Page 108 of Snared Rider

“The Gala, Beth. It’s on Wednesday night, remember?”

I have a vague recollection of him shoving an invitation under my nose a few days before I left for Kingsley. Clearly, I blocked it from my consciousness because I don’t remember anything else about it.

“What Gala?”

I despise these events. Getting dressed to the nines and schmoozing with stuck up people all night is hell for me. I go to support Alistair. That’s it.

He lets out a long, suffering breath. “Do you even care about the importance of these things?”

I really don’t, but the fact he cares more about this stupid fucking event than me pisses me off.

Clutching my phone hard to my ear, I grind out, “I may be back by then.”

This is unlikely. I cannot see the Wilson situation being solved in a few days, not unless Dad and the other brothers do something sharpish.

Wade was trying to track him through his bank; maybe that will yield results. I know nothing about computers beyond the basics, but it seems like a tall order. Wade also said it would take time to track Wilson that way. How much time, I don’t know, but even if the Wilson situation is solved by Wednesday I’m not feeling particularly inclined to go back to London and stand on Alistair’s arm like some kind of prop. In truth, I’m not feeling inclined to be in the same breathing space as Alistair at all right now.

“This is seriously bad timing, Beth,”he mutters. “This event is a big deal for me, you know this. Christ, I’ve been talking about it for months and about how important it is for me—for us,” he amends, even though he totally means for him. I also do not recall him mentioning anything about it at all. “It’s going to look terrible if I turn up alone after I RSVP’d you would be there with me.”

And I suddenly realise how selfish and self-centred my boyfriend actually is. Reeling from his words, and in disbelief that he actually said them, I stare at the carpet. I have no idea how to answer him because my initial reaction is to explode, which will not help. But that choice may be out of my hands because my anger is mounting, and it’s mounting fast. I didn’t just inherit the Goddard stubborn gene, I also got their infamous temper. And right now, I’m hurtling towards dangerous levels.

I should take a breath and let it go. Things can get misconstrued in the heat of the moment, I know this. I’ve been the victim of this in the past. I am usually the first person to put my foot in my mouth.

But then I remember what he said and how he said it, and I decide I’m done being walked all over. I took his shit about leaving. I did that because I wasn’t over the moon about coming back to Kingsley myself, but this… this is a step too far. His lack of regard for my wellbeing after telling him I was in an accident hits home in a way that leaves no room for interpretation. He does not give a crap about me.

“I’m fine, by the way,” I grind out. “I mean other than the cracked ribs and the concussion.”

Not to mention the bonus black eye. I leave this tidbit out.

“I’m sorry, Beth. I don’t mean to sound unfeeling. You said you’re not badly hurt, and this event is important.”

“Important to you.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s important to you. Too bad I’m not as important to you as impressing your stupid boss.”

“I’ve worked hard for my career,”he defends.

He has. There is no doubt of that. He’s worked hard to the exclusion and detriment of everything else.

I know he’s a ruthless man, I’ve always known it, but I thought that was only in business. I did not realise that he is also ruthless in his relationships. It hurts to know that I come second to his career.

“Jesus, we’ve all worked hard, Al.” I let out a frustrated breath as the reality of this conversation settles around me. As much as I want to deny where we are, I can’t. I can see up the train tracks to the debris on the line ahead, the debris that is going to derail us. I’ve been in denial for so long. Denial about our relationship, denial about our future. Realistically, we don’t have one. I’m just the eye candy that looks good on his arm, as long as I don’t talk about my family or life outside London.

“This just… it’s not working, is it? Me and you… we’re just not right.”

Saying the words, letting the truth out into the ether is a relief. I feel like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders. This is one occasion where the phrase ‘the truth will set you free’ has weight.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’re right. Look, there’s no point doing this over the phone. We can talk when you are back.”

I wince and pick at the edge of the sheet, pulling it from under the mattress. “Maybe I shouldn’t come back.”

“Now you’re just being overdramatic.”He huffs. “And what about work? I can’t imagine they’re happy about you gallivanting around for longer.”

Gallivanting…

I should just give him the spade to keep digging his own hole.

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