Page 46 of Run for the Money

Chapter 15

Melanie

Things with Nick are incredible. When we’re not butting heads and arguing, we’re an unstoppable show jumping team. He does tease me about how much of that is down to me listening to him and taking his advice when I’m on horseback, but I’d like to think some of the show jumping magic comes from him being head over heels in love with me. Mentioning that usually distracts him, which eventually earns me a growly reprimand, which I don’t mind at all, because those reprimands lead to intense kisses, his hands in my hair and heat in my veins.

Nickispart of what’s working for me in competition, but it’s more than that. I feel calmer and more focused—more like myself. Somewhere between storming out of my parents’ house and the bar in Nebraska, I stopped caring about other people’s expectations. Trying to please the people around me wasn’t getting me any closer to my goals. It didn’t get Nick to stop resisting the pull between us, it didn’t win me races, and it didn’t make me happy. Listening to my own instincts is helping me more than following instructions ever did.

With a week to go before the last competition of the season, I’m finally feeling confident about making the cut for the national team. I can place as low as sixth and still make the qualifiers in the new year. It’s something I used to dream about, so it’s surreal to be making plans for it. But that’s exactly what I’m doing.

The last competition is in Denver, so GT won’t be exhausted from a long trip in the trailer, and I won’t be stiff either. In ideal conditions like that, it would be easy to go in over-confident and unprepared. To counteract that, Nick and I have been training regularly—no days off and no skipping gym sessions. My days are full, but I don’t mind because I’m doing what I love, with someone I love. I’ve never been this centered before—this comfortable. For once in my life, I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop or for something to go wrong.

Two days before the competition, that all changes. Nick has to run up to the house to take care of some paperwork while I finish GT’s post-training grooming. I don’t think anything of it; he’s been burning the candle at both ends lately to handle the influx of business he’s gotten since the livestream in Salt Lake. But as I’m heading out of the stable to head up to the house, I don’t hear the sound of a tony ski mom signing her kids up for riding lessons—I hear Paul. And he’s not talking to Nick—he’s talking to Edwin. I freeze in the doorway, unsure what to do.

I knew Nick was working with Paul to solve things with his dad. We haven’t talked about it, but I figured we never would. Nick isn’t particularly comfortable talking about his dad, and I’m not too jazzed about discussing Paul. Once everything was settled, I assumed Paul would fade into the past, and Nick and I would move forward as though the two of them had never spoken.

Obviously, that’s bonkers. We were never going to avoid this situation. Standing here, looking at Paul and Edwin while my stomach turns into an angry beehive and my neck starts sweating, I’m painfully aware of how naive it was to pretend otherwise.

“I won’t keep you any longer, but seriously, I can’t thank you enough,” Edwin says. “Nick probably grunted at you like a disgruntled house cat being woken up from a nap, but he’s grateful too.”

Paul laughs, looking happier than I’ve seen him in ages. “He was more articulate than that. Truly, I’m happy to do it. Nick and his mother did so much for Diana—I’m simply doing a favor for a friend.”

Edwin cocks his head to the side. “Oh, DianaWalters. Your sister! I can’t believe it took me so long to make the connection. Wow, I haven’t heard her name in forever.”

It’s Paul’s turn to look confused. “Pardon the question, but do you know who referred Nick to me? When he reached out, he used my personal cell number, not my office line. I assumed Diana was the one who gave it to him, but it’s become clear that isn’t the case.”

What’s left of my stomach-beehive shrivels. Edwin chooses that moment to glance over toward the stable and spot me, which inevitably leads Paul to look my direction. I wave awkwardly.

“It was me,” I say. “Hi.”

“Melanie! I didn’t realize you knew Nick,” Paul says, startling when I lurch out of the shadows like some kind of Ghost of Girlfriends Past.

He sounds genuinely pleased to see me. Either he’s more mature than me, or he’s an incredible actor. For so long all I wanted was for him to see me thriving without him and regret dumping me, but now that he’s standing here, all I want is for him to disappear.

“I’ve been show jumping again. He’s my coach,” I say, wondering how Paul hasn’t figured that out yet. It’s been in enough publications, splashed across social media, and circulating through all our mutual friends. It’s hardly news anymore that Nick’s my coach.

And my boyfriend! Why didn’t I say he’s my boyfriend? Judging by Edwin’s expression, he’s wondering the same thing.

“Oh, wow! Mel, congratulations. That’s amazing news,” Paul says, his hazel eyes alight with surprise.

It washes over me in two waves. First, I realize he didn’t know I was jumping again. He’s not looking for hints of me in conversations, or combing through social media to find traces of my life. Second, and worse, he cares enough about me to know how much this means to me, and be happy for me. There’s no hatred or resentment, not an ounce of passionate feeling one way or another. Four years together, and he’s immune to me. We’re officially acquaintances.

“I’m really happy,” I say, hoping he can tell I mean it, despite the way gravity has suddenly stopped working and my scalp is prickling uncomfortably.

“It’s so good to hear that, Mel, honestly. I know our break-up wasn’t ideal, and I have a lot of regret about how I handled it. I’ve been worried about you,” he says. “But you’re really doing well?”

“Thriving,” I say, because that’s as many syllables as I can get out past the horrible thrum of my pulse in my throat. Why isn’t Edwin helping me? Where is Nick? Why do I have to have this conversation on my own? Or at all?

“That’s great. Really good, Mel. Do you…have a minute to chat?” Paul asks, his tone shifting from casual to serious in the space of five words.

I look to Edwin, panicked, for help. His frown deepens.

“This seems personal, so I’m gonna dip. Good to meet you, Paul,” he says.

Edwin jogs toward the house, leaving me alone with Paul. I’m officially inside of a nightmare.

Paul puts his hands in his pockets and looks down toward the polished tips of his loafers. My heart speeds up because I know that posture; he’s got news, but he’s not sure how to break it to me gently. It was the same way he stood when he suggested we skipChristmas with his family the first year we were together, because he didn’t want to cause a scene with Diana, and how he looked when he had to cancel our ski trip to Aspen because he was scheduled to be in court for one of his pro bono cases after he swore up and down the matter would be settled before we left. It’s how he looked right before he broke up with me.

“Spit it out, Paul,” I whisper.

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