Page 57 of Bombshell

“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.”