In her vent session at girls' night, Asha mentioned she thoughther father was intentionally assigning her menial tasks to divert her attention from my rehabilitation work with the horses. While Mr. Fairfield supports her dream of becoming an equestrian veterinarian, as it will undoubtedly benefit the family business, Asha suspects he's merely humoring her by bringing me on for the summer. She's convinced he does not intend to implement a long-term rehabilitation and rehoming program for their retired racehorses.
What Asha doesn't see is the weight of the land lease bearing down on her father's shoulders. Mr. Fairfield isn't resistant to change because he's stuck in his old ways, but rather, his plate is full with the fate of Fairfield hanging in the balance. Within a year, he will lose sixty percent of Fairfield acreage—prime Kentucky bluegrass that once sustained their champion Thoroughbreds. With the land division, he'll barely retain enough property for their prestigious breeding operation and what I've nicknamed "the showcase stables"—that immaculate barn adjacent to the main house where he keeps his current racing stock and the meticulously groomed sale prospects that command six-figure prices. His urgency to be rid of the retired horses isn't callousness; it's desperation. Each horse requires significant investment to maintain, and difficult decisions must be made with the reduced pastures they'll soon have.
"Does Dallas know about the lease?" I ask, still unsure why he's sharing all of this with me.
"No."
"Why not tell him?" I ask as I sit straighter, as if that's the answer. Two heads are better than one, and while I may not know who London is anymore, I'm sure he wouldn't take their land. He'd find a way.
"Because it's Dallas. There's potential he'd kick them off the land. The feud existed before he ever arrived in Bardstown, but in his mind, one doesn't exist. But I could also see him going through with the wedding and marrying Asha out of some misguided duty. Both of those options go against my plans."
His remark about London's misguided duty hits the nail on the head. He would totally marry her. I slouch against his back. "What are your plans exactly?"
"It's not important right now," he says, expecting my acceptance.
"Asha is one of my best friends. You really expect me to take that as an answer?"
"Yes, because it's all I can give you right now."
I still don't like his response. I don't care if he doesn't have all the answers; I want his notes. But more importantly, I need to know: "Do you like her?"
With my arms wrapped around him and my chest flush against his back, I feel the tension that riddles his body from my question before he says, "Enough."
Enough could mean he'd learn to love her, but I don't believe that's the reason for his indifference now. It's a cop-out. He isn't bringing me into whatever this is for 'enough.'
We turn down the drive to Hale Ranch, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. He may have told me many things I didn't know, but he hasn't answered the one question I want to know. "What does this have to do with me?"
"You broke my brother's heart, and now I need you to put it back together."
"Excuse me. You clearly have no idea what?—"
"I've done my research. I know I don't have a brother named Dallas…" he cuts me off. "But I've known for a while that I do have a brother named London Hale from the small town of Willow Creek, Texas. It's funny what you can find online with just a little digging. A simple Google search pulled up a picture of a star quarterback leading his team to a state championship with a Hail Mary pass in the last sixty seconds of a tied game, and wouldn't you know who's tucked under his arm, smiling in her Mustangs dance uniform…" He pauses, but I keep my mouth shut. I remember that night. I remember every night with London, but that one was special. He was on top of the world that night, sharing all his plans for the future—our future. But a picture isn't evidence of heartbreak; it means we have history. "It was you."
"So, we knew each other in high school. I was on the dance team, and he was a football player… that hardly qualifies as?—"
"The photo was captioned:All-Star Quarterback and Mustang's MVP of the year, London Hale, with his long-time girlfriend Laney Hart."
"That's why you stared at me that morning in the stables. You recognized me from the photo."
"Sure did. Want to know what else that article said?" I stay silent and wait for him to give me more words. I don't want to inadvertently give him something he doesn't know when I'm not sure what his goal in all of this is. "London Hale will be attending Stanley on a full-ride scholarship in the fall, where his girlfriend, Laney, will join him after graduation. A true-blue, all-American boy with a storybook love story to boot. Cute article. It probably would have been a great story too, but London didn't go to Stanley. Instead, he showed up here in Bardstown, and I'd be willing to bet you had something to do with that. A man doesn't walk in the opposite direction of his dream unless someone crushed it."
His words sting. The reality of a beautiful dream falling apart is something to mourn, but that's not all on me. I didn't crush London's dreams. I used to see it that way. I tortured myself with guilt for years, but discovering he's been here all this time, leaving no trace, no word…that revelation changed things. He abandoned what we built, but maybe worse, it feels like he never trusted my heart. Regardless, none of that matters. He made his choice, and it wasn't me.
"Trigg, I don't know what you expect me to fix. London has moved on and?—"
"Madison?" he questions absurdly as we reach the house. "She's not wife material."
"That seems harsh," I say, loosening my grip as he brings Knickers to a stop.
"Let me rephrase that: she's not wife material for him."
"That's your opinion."
"No, that's a fact." He taps my leg, and I scoot back so he can dismount. "You showing up here has him ruffled. He's drinking Baylor's coffee, which is basically mud, puts in his hours, and then spends the evening sitting beside that lake. And to top it off, he hates that I'm spending any amount of time with you."
I despise how desperately I want to believe I'm the reason behind his strange behavior, that London's long hours gazing at the lake are filled with memories of us. But hearts are traitors, always fighting for dominance over the mind, convinced of their superior wisdom when betrayal is their only true mastery. In both love and war, the heart is your true enemy. It's why I have to stay away. My heart can't be trusted. I can't be trusted.
"I'm not doing it," I say, slowly lifting my bum leg over Knickers. "You have to find another way that doesn't include me."
