I nod, feeling disloyal, but if Miles confides in anyone, it’s Hendricks. “Yes. He’s barely sleeping. He’s up and out before I’m even awake . . . He’s obsessing more over the points table than he was. And I don’t blame him. Torres is a shit. I wouldn’t want to ride against him.”
“Torres?”
Maybe he didn’t tell Hendricks why we crashed out. Panic sets my heart off, like I’ve divulged something I shouldn’t, and I scramble to save Miles. “You know . . . just over the summer.”
Hendricks rubs along his brow. “Where is he?”
“Down in Chester’s box. I think.”
“I’ll go and?—”
“Hey.”
We both turn at the sound of Miles’s voice to see him striding up the stable corridor toward us. His usual swagger isn’t there, but the effect it has on my insides is the same. Squirming and tight.
He looks at Hendricks and frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Chester’s three-month dental checkup,” he replies, carefully. “You knew I was coming.”
“Sorry, must have forgotten.” Miles stops beside me, draping his arm around my shoulders like it belongs there permanently, and I lean into him.
Hendricks turns to see if there’s any reason for us putting on this display of affection, and when he doesn’t find any, he focuses back on us. I’m just learning Miles’s expressions, but whatever Hendricks is wearing right now is new. I’m guessing Miles hasn’t told him we’ve moved out of whatever fake marriage category we were in.
Though we’re still in it, we’re just adding a complication.
“You guys seem to make a good team.”
“Yeah,” Miles murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “We sure are. She’s the only thing keeping me sane at the moment.”
I scoff. “I think you’re giving me way too much credit there.”
“No,” he replies, his tone deadly serious. “I’m not.”
Hendricks regards him, twin on twin, and I wonder if I should excuse myself. “What’s going on, Milo?”
I glance up at Miles, wondering if he’s going to admit how stressed he is about Torres. The dark circles under his tan are visible from a mile away. Winning means everything to athletes. They train themselves into the ground for first place. But standing this close to it is more worrying than enjoyable.
“Nothing,” Miles says, shrugging it off like it really is nothing. When the reality is deeper, like something buried under his skin. “We just bumped into Torres at Hampshire Polo Ground.”
Hendricks’s brows shoot up instantly. “Santiago Torres? What was he doing there?”
Miles shakes his head. “Fuck knows.”
“I thought he was at Guards.”
“He should have been, but he’s fucking with me.” Miles runs a hand through his thick hair, letting out a beleaguered sigh. It’s clear how much this is weighing on him. “I checked with Angus, and somehow his timing magically lined up with ours. It’s a two-hour drive.”
“How did he get on at Guards?”
“Out in the semis, but enough points on the table to bring them into second place with our loss. I’m going to be playing against him again. I know it. That’s why he’s trying to get into my head . . . I just need to focus.” Miles pauses, anger flickering momentarily behind his eyes. “Guess what he said to me as we left? He told me to say hello to Clem?—”
“What?” Hendricks’s head snaps up.
“He told me to say hi to Clementine.” Miles rolls his eyes. “This is the level of shit I’m putting up with. How the fuck does he even know her name? It’s a joke.”
Miles is feeding Maverick carrots, so he doesn’t see the panic flashing on Hendricks’s face before he masks it, but I do.
“He mentioned Clementine?”
