Unfolding the paper, Eddie scans the words silently. I stare hard, attempting to read what’s printed through the thick cream sheet, but all I can make out is the EPA logo at the top. Reading Eddie’s expression is equally impossible. Then without another word, he folds the paper back up and walks away.
“Where the fuck is he going?” I grunt, scrambling to follow.
I get up so quickly my chair falls over, which Ruby promptly picks up.
Eddie disappears behind the bar and starts filling an ice bucket. A second later, he drops a bottle of vintage Bollinger into it. I still have no idea what’s happening.
“If that’s for drowning my sorrows,” I gripe, “I’d prefer something stronger.”
“What was it you needed to get to, Miles?”
“Ten-goal,” I growl, holding my hand out. “Give me the fucking letter.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he eases the cork out with a loud pop, pours three glasses, and raises one dramatically high.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces to the nearly empty bar—exactly three other people are sitting around during a mid-afternoon Tuesday lull, and none of them care about whatever Eddie’s announcing. “We’re gathered here to celebrate the newest and returning ten-goal polo player.” He pulls the paper back out with a smug grin.
I snatch it from his hand.
“‘Dear Lord Burlington, I’m delighted to inform you . . .blah blah blah. . . based on our assessment from this current season . . .blah blah blah. . . the England Polo Association is awarding you the honor of a ten-goal handicap. Congratulations.’”
While the letter is printed, underneath is scrawled a handwritten note from Will Chambers-Smyth, the EPA chairman.
Congratulations, Miles, well deserved. Looking forward to seeing you lift the England’s Cup next week. Will.
I read it three times before the words sink in, then only just catch Ruby as she throws herself at me.
“Miles, you did it! You fucking did it!” She grips my shoulders and shakes hard enough to knock some sense back into me.
I wrap my arms around her, crushing my mouth to hers while she laughs against my lips.
“You did it,” she whispers. Then so softly I barely hear it, she says, “Your dad would be proud of you.”
Eddie grins as he tops off the glasses. “Do you know how long I’ve been keeping that bottle? Your father set aside a whole case for whenever one of you achieved something great. We already opened one the first time you went to ten, then when Max was born, plus when Lando almost got married—premature that was—and now here’s the next one. Stay at ten, though, Miles, as I can’t give you any more.” He winks.
“I’ll try my best.” I laugh helplessly, pressing the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. I fucking did it.Wefucking did it. “Ruby made it to one goal in the handicap listings. First time she’s ever been on them,” I say suddenly.
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he slides two full glasses of champagne toward us.
“Here’s to polo’s newest power couple.”
Ruby’s lip curls, letting him know exactly what she thinks of that title. Again, it bothers me less.
“What about the rest of the Flyers?”
“They all went up.” Ruby grins, and on cue, the pub door slams open and clatters against the wall. Billy rushes in first, followed by Jack, Juan, and Diego.
“Well?”
A slow smile creeps across my face, growing so wide my cheeks ache. I wave my letter at him.
“Ten.”
Immediately, I’m scooped up, with Jack letting out a loud whoop. “Welcome back, Milo. About fucking time.”
“Drinks all around!” Billy shouts, and once he realizes there are only three other people in here, he offers to pay.
