Page 78 of Riding High

Their fight had been ugly, and she regretted how it’d ended.Oh, she was still furious he hadn’t instinctively taken her side, but maybe– just maybe– she should’ve given him space instead of storming out.She definitely shouldn’t have told him she didn’t need him.Her lashing out had stopped them talking and blown up their chances to work their way back to each other.Saying she didn’t need him had been a lie, cruel and unnecessary.Shame, fierce and suffocating washed over her, robbing her of the air she’d found when talking to Troyden.

She’d been in the wrong, caught up with wanting–needing– him to choose her without hesitation.But he wasn’t that guy.Measured.Thoughtful.Slow to leap.She’d asked for too much, too soon.

But as Troyden had just shown her, people weren’t black and white.They were made up of a million shades ranging from off-white to pewter grey to hell black.She’d assumed Troyden would be like her father and mother and would bail, but he’d proved her wrong.

Maybe this was the wake-up call she needed to move on, to come to terms with her past.People blithely said that you couldn’t lug the baggage from your past behind you forever, and that, at some point, you had to discard what weighed you down.So much easier said than done though.For most of her life, her core belief had been that she was destined to come in second, that she wasn’t worthy of being someone’s first choice.Tara and Vince had let her down and disappointed her, but she couldn’t use their actions to reinforce her belief that she was less than, not worthy of being a priority.

The people who were supposed to love her the most had disappointed her the most.Her father had been weak and vain, feckless and irresponsible.Sleeping with a much younger girl, a teenager, had been a crappy thing to do, and she wondered whether he’d regarded her mum, religious and hesitant, as a challenge.She suspected that after he’d got what he wanted from her, his interest in her had waned.

Her mum had let her down in big ways and small.But for the first time, she considered how hard it must’ve been for her mum to find herself pregnant and alone at eighteen.Was becoming a foster mum, giving her time to kids who needed her help, her way to atone for what she’d done, for going against the will of her god?Maybe?She couldn’t know for sure, but it sounded right.And when she’d felt that Eden was old enough and strong enough, she’d decided she could finally devote her life, as she’d probably always wanted to do, to the god she’d disappointed.

Her mum hadn’t been able to love her, but that was her mum’s failing, not hers.

And in a crisis, Jed hadn’t been able to put her first.They’d probably never be able to recapture what they had, but she didn’t need to forgo her relationship with Troyden, her wonderful friendship with Mick and Justin, and Alistair’s rare smiles, because she and Jed hadn’t worked out.

She needed this family, these people.She was not going to keep running, keep chasing affirmation and acceptance from other people.It was time to plant her feet, to stick and stay.Sure, seeing Jed was going to be hell, but all pain eventually faded.Love couldn’t be forced, and it meant nothing when it was demanded.Love wasn’t a bargaining chip or a source of affirmation.It was something you offered.

Sometimes you were lucky enough to get it back, but it didn’t stop existing, or meant less, just because it wasn’t reciprocated.

She lifted her head when she felt tiny paws kneading her shoulder and smiled at Bizzy’s cute orange face.Gemma, eyes wise beyond her years, sat beside her on the step.

‘You’re crying,’ she observed.

Eden swiped at her face.‘I guess I am.’

Gemma considered this, an old soul in a six-year-old’s body.‘I think you need my mum.’

Eden shook her head.‘Your mum’s busy, sweetheart.’

Gemma wasn’t buying it.She stood, held out her hand, and Eden took it, following the little girl to Mick’s cottage.

The moment she stepped into the kitchen and Mick saw her face, she tipped her head, smiling softly.‘Oh, honey.What do you need?Food, coffee or a hug?’She paused.‘A day of K-dramas?’

Warmth flooded Eden’s chest.This was love.And acceptance.

She managed a watery smile.‘I’ll take the first three, and since I have a charity polo match to arrange, a rain check on number four?’And as Mick hugged her, Eden finally understood the old saying that having one loyal friend was better than ten thousand crappy relatives.

* * *

‘Ow, shit,ow!’

Jed touched his nose, spotted blood on his orange glove and glared at Henry sporting an arrogant smirk.He was enjoying this a bit too much, thedick.

‘I thought we said we were going to avoid head punches,’ he growled, dabbing his nose and smearing blood across his glove.Damn, was it broken?That would just top another shitty day in a shitty week.Feeling like he was about to burst out of his skin, he’d needed to work off his frustration, so he’d called Henry and asked him whether he was up for some sparring.Henry had quickly agreed.They’d exchanged minimal conversation while they wrapped their hands and pulled on their gloves, and were soon exchanging body blows that were both painful and pressure-releasing.

Cleansing.

‘You dropped your guard, and I couldn’t resist,’ Henry replied, dancing on his toes.‘And yours is such a punchable face.’

‘Prick,’ he muttered.

‘Wanker,’ Henry replied with no heat.Jed gripped the edge of the Velcro strap on his glove, ripped it and pulled.He’d taken more than enough body blows from Henry’s far-too-quick fists and now his nose was on fire.

He was exhausted, and after a few hard days in the saddle– somehow the Castle Kings were still in the mix for the British Polo Championships– he should be sitting in a sauna, having a massage, catching up on sleep.Sleep?Hah, funny, he’d had so little of that lately.

Eden’s lovely face appeared on his mental big screen and he swallowed at the memory of her hurt eyes and pale skin, her freckles and bright splotches on her white face.She was back at Elmsleigh House, but he hadn’t seen her since they’d met in the village, and he felt like he’d lost a limb.He would roll over in the morning, eager toopen his eyes to see her hair on his pillow, her face buried into his neck, but was met with emptiness.He continuously checked his phone to see if she’d called, consistently disappointed when he didn’t see her name on the screen.

He missed her.Every inch of him, inside and out, longed for her.Love had to be deserved, and what could he give her?By not calling him, she was reinforcing her statement that she didn’t need him.And if she didn’t need him, how could she love him?