“He’ssupposedto be—” He looks at me like I’m going crazy, and maybe I am. “Sorry, mate. I’ll get it together.”
The bell rings, and we gallop back onto the field for the final chukka. We have seven minutes to get ahead to have any chance of moving forward in this tournament and scoring the points I so desperately want.
I hook the ball clean from the throw-in and charge down the field. Clover bumps perfectly against the opposing number four,and I hit the ball across to Billy, racing toward the forty-yard line. But the ball goes wide.
Clods of grass kick up as the ponies fly toward it. Somehow, Jack gets there first and manages to catch it, leaning so far out of the saddle I’m convinced he’s defying gravity, and taps the ball between Dandelion’s legs and toward the goal.
The crowd’s pre-emptive cheers are cut short as the ball smashes into the post and rebounds to the opposition, who thunders it back up the field. Juan races after him on Owl, trying to bump him off course, but it’s not hard enough, and they score.
Four to one.
The only thing keeping me sane right now is hearing Ruby cheering from the sidelines. When I look left, she’s standing there, fists pumping in the air as she screams encouragement, and I so desperately want to win. For her, for the team.
But I’m too aware of the clock, and the game slips away from me before I know it. Truthfully, I can’t remember a time when I’ve played worse. It’s the first time we’ve failed to make it through the first round at Hampshire.
After shaking hands with our opponents, we trot off the field.
Five minutes later, after we’ve handed the ponies off, the four of us sit dejected in the changing room.
It’s so stupid. I know it’s not realistic for us to win every match, but I also know I lost this one for all of us.
“Guys, I’m so sorry,” I say for the third time.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Jack says, cutting me off immediately. “All four of us played on that team. We just couldn’t get our shit together. I missed the ball twice, and Billy couldn’t bump. It was all of us, so I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Not in the slightest. It’s like my bad mood has rubbed off oneveryone. I get up and walk out before I make it worse, only to bump into Ruby as I leave.
“This was not your fault?—”
“Everyone keeps saying that, yet I don’t quite believe them.”
“Miles, it wasn’t your fault. Losses happen. Someone has to lose, and someone wins. That’s just the game.”
“Doesn’t make it any better.”
“No. But you know what? It makes you stronger.”
I’m not in the mood for a pep talk. “I just want to get out of here and go home.”
“We can. I’ve just spoken to Charlie. The ponies are being hosed down, and then they’ll get loaded. We can get our bags and leave.” She smiles, and it’s like a balm. The stress rushing through me slows a little.
Billy walks out, face still red and sweaty, and puts his arm around my shoulders. “It’s not over, Milo. So stop fucking thinking it is.”
I roll my eyes but crack a smile. Because while he can’t read my mind, hecan.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
I don’t register it at first. Or if I do, I assume it’s Jack or Juan fucking about, but when Billy’s smile drops, I know it’s neither of them.
IknewI’d seen him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Billy snarls.
“I came to congratulate you on that spectacular knockout from the tournament.”
“You’re a fucking stalker, Torres. Concentrate on your own game.”
“Nah. We don’t have a match today. We won yesterday, so we’re making it through.” He grins wider, and the tattoos creeping up his neck shift with the movement. He looks trulypsychotic. “Looks like we’re going to be edging forward in the points.”
