Page 37 of Run for the Money

His face falls, which does nothing to stop the runaway fantasies.

“Too nervous,” I squeak out. “Bye.”

Why aren’t there any giant embarrassed-woman-snatching birds in this state?

The next two hours are a dissociated blur. I pace between GT’s stall, the warm-up ring, and the holding area where I catch glimpses of the scoreboard. I’m in fifth place going into the finals, which is a lot better than nineteenth, but I’m not nearly as confident as I was last weekend. I need Nick, but I can’t be near him because I can’t risk the distraction. The pacing keeps me as calm as I’m going to be, but it agitates GT. By the time I pull him back into the holding area to get ready for our final run, he’s in a state—a nostrils flared, skin twitching, freaked out state.

“Please, buddy, it’s just sixty more seconds,” I whisper to him, patting his withers. “If I can hold it together, so can you.”

GT cannot hold it together. There aren’t as many water jumps in the final course, but the ground is muddy from the qualifying round. He’s tired, and I know he’d give anything to be rid of his saddle. We run fast, but we don’t run clean. He knocks the last pole on the last oxer with the tip of his back hoof, and we get a penalty point.

We’re not the only team struggling; the scoreboard is littered with points today. But I know the mistake cost us the podium. There are only a few riders to go after us, and even if they all fall off their horses, the highest I can hope for is fifth place. Nick knows it, too. This time, he’s not smiling at me when he helps me dismount.

“Are you okay?” he asks, which is the worst possible thing he could say.

I’m on the brink of tears, and one word out of my mouth is going to push me over the edge, so I shake my head instead. Am I okay that I’m proving my parents right? Is it okay that I’ve been undisciplined and scatterbrained today because of a boy? No! None of this is okay! I am as far from okay as I could be at this particular point in time.

“Melanie, it’s—”

He’s cut off by his phone ringing. If it’s Paul on the other end of the line, I can’t hear it. It’ll fry my last nerve. I don’t know if Nick answers the call, but he’s distracted by the phone long enough for me to slip by with his horse, and he doesn’t follow me.

The finals are over by the time I’ve gotten GT’s saddle off. We got fifth place.Igot fifth place. All things considered, it’s amazing. After a hiatus like mine, and a night like theone I had, it’s a massive achievement. I only need four really good scores to earn a shot at the national team, and I have three competitions left. This can be my scratch. But none of the logic in the world takes away the bitter disappointment on my tongue.

Nick joins me in the stables as I’m finishing up with GT’s rub down. His brow is pinched and his shoulders are bunched up, his hands shoved in his pockets. I’m dreading tonight and the drive home tomorrow more than ever.

“Please don’t yell at me,” I say, eyes on GT. “I’m exhausted, and this has been a crap week. I’ll pull it together before the next competition.”

“I’m not here to bust your chops,” Nick says. “I’m here to check on you. You seemed…upset…when you finished your run. GT doesn’t look injured. Are you? Or sick? What’s going on?”

I shake my head. “No injuries. No illnesses. Just crappy riding.”

“Bullshit. That was solid riding, especially given the drive and our sleeping situation, and…Wednesday,” he says. “Fifth place is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It’s a step backward.”

I leave the stall and shut the door. GT pops his head over the top and swings his nose against my shoulder. I pat his neck a few times, then focus on winding his lead so I can hang it up and get out of here. I need a shower-cry before facingour sleeping situationagain.

“That was Edwin on the phone just now,” Nick says. “They’re live-streaming this whole shebang online, and in the first half hour after your qualifying run, we got more inquiries about riding lessons than we had in the entire last quarter. Traffic still hasn’t slowed down.”

“That’s great,” I say, re-winding GT’s lead for what’s got to be the seventeenth time.

I should hang it up. It’s wound fine. But my hands can’t be empty, or I’m going to touch Nick. He’s standing there, trying to cheer me up, and I’m all out of self-control. I want him to cheer me up the way he did on Wednesday, but as discussed, that’s not supposed to happen anymore.

“It’s because of you, Melanie. Because of what you can do,” Nick says. “You’re impressive, and people are noticing.”

“I think you’re forgetting someone,” I say, leaning my face against the side of GT’s neck. He needs to pay attention to the horse, or I’m going to do something stupid with my mouth. And his mouth.

Nick runs a hand through his hair and shuffles his feet against the hay-strewn floor. “I’m not…what I’m trying to say is, you’re still making progress. Making a difference. It’s not ‘playing pony,’ or some way to fritter away time while waiting for your real life to start. You’re accomplishing a lot, and it should be celebrated, whether you place or not.”

He should have yelled at me. He should have been the growly, mean version of himself that tells me to stop crying and get back on the horse. He shouldn’t have given me a comforting pep talk or looked at me with all that sincerity in his face. Not when I’m worn this thin. This tired.

I go for a hug. Truly, it’s my intention. My aim when I drop GT’s lead and dive into Nick’s personal space is to give him a big ol’ friendly squeeze around the middle, then step back. But somewhere between the first and second step, the instructions get muddled and my brain sends my arms up around his neck, and my lips wind up flush with his. Nick must be experiencing a similar disconnect between logic and impulse because he doesn’t push me away. He clutches me tighter against his body and kisses me like it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about since the last time we found ourselves in this position.

There’s nothing slow or sweet about this kiss. It’s a cannonball into the deep end of a pool, provided the pool is made of searching hands and white-hot desperation. I press myself against the hard plane of his chest and suck on his lower lip while he kneads my ass over my riding breeches. His other hand slides up the back of my neck, his fingers resting at my nape. My mind is beautifully blank, wiped clean of everything but this. I have every intention of spending the rest of my natural life kissing Nick exactly like this, in this spot.

Then GT snorts. His breath ruffling my hair startles me as much as the sound, and given how close Nick and I are, he must feel it, too. Like the stupid buzz of his stupid cell phone on Wednesday, the momentary interruption acts like a spring. Nick’s on the other side of the stable aisle before GT’s inhaled again.

A few loaded seconds pass. We stare at each other, chests heaving. Half a dozen people walk by, darting curious looks at us as they pass. Oh my God.There are other people in this stable.Who just watched us maul each other. What is the matter with me?

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