told him after the race. I don’t expect her to choose me. She stands to lose everything and the only thing I can offer her is love. Nothing else. I stare out the windshield and watch a bird scour the ground for food. Somewhere, there is probably a nest with babies, waiting for their mom to return.
“Say something, Colby.”
“I don’t know what to say. I could tell you to pick me, to tell your dad to pound sand, but that would be selfish of me. You’d lose your last parent, your job and home. And for what? To come live in my shack? Who’s to say I won’t lose my job over this? And then what?”