The girls cheered and smiled at me. It was nice to be appreciated by such young kids. I had never felt that before.
“Maggie, this is Kellie and Josie Rogers. They have only taken four lessons with
me, but they ride like pros. Today, we’re working on posting at the trot.”
“I love trotting!” Kellie exclaimed. “It’s so bouncy, and I feel like I’m on a trampoline.”
Lina giggled.
“That’s why we’re learning how to post! We use that bounce and make it into a controlled up and down motion.”
The girls’ behavior was beyond impressive. They quietly watched and listened as Lina and I explained how we tacked up the horses. I tacked Josie’s horse, and Lina prepared Kellie’s. As I wrapped Hamlet’s left leg with a polo wrap, Josie asked, “Wait, why do we put that thingy on his leg?”
I grinned at her curiosity. “Have you ever played soccer before?”
Josie nodded. “I’m super good at it. I play every Wednesday.”
“That’s awesome!” My enthusiasm came more naturally than I expected. “So, polo wraps are kind of like shin guards. They keepa special muscle, called the tendon, protected and supported. It also provides padding if a ball or mallet hits them.”
“Woah. I didn’t know a tiny little wrap could do all that.” She let out a giggle.
“It’s pretty cool, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
She was adorable, tugging at my heartstrings and lending hope that I might be carrying a little girl inside of me. A flash of a starry-eyed toddler with little boots running through the barn appeared in my mind. She looked a little more like Jack, with her blonde hair and signature smirk. My chest warmed at the thought.
Twenty minutes later, we helped the girls mount their horses. They began walking to the arena, following Lina, while I trailed behind, watching how she interacted with the adorable little riders. It made me wonder if she had any kids of her own. She was so sure of herself, so confident. I looked like a dancer with two left feet compared to her—completely unaccustomed to the new environment.
It was yet another reality check that I had no idea how to be a mother. How to tell kids what to do without sounding like a dictator. How to discipline them if they didn’t do what was asked. How to know when they were hungry or tired.God, there was so much.
The girls were posting like little professionals by the end of the hour, giggling and confident about their riding skills. I had no idea what I was doing at first. I watched as Lina reminded them to keep their heels down and squeeze the horses like it was a bottle of toothpaste. I had them make circles around me while they trotted and demonstrated how to perform the up-and-down posting motion.
I loved watching people fall in love with horses in the same way I did. If I couldn’t ride for the next eight months, thiswas the next best thing. Maybe running away from my life in Pennsylvania wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
Chapter sixteen
Jack
My mallet swung down toward the white, baseball-sized polo ball on the sixty-yard line of the field. Thecrackof the bamboo stick hitting the hard plastic echoed through my ears as I watched the ball sail between the upright goal posts on the endline.
Another goal for my team.
My teammates congratulated me as we cantered our horses back to the center of the field. After each goal was scored, the seven-and-a-half-minute clock didn’t stop. The teams were required to rush back to the center of the field by the time the umpire blew the whistle and rolled the ball back into play. If the ball wasn’t in play by the warning horn blasted thirty seconds before the end of the chukker—polo’s term for a period in the game, usually there are four or six periods in each game—the chukker was over. But since this was the last chukker of the game, we played out the last thirty seconds. In this case, that warning horn was going to blow any second. Our team was up by one point, and I intended to get an insurance goal, just in case the other team, Appleton Ridge, got fancy.
When the two teams lined up to face each other at centerfield, the umpire yelled, “Play!” and rolled the ball between us. As the number four player, I was the last player the ball reached if no one else’s mallet stopped it. I threw my mallet forward, swiped the ball from Esperanza Hernandez, a renowned female professional, and tapped the ball away from the crowd of players.
As I carried it down the field, a loud cheer came from the trailers—a voice I could only match to my fake wife, Maggie Hennicke. An unfamiliar form of pride swelled in my chest that she tried her best to attend my games. Since taking a job as an assistant polo instructor with the club three weeks ago, she was busy. It meant something that she took time away from work to support me.
I was riding my best horse, Vegas, straight to the goal posts opposite the ones I had just scored between. In outdoor polo, the teams switched sides each time someone scored to ensure no team had an unfair advantage. Vegas galloped beneath me with a cadence that pumped up my adrenaline. I fuckinglovedthis game. My body was more fulfilled when dismounting a horse than at any other time. My mind was clear. I was focused on one thing.
Winning.
I was a damn good player as a kid. I was an even better player in college. And now? I
was kicking ass in Golden Meadow and showing everyone what I was made of. Without anyone else’s help. Jack Hennicke was more than capable of doing it on his own.
The thunder of hooves from behind me caused the hair on the back of my neck to come up. If the player guarding me took possession of the ball, he would still have enough time to score his team a goal, and it wasn’t happening on my watch. I reachedmy mallet away from him to hit the ball at an angle, and shot it beneath Vegas’ neck and through the goal posts.
