Page 140 of The Unfinished Line

“Longer coastal walk than anticipated?” Seren called as the two of us tried to tiptoe across the hardwood floor. She and her mom were playing a game of chess in the living room and had both looked up from the board.

I froze midstep, feeling like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs.

There was a walk of shame, and then there wasa walk of shame. This certainly fell under the category of the latter.

Dillon struck a casual pose, leaning against the doorway. “Nah. Cut a little short, if you ask me.”

The burn of my cheeks rivaled the glow of Christmas lights on the Fraser fir.

Jacqueline gave us a calculating once-over, tapping a black rook thoughtfully against the table. “Where’s your hat, Dillon?”

Code for:why is Kam half-dressed and wearing your coat?

Dillon was unperturbed. “Somewhere in Oystermouth.”

The way she said it was a challenge and from the hardening line of Jacqueline’s lips, appeared to be received the same. I’d expected Seren to laugh, but she didn’t even smile.

“You went to the castle?” Jacqueline set the rook down.

“Yeah—til Old Roberts came around.”

“I see,” said her mother, returning her gaze to the game. “Well, the two of you should go tidy up. We’ve been holding dinner.”

“What was that?” I asked once we were behind the closed door of Dillon’s bedroom.

She took a seat at the end of her bed, working a thorn out of her t-shirt. “She’s not fond of the castle.”

“Yeah. I got that.”

To my surprise, she didn’t make me ask her to elaborate.

“It’s where I started to meet Henrik.” She flicked the thorn onto her nightstand. “Outside of training.”

I paused my efforts to eliminate my hair of forest debris, looking into her dresser mirror to catch her reflection.

“Okay.” I held her gaze. “Then why bring me there?”

She didn’t look away. “Because I want it back. The things he took from me.”

I nodded, waiting to see if there was more she wanted to say. She made it easy to forget, sometimes, armored behind her bravado—behind her humor, her bold confidence, her endless drive—that she hurt in ways I couldn’t see. In ways I didn’t know how to fix.

But instead, she stood, coming to lean over my shoulder, still holding my gaze in the mirror. A wryness in her smile said she was done with the conversation, wanting to set it aside. “Come on, Kam-Kameryn,” she pressed her lips against my ear, “if you join me for a shower, maybe I’ll finish being nice.”

Scene 46

“She’s canny blinding, I tell you! Poetry in motion. And those white pants—”

“Sam.” Dillon wasn’t about to listen to Sam express her thoughts on her sister’s skintight breeches. They were on their way back from watching Seren compete in a 4-star in Windsor, where she’d come within half a point of sweeping the tournament. It was late on a Sunday night, and the train was nearly vacant.

“She should have won! It ought to be illegal to look that good and come in second!”

“Wild how the riders win for their performance instead of their fashion.”

“Exactly what I’m saying! The bloke who bagged it certainly didn’t send my heart galloping.”

Dillon decided it probably wasn’t the time to tell Sam she was pretty certain that same blokedefinitelysent Seren’s heart galloping. The American rider, Jeremy Hartman, had been spending more and more time in her sister’s company. But there was no reason to bring Sam down off her high.

The train pulled to a stop atHayes and Harlingtonand a group of rowdy, inebriated kids piled into the empty carriage, cussing one another and pelting a football off the windows and ceiling.

---