Page 14 of Double Bucked

I lower back onto my heels and force myself to step back. “See you tonight.”

“See you.”

As I pull away, his hands slide down my arms, over my wrists, until only our fingertips are touching.

“Love you, Bear,” he says.

I will never get tired of hearing that.

“Love you more.”

Before it becomes officially impossible to extract myself from him, I break our link. I bunch up the bottom of my dress, and the tall grass tickles my calves as I quickly climb the distance between the stables and the main house. With each step closer, the tightness in my chest starts to return.

I’m not sure when my home began to feel like a prison. I’m sure I had good memories here. Didn’t Daddy teach me to ride a horse? Or ride a bike? There’s no tire swing in our front yard. No hints of a carefree childhood to hold on to. If I have happy memories, they’re buried somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, or they’re frames stolen from sappy movies and lines from romantic books with happy endings.

Now, every time I pass the tall Grecian columns in the entranceway, my heart gallops with anxiety.

I’m twenty-four years old. I’m a grown, capable woman.

I shouldn’t be sneaking around like a besotted teenager.

But that’s the type of fear my father instills.

The doorman stands at the doorway in his suit, hands folded in front of him. I greet him, but he dutifully ignores me. The bottoms of my shoes have gathered mud, so I leave them in the foyer. There’s a small oval mirror hanging above a carved oak table. I rake my fingers through my hair and shake out straw. Daddy doesn’t like my hair tied back, but he likes it even less when it’s messy, so I remove the thin band from around my wrist and pull it back.

I see a woman in the mirror I barely recognize anymore. Small, upturned nose. A forehead slightly too large for my face. Eyes that shift from gray to blue depending on the light. But the most unique feature about me is the two front teeth that sit forward in my mouth, separated by a thin gap. After being not-to-affectionally dubbed “bunny” one too many times, I’ve learned to conceal my teeth with rosy lips that protrude into a permanent pout.

Lips that, moments ago, were laughing and kissing now look like they haven’t smiled in a decade. The house casts a shadow of gloom over every one of my features.

“Claire. Is that you?”

His deep, booming voice sends a stab of dread in my chest.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I cross the foyer and step into the adjoining dining room. The table has already been set, and my father’s plate sits in front of him. The first thing anyone notices about my father is his eyebrows. He has thick, long hair and a gray beard, but his eyebrows are the star of the show. These thick, bushy cloud wisps above his eyes that seem constantly twisted in disappointment.

“You’re late,” he says.

The maid pulls out the chair beside him. I take the seat and remain still as she unfolds my napkin and drapes it over my lap. “I was brushing Calypso,” I lie.

“We have people for that.”

“It’s a bonding technique. The more in sync we are in the stables, the more in sync we’ll be on the showgrounds.”

Daddy’s mouth twists in a frown. His plate holds a serving of roasted duck with candied carrots, onions, and sweet potatoes, along with a dinner roll and as assortment of leafy greens plucked from the garden. His knife clicks against the plate as he rips into his duck.

“We need to talk,” he says.

He knows. It hits me like an arrow, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. He knows, he saw the charge on his credit card, he’s canceled my flight, he?—

“Your performance at the Cantier was less than perfect.”

I blink. “Calypso and I received the highest score.”

“Do you judge your worth on the failures of others?”

My jaw tightens. “No, but?—”

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