Bombshell (The Rivals Book 3)

by Geneva Lee

“How will she know?” Cyrus asks sloppily, grabbing her around the waist and trying to haul her toward the other side where him and I are staying.

  “Oh, she’ll know!” Despite the fact that her blood is probably more wine than water at this point, she sounds horrified.

  “Good night!” I call, deciding to leave them to decide if they’re going to break the rules.

  This far from the city, the stars puncture the darkness—bright and unmistakable. I find myself looking for constellations as I amble back to the cottage, daring to gently rub my stomach as I imagine what it will be like to point into the night sky to show my child where each constellation shines overhead. Rocks crunch behind me and I drop my hand, breaking the spell. A moment later, Cyrus joins me, hands shoved in his pockets.

  “You’re alone,” I say.

  “Don’t remind me.” He shakes his head, tossing an annoyed glance behind him. “We should have stayed in a hotel.”

  “And miss this?” I murmur.

  He glances up and shrugs. “We have stars in Valmont. We didn’t need to come here to see that.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I say, thankful we’ve reached my cottage. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Why did you come here?” Cyrus asks as I reach for the knob.

  “Here? You two dragged me.”

  “To London?” he clarifies. “You didn’t even finish the semester.”

  “It was too good of a chance to pass up,” I say smoothly, the lie having become second nature at this point.

  “It had nothing to do with him?”

  No one’s questioned my decision to leave Valmont. After the video, my father seemed eager to put me on a plane and get me as far away from Sterling as possible. A bit too eager, honestly. The longer time passes the more I see it for what it was. He saw a chance to seal Sterling’s fate, and he took it. I’d played into his hands. But coming to London was my move. I shake my head. “I have my reasons.”

  “Then you’re over him?” Cyrus’s words slur a bit, and he stumbles back a step.

  “Go to bed,” I tell him. “You don’t need to worry about Sterling and me. It’s over. I’m fine.”

  “You’re lonely,” he counters. “I can see it.”

  “I know what Poppy thinks, but—”

  “It’s what I think. I’ve known you a long time,” he says. “I know when you’re hurting.”

  “Okay, I will be fine. Eventually. But seriously, you don’t have to worry about me,” I say.

  “But I do worry. Adair, I…” He trails away, turning his head to look toward the darkened house. “Do you want to talk?”

  “You should stick to whiskey, Cy. Wine makes you a bit emotional,” I advise him. I turn the knob and open the door a crack. “I just want to go to bed.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” He takes his hands out of his pockets and steps toward me. I expect him to hug me, him being too drunk to remember how much I hate that, and I brace myself. Then his mouth is on mine.

  My hands shove him back and he stumbles, nearly falling onto his ass.

  “What the hell?” I step backward, feeling behind me for the door.

  “Adair, I didn’t—” He scrambles onto his feet and advances toward me. “Let me come in. Let me explain.”

  “Go the fuck to bed,” I order him, backing inside my cottage the rest of the way and slamming the door shut.

  Wiping the back of my hand furiously across my lips, I fight tears as I lock the door. He’s drunk. It meant nothing to him or to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he kissed me.

  Sterling was the last man that kissed me, and without thinking, Cyrus just erased that. He took that final kiss from me, and I hate him for it. Almost as much as I wish I could hate Sterling. I kick off my shoes and climb into the bed, pulling the sheets to my chin. This is why I came to London: to claim my life as my own. To get away from a world that constantly takes what it wants, not caring if there’s anything left over for me. But as the first tears splatter on my pillowcase, I realize that I’ll never escape that world.

  It won’t let me.

  “He did what?” Sterling roars. He’s on his feet, pacing the room in bare feet, looking like he wants to put his fist through the wall.

  “He was drunk.” The excuse falls out of my mouth.

  “That sounds like a lie you’re telling yourself.” Sterling’s anxious energy attracts Zeus, who comes to sit in the doorway, watching him with concern.

  “It probably is. I just needed to tell myself something,” I admit. “But I’ve never forgiven him really. Maybe it was a stupid mistake, but I hate that he did that to Poppy.”

  “The next time I see him…” Sterling massages his fist with the palm of his left hand.

  “It was a long time ago, and after what happened next, it just never seemed to matter.”

  I find myself hoping for rain the following morning, so I have an excuse to avoid Poppy, and, more importantly, Cyrus. Instead, sunshine and blue skies greet me as soon as I look out the window. Trust the fickle English weather to give everyone a beautiful day when I need a storm. I dress slowly, wondering if anyone will say something about my riding attire. I hadn’t brought riding clothes purposefully. I doubt I could button my riding breeches. In the end, I opt for a pair of tight black leggings I planned to wear in the car on the ride home. They’re stretchy enough to wear in the saddle and under a loose t-shirt, you can’t see my tiny baby bump.

  I skip breakfast and head to the stables. I want to get a feel for the horses and stake a claim on an older, gentler steed. Plus, I don’t think I could keep down a bite after what happened. But when I reach the stables, I discover Aja heading out of a stall. She’s dressed in a loose fitting one piece jumpsuit, her silver hair piled on top of her head. Despite the fact that I know she must be nearly seventy, she moves with a strength and capability I’d expect of someone thirty years younger.

  “Good morning,” she calls. “Finished with breakfast?”

  “I wasn’t hungry.” I join her, patting the mane of a beautiful Arabian as she checks his water.

  Aja’s eyebrow ticks up, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she picks up a brush and begins caring for him. “This is Raina. I named him after the Hindi word meaning night.”

  “He’s beautiful,” I murmur.

  “He’s stubborn, but he’ll heed a strong rider.” She pauses and studies me for a moment. “He’s a good match for you from what my granddaughter tells me.”

  “Oh,” I search for something to say that doesn’t sound like a lame excuse. “I thought we’d better take your calmest horses—for Cyrus’s sake.”

  I hate even pretending to be concerned for him. After last night, I have half a mind to ask her which horse is likely to throw him. He deserves it.

  “I’m not accustomed to keeping broken animals,” she says loftily. “Mr. Eaton shouldn’t follow an easy path. Poppy fawns over him too much.”

  I bite back a smile. At least, she sees through him.

  “You’re friends with him,” she says, misreading my silence. “I shouldn’t speak poorly of a boy I hardly know.”

  “Sometimes I think we mistake the presence of someone in our life for friendship,” I say softly. “I’ve known Cyrus a long time.”

  I can’t help wondering if I know him that well, especially after he hit on me last night. Try as I might to blame it on the wine, I can see the move too clearly. I’d been tired but sober. It didn’t feel as much like a drunken mistake as it did a compromised inhibition. With any luck it was a stupid man having too much to drink and losing control. Maybe then, he won’t even remember it this morning and we don’t ever have to talk about it again.

  “He should ride Poppy’s old horse. I’ve kept her for years out of sentimentality. She shouldn’t give him any trouble,” Aja says.

  “Which one is that?” I ask.

  “Stall three,” she says, “and you will ride Raina. He will obey you. It will be a good, safe ride.”

 
I flush, trying to decide if I’m reading into her comments. I can’t help thinking that Aja knows what I’m hiding.

  “I better check on the others. Get to know him,” Aja says before leaving the stall.

  I press my forehead to Raina’s muzzle. “No funny business, okay?”

  He huffs, stomping a back hoof like he doesn’t appreciate being told what to do.

  “I know,” I whisper, “but it’s not about me. Let’s just trust each other.”

  Raina blinks, his round black eyes staring eerily back at mine before his head bows. I would almost swear he understands the request. I spend the next half hour, saddling him and double checking the straps before wandering to stall three to prep Cyrus’s ride. I snort when I see the name placard next to the door.

  Princess.

  Of course, Poppy named her horse princess. I can only imagine how Cyrus will feel about this development. Before I’ve finished saddling the mare, my friends appear, decked out in riding clothes.

  “Oh, I should have told you to pack breeches,” Poppy says when she sees my leggings. “I think I have a spare set.”

  “I’m fine,” I say quickly.

  “We missed you at breakfast,” Cyrus says casually.

  I search his face for guilt or anger or annoyance—any of the emotions I might expect to find after I rebuffed his advances last night, but all I find is the same old Cyrus Eaton. That’s a relief. I don’t want to be the one to break my best friend’s heart, especially since I suspect Cyrus had no idea what he was doing last night.

  “I wasn’t hungry, so I came to check the stables.”

  “Going to ride this one?” he asks me.

  “Oh, no,” Poppy says. “Princess couldn’t keep up with Adair.” She looks quizzically at the saddle I’d buckled on her.

  “Aja suggested she’s a good fit for Cyrus.”

  There’s a heavy pause followed by a burst of hysterical laughter from Poppy. I can’t help but join her. Cyrus glares at us with a bemused smile.

  “If you’re done, maybe we could get a move on,” he suggests.

  “Sorry,” Poppy says, brushing a bit of hay off his shoulder. “We didn’t mean to laugh.”

  “Sure about that?” he asks.

  I have to duck out of the stall to stop myself from falling apart again. There’s something delicious about watching Cyrus knocked down a peg or two, even if he didn’t know what he was doing last night. Maybe it’s due to the fact that I’ve watched most of the men in my life strut around with puffed chests, bragging about their accomplishments and acting invincible. It’s refreshing to see one of them being reminded that he’s only human.

  In the end, Cyrus accepts riding Princess with dignity, and Poppy chooses a handsome stallion named Gemini. We set off along the rolling hills of the Landry estate at an even pace that Cyrus can easily match.

  Raina doesn’t resist me, but I sense how much I’m holding him back. He’s a powerful animal and I can only imagine what it would be like to ride him without restraint. I can’t help hoping someday that I will.

  The countryside is beautiful. Even half a world away, I feel at home on Raina’s back. Thanks to Poppy and Cyrus the ride is smooth enough that I don’t feel nauseous once.

  When we pause at a poplar grove, Cyrus stops Princess and dismounts her awkwardly.

  “I need to take a leak,” he announces as he hands me the reins and disappears into the trees.

  “Charming,” I mutter.

  “Next time, we’ll go out alone,” Poppy says with a laugh.

  When will that be? Lately, I try not to look too far into the future. It feels wrong to hope for a time when life might be normal again. Even worse than that, sometimes I’m scared that it won’t be. I’m scared my life will never be my own. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I have this moment and the air in my lungs and a beautiful view. I have so much to be grateful for, and I just have to trust the rest will work itself out in its own time. My stomach rumbles as if reminding me that I can’t avoid thinking about the future altogether, especially when it comes to my next meal.

  “I almost wish we’d brought a picnic,” I admit.

  “We probably could have. He’s doing better than we expected,” Poppy says fondly.

  I think of what Aja said about how she makes things too easy for him. That’s always been Valmont’s problem. It’s an entire enclave devoted to the fine art of smoothing things over, and the women enable it. My mother did it, too. She always found an excuse for my father’s drinking. It’s what killed her. Ginny’s already falling into line with the expectation, pretending nothing is wrong when anyone could see she’s heartbroken.

  Even me, I’m doing it right now by not telling Poppy about what Cyrus did last night. Maybe it was an innocent mistake, but she should know. He shouldn’t just get to do whatever he wants with no consequences.

  “Look, Poppy, last night, something happened,” I begin just as Cyrus reappears from the trees. I clamp my mouth shut.

  “Let’s head back,” he calls as he walks over and pats Princess.

  “Okay. Adair is hungry anyway,” she says brightly before turning her attention back to me. “You were saying something happened last night.”

  “Never mind. We can talk about it later,” I say, releasing Princess’s reins back to Cyrus. Our eyes meet briefly, and he turns away.

  “Just don’t—” Poppy starts, but before she can finish her sentence, Cyrus attempts to mount Princess and fails. My head turns just in time to see the mare kick angrily at the failure, her back legs sweeping out. Underneath me, Raina startles at the sudden motion and rears. My hands tighten on the reins too late and the last thing I feel is the air being sucked from my lungs as I hit the ground.

  “Fuck!” Sterling is on his feet, pacing across the living room again. I sit up, hugging my knees to my chest. “Keep going.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” I whisper, and he finally stops to drop in front of me.

  “That was the accident,” he says in a gentle voice. “The reason you don’t ride horses anymore.”

  I manage a nod.

  “Where did it hurt you?” he asks.

  My hand presses to my chest and a sob wrenches free followed by another and another. Telling my story has worn away the numb oblivion I’ve clung to. I’d stopped thinking about it, because it hurt. I’d told myself that enough time has passed that I’d healed—at least, as much as I could ever expect to heal. Now I know that was all a lie. I never healed. I pretended. I never accepted. I surrendered.

  “Oh God.” I can’t breathe. I look to him wildly. Can’t he see it? I’m drowning in front of him. I’m dying.

  “Inhale, Lucky,” he says quickly, grabbing my hand and breathing deeply as though to coach me. “Exhale. Okay, inhale. You’ve got this. Why don’t we take a break?”

  I shake my head. The only way out is through. Out of the dark. Out of the past. We can’t stay here lost forever. We have to find our way out if we’re going to survive this. We have to face this together.

  He’s here now. I can face anything. That’s what was missing before.

  Sterling smiles, his hand slipping down to rub my stomach. “Can you feel her kick?”

  “I think so,” I say. Sometimes when I focus I feel the soft flutter of butterfly wings, but I’m never quite sure if that’s the baby. Maybe I just want it to be, so that I have some tangible connection with the life growing inside me.

  “Let’s name her.” He knits his fingers through mine, lying down beside me in the clover field. “Buttercup?”

  I jab him with an elbow.

  “What? It was good enough for your horse.” But he laughs. The sound of it moves like the warm tingle of a shot of whiskey inside me.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. I feel like I’ve asked this before, but I never got an answer.

  “Stop.”

  Something pricks at my brain. We’ve had this argument, but we haven’t. I shake my head, but it remains foggy. “But how
will we afford it?”

  “I told you that she’s all we need. Our own secret fortune,” he says.

  I smile even as a cloud moves overhead and blots out the sun. “I love you.”

  He doesn’t reply. My fingers squeeze his hand but find it’s gone. I’m alone. A drop of rain hits my face and I startle, my eyes flying open to discover an unfamiliar face overhead.

  “Oh, good morning,” she says in a thick British accent. “Or good afternoon, I suppose. I was just changing your IV.”

  I gradually become aware of a cold trickle running up my arm. I glance down, confused, to discover a tube running up my forearm.

  “I needed to flush your hep-lock. You probably felt that. Woke you up.” She bustles along cheerily, and I blink trying to process her—and everything else.

  I’m in a hospital. That seems obvious from the IV and the monitor beeping next to my bed. But I shouldn’t be here. I was somewhere else—with him. I want to go back there. “Where am I?”

  It’s a struggle to speak. My tongue feels like I’ve been sucking on cotton balls. The beeping monitor pitches up, and I turn to stare at it, realizing it’s measuring my heart rate. My hand flies toward my stomach, my body understanding before my brain can catch up, but I’m too tangled in lines and cords to reach it.

  “The baby!” I croak. My throat goes raw but no tears come. Maybe I’ve dried out completely.

  “Oh, no, lamb.” She rushes over and pours me a glass of water. “The baby’s quite alright. See look here!” She swivels another monitor, and I see a second rapid heartbeat.

  My baby’s heartbeat. Each little jump on the monitor soothes me. I stare at it until I feel calm again while she helps me take a few drinks from the cup.

  “Here. Just be careful you don’t bump the monitors.” She coaxes my arm out from the mess I’ve made of all the lines connecting me, and I’m finally able to settle my palm protectively over my stomach. “Is that better, mum?”

  I nod, swallowing down the surge of emotion I feel at hearing that word. Mum. Mom. Mother. I can’t quite identify with it yet. It still feels foreign like I’m trying my best to understand a word in another language but not quite grasping it.