Conflicted (Everlasting Love)(49)
We lost the Triple Crown again—a state of affairs that I am becoming embarrassingly familiar with. Our quest for the title and the near misses, year after year, have even sparked a kind of folklore around the track. Tales of a jinx, a curse, a self-fulfilling prophecy that will keep us from ever winning those three races in one year.
I don’t believe in superstition and I don’t believe in curses, but as I wait, year after year, to fulfill my father’s dying wish, I admit it gets tougher and tougher to still believe.
I did something horrible, said things I am completely ashamed of now that the heat of anger has passed me by. But how do I take them back? How do I approach him and say that I am sorry? Where will we be if I can’t?
When did marriage get so difficult? When did a collective dream cease to be enough and individual dreams spring up to take its place? I want a Triple Crown. I want to fulfill my promise to my father. Jesse doesn’t understand, because he wasn’t raised by Big John. He doesn’t understand this burning need inside of me not to screw up, not to live down to my father’s expectations of me.
How could following my own needs and desires, how could becoming the best woman I knew how to be, be such a complete disappointment to him? I married Jesse because I loved him and I couldn’t imagine my life without him—a feeling that still holds true today, even after every bitter word that’s passed between us and every disappointment we’ve been for each other. It is only after I’ve fought with my husband month after month, year after year, that the real question has become clear to me. How have I let the needs and ideas of a prejudiced old man rule the life I’ve spent so many years trying to build? How have I let my father interfere so completely in my relationship with my husband, with my children, with everyone I know?
We lost the Triple Crown today and I am so ashamed of what I said, of how I acted. I accused Jesse of sabotage, of betrayal, though I didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth even as I said them. But he did. I could see it in his eyes, see it in the pain and disgust and—hatred?—that stared back at me. I told him he had betrayed me, betrayed the ranch, betrayed our entire family, when the truth is I’m the one who’s betrayed him—over and over again. I’m the one who’s let everything come between us, the one who’s pushed him away when all he wanted was to take care of me, to be close to me.
We lost the Triple Crown today when my horse came in second at the Belmont Stakes, second to Jesse’s horse, Delilah, from his new stable, his new brainchild, his new love, Cherokee Dreaming. I’ve never felt so incompetent, so angry, so downright foolish—what is he not getting from the Triple H, what am I not giving him, that he feels the need to start his own line?
We lost the Triple Crown today and as I stared my husband down, terrible accusations trembling on my lips, I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d lost something infinitely more precious.
JESSE DIDN’T WANT TO face Desiree, didn’t know what to begin to say to her. Things weren’t supposed to work out this way. Delilah was a great racehorse with a huge heart and the love of running, but she was a late bloomer, a late starter. It had been a miracle that she’d qualified for Belmont at all, a miracle that all of his plans had come together so smoothly.
Months ago he’d noticed that Born Lucky ran best when Delilah was beside her. They brought out the best in each other, pushed each other, challenged each other, saw in each other something that made them both run faster and better than they had ever run alone. He’d worked hard—incredibly hard—to get Delilah into this race to help pull Lucky out of the funk she’d descended into. As he’d clocked them on the training circles these past few weeks, he’d even come to dream of a one-two finish. But in his dreams Born Lucky was always first, with Delilah a close second. The reality had been the reverse and the consequences worse than he even wanted to contemplate.
He’d taken his turn in the winner’s circle as owner instead of trainer—a little thrill ran through him at the thought, though he quickly tamped it down—had taken care of the horses, had talked to the press as well as friends, acquaintances and even his kids as he’d searched the throngs of people for his wife. But Desiree was nowhere to be found, which is why he’d finally returned to the hotel, angry and upset…and just nervous enough to be disgusted with himself.
The suite was empty, though Desiree’s clothes still hung in the closet and her toiletries still sat on the bathroom vanity. He tried to ignore the relief that swept through him, to pretend that he hadn’t been afraid she’d taken her things and cut out of town as fast as possible.
He grabbed a cola from the minibar and, after kicking off his boots, sank gratefully onto the plush sofa. He let his head fall back, closed his eyes and tried to block everything out for at least a few minutes.
Less than five minutes later the door to the hotel suite crashed open and he jumped despite himself. He turned to see Desiree breathing fire, so angry that she was noticeably shaking. “How could you?” The accusation whipped through the room.
He put out a placating hand. “Let me explain.”
“Explain?” she asked in a voice that cut like razors. “What’s there to explain, Jesse? You deliberately sabotaged the Triple H, deliberately put in one of your precious horses to keep us from winning.”
Though he’d been expecting the accusations, had prepared for them even, they still hurt and angered him. “Do you really believe that?”