The One That Got Away: A Novel Read online

  The One That Got Away

  A Novel

  Karina Halle

  Copyright © 2020 by Karina Halle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Hang Le Designs

  Edited by: Laura Helseth

  For Nina

  Contents

  Prologue

  I. Lisbon, Portugal

  1. Ruby

  2. Luciano

  3. Ruby

  4. Luciano

  5. Ruby

  6. Luciano

  7. Luciano

  8. Ruby

  9. Luciano

  10. Ruby

  11. Luciano

  II. Lisbon, Portugal

  12. Luciano

  13. Ruby

  14. Ruby

  15. Luciano

  16. Ruby

  17. Luciano

  III. Madrid, Spain

  18. Luciano

  19. Luciano

  20. Ruby

  21. Luciano

  22. Ruby

  23. Luciano

  IV. Madeira, Portugal

  24. Ruby

  Epilogue

  What to read next

  Connect with the author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Karina Halle

  “Look for the highest flyin' girl, that's Ruby

  And if you wait your turn you'll see Ruby fall”

  “See Ruby Fall” Johnny Cash

  Prologue

  Ruby

  Texas - Thirteen Years Ago

  I take great pleasure in doing things I shouldn’t do.

  To be more precise, if someone tells me not to do something, some deviant part of my brain gets activated, and all I can think about is doing that very thing.

  I suppose there’s nothing unique about it. After all, rebels and deviants and anarchists all stem from the same place, the urge to see what happens when you don’t do what you’re told. History has been made and lives forever altered because someone broke the rules and crossed a line, just to see what would happen.

  As for me, my rebellion is slight—I’m going horseback riding.

  I’m currently in the passenger seat of my best friend Julie’s car. Her car is old, a Ford Explorer from the mid-nineties with a CD player that doesn’t work, chip crumbs worked into the creases on the seats, and the smell of stale cigarettes, but it’s dependable and can handle the road up to her family’s ranch in Texas Hill Country.

  It’s a five-hour drive from where we both live in Houston, but it feels like no time at all. It never does. I’ve been coming up to Julie’s grandparent’s ranch since we first became friends in the third grade. Back then, we would pass the time pointing out horses and cows, or playing the license plate game, or we were wrapped up in silence as we read our Saddle Club Books or worked on booklets of puzzles, the kind with invisible ink.

  Now, we listen to Snow Patrol or Gnarls Barkley at full-blast, Julie yelling the lyrics while I just lip-synch, because my singing voice is awful. Or we talk about school. And boys…and by boys, I mean sex. Julie is always going on about sex, probably because she has her boyfriend James, and I, well, I have no one at the moment. I really thought my first year at university would be full of flings and one-night stands at keg parties but, so far, that hasn’t happened. Maybe because I’m on a sports scholarship and part of me knows I don’t need any distractions. Maybe because being an athlete means a lot of guys stay away, except douchey losers.

  Turns out there are a lot of douchey losers out there.

  I should be studying all weekend, as should Julie. She’s lucky because even though she lives in H-town, she gets to live on campus. I still live with my dad and he watches me like a hawk. But I didn’t quite lie when I told him I was spending the weekend with her, I just didn’t tell him we were going to the ranch.

  He would have never let that happen.

  Back in the day, soccer wasn’t the only hobby I was thrust into. My absentee father (he’s a pilot, which meant I rarely saw him, and still rarely do) had to raise me alone after my mother was sent to prison, and so he was looking for something to keep me entertained and occupied all day while he came to grips with having a child to look after.

  A child I still don’t think he ever wanted.

  As a result, I was in both soccer and horseback riding, all the time. Put these thick-ass thighs of mine to good use. Fell in love with both sports and they occupied my every living second.

  Unfortunately, when it came time for my scholarship and acceptance into the NCAA and University of Houston, I had to give riding up. The chance for injury is too high, and since soccer is my bread and butter, I can’t afford to lose my time on the team.

  Not that horseback riding is the only thing I’m not allowed to do. Basically any risky activities that could damage my legs is off-limits.

  But like I said, when I’m told I can’t do something or can’t have something, the more I want to do it.

  The more I want to have it.

  Besides, it’s nearly been a full year since I last was even near a horse. It’s been torture for me since they’d been a part of my life for so long. So I asked Julie if we could go this weekend, just for a quick, easy ride and she said yes. We haven’t seen each other as much as we used to (I think James is more the problem, though she says it’s because soccer takes up all my time), so it’s a good excuse to bond and all that.

  It’s not long before Julie is pulling the Explorer off the road just past the one-horse town of Segovia and we’re heading up the winding road through the hills. There’s been a load of rain this spring, turning everything into a muddy brown puddle. Luckily, the forecast for today is some sun and clouds and I can see blue skies peeking through the low grey.

  “When we came here for dinner at the end of January,” Julie says as we round a hairpin turn, mud sloshing over the tires, “there was about four inches of snow on the ground. This beast could barely make it up here before the tires started sliding.”

  “Snow,” I repeat. I haven’t even seen snow in real life. I try to imagine what the road would look like covered in the white stuff, and I can’t even imagine it.

  Eventually we reach the house. Large, white, and sprawling, with a wraparound porch complete with rocking chairs, it’s one of my favorite sights.

  Julie tells me her grandparents went to visit friends at a ranch nearby, so it’s just the two of us. She starts to bring her bag inside but I get out of the car and make a beeline to the barn. I wore leggings and my boots for the trip so I could literally hop right on.

  “Who can I ride?” I call out to her as I run.

  She’s laughing. “Anyone you want. Except Billie.”

  “Why not Billie?”

  “I don’t think she gets out much.”

  I step inside the barn, the air feeling cool. Her grandparents have five horses. Both of them still ride, so they each have their own: Chester, a stunning dapple-grey mustang they adopted, and Marjorie, a sorrel draft/quarter horse cross. Then there’s Julie’s horse, Samson, a sweet buckskin, and Samson’s daughter, Billie, a tall bay paint. There’s also Sunshine, a palomino who belongs to the ranch hand who manages the cattle here. Sunshine is always off-limits because he’s not theirs, but I’ve ridden Billie before, and she’s never been a problem.

  “Then Billie needs to get out,” I yell back at Julie.

  All five horses poke their heads out of the stall, startled by my intrusion.
r />   “Sorry, sorry,” I apologize to them, giving them a bow.

  The horses don’t look amused, except for Billie. She looks excited to see me.

  That settles it.

  “You poor girl,” I tell her, coming over. “Haven’t been out in a long time?” I try to place my hand on her muzzle but she raises it sharply out of the way. She’s full of beans.

  Julie comes in, shaking her head in warning. “She’s been out at pasture but she’s still going to be a handful. Are you sure you don’t want Chester or Marjorie?”

  “Nah,” I say. “I need a little excitement too.”

  I glance over at her and she licks her lips, wanting to say something, probably wondering if I’ll listen. Then she shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  We get the horses out into the crossties and get them tacked up. Billie stomps her hooves, always shifting, raring to go. When we’re ready and I’m trying to mount her, I can barely swing my leg up since she keeps on moving.

  Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

  The warning flashes in my head. It reminds me that I have a lot at stake, and things are already off to a rough start.

  But I ignore it.

  I manage to get my leg up and Billie bolts. I hang onto the saddle horn, keeping upright, and wrangle her back to a walk.

  “I told you,” Julie says, bringing Samson up beside me. “You going to be okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I tell her, flashing her a cheesy grin.

  I am fine. Better than fine. It feels so fucking good to be up here, feeling the horse move beneath me. The wind is in our hair, a cool breeze, and the sky above the hills is large and magnetic.

  “I missed this,” I tell Julie as we head toward the trails that lead into the valleys and hills. “I miss the peace. You know? I know soccer is my love but it’s so goddamn nice to be in a team of two. Just me and Billie. Or whatever horse. But you know, not having any pressure, no fans, no team counting on you. Just a partnership.”

  At that, Billie gives a little buck and I laugh. “Easy now,” I tell her, gliding my hand down her neck as her ears go to and fro, and she’s fighting the bit a little. “We have all day.”

  Julie and I ride side by side through meadows filled with green spring grass, the ground still a little muddy in places, a fresh scent to the air. Eventually it gets hotter and then we’re climbing up the trails into the hills, riding along ridges lined with sagebrush. From up here it feels like you can see forever.

  Then we hear the distinct sound of thunder rumbling ominously.

  Julie is riding ahead of me and turns her head to look behind her. I turn mine to follow her gaze. The clouds have grown into a large mass of darkness, billowing up high into the sky. It feels like we’re being approached by a spaceship from Independence Day.

  “Uh oh,” I say.

  Billie raises her head anxiously, starting to back up.

  “Easy,” I tell her. I look at Julie. “Should we turn around?”

  We both come to a stop and Julie remains twisted around, staring at the clouds. “I don’t think they’re coming here,” she says. “Look the wind is pushing them to the left.”

  I stare at them. The sun is shining where we are, making the bright green hills stick out in contrast against the dark grey behind us. The grey mass is moving away from us, albeit slowly.

  “It’s your call,” Julie says.

  We’ve only been riding for a half hour so far, so I hate the idea of turning back so soon.

  “Let’s keep going,” I tell her. “It’s moving slow and I’m sure it will miss us.”

  So we keep plodding on. Billie seems to be getting more anxious, so the minute that we’re off the ridge and down into another valley, I let her open up.

  I gallop toward the sunshine, face into the wind, closing my eyes at how free I feel, like I’m flying out of my life. Right now, right here, I don’t have to deal with the fact that the last time I saw my mother she was out on parole, and that she had invited me for lunch with her, only to have her take money from my wallet when I was in the restroom.

  I don’t have to think about the way my father looks at me most of the time, like he can’t believe I’m his daughter, and the only time I see any love or pride is when my team wins.

  I don’t have to think about the fear, the fear that one day I’ll turn into my mother.

  I don’t think. I just feel.

  I just fly.

  “Ruby!” Julie calls out, and I open my eyes in time to see another ridge rising ahead of me.

  I sit back and pull Billie to a trot, letting out a little “Whoop!”

  Julie canters up to me, her hair billowing behind her.

  But what else is billowing behind her is the cloud.

  It’s bigger somehow, darker, rolling with malice, like a living, breathing monster.

  And it’s no longer going to the left.

  It’s moving fast and coming toward us.

  “We have to go back,” Julie says, looking worried.

  I’m disappointed but I don’t want to put us in danger. At least I got that gallop.

  “Okay,” I tell her. “Let’s hurry though.”

  We both turn our horses around and gallop across the field again, though heading toward the storm feels worrisome and wrong.

  We trot up the hill until we’re back on the narrow spine of the ridge, then alternate between a trot and a quick walk. The sides of the ridge are steep and I can see where parts have crumbled away from the snow and rain they’ve had, so we need to take it slow.

  Meanwhile, thunder is roaring with flashes of lightning, and the horses are getting spooked. Minute by minute the wall of grey gets bigger, darker, louder, and then starts letting loose sheets of rain.

  “We’re going to get soaked when that hits us,” Julie says.

  “Luckily it’s hot out,” I tell her.

  But as we keep riding, the thunder feels like it’s in our bones, and the breeze is whipping up, cold and in our faces and smelling electrical.

  In seconds the rain hits.

  The dark laden clouds just throw it in our faces, drenching us in seconds. It’s windy and dark and I’ve never been in rain like this, and I live in Houston, so that says a lot.

  “How far away are we?” I ask Julie, but the wind is so strong that my words are whipped away.

  Thunder crashes again, this time making Billie rear. I manage to hang on, my heart racing now as the dirt on the ridge starts to turn to mud, rivers of water cascading down the sides of the hills.

  “Easy,” I say to her, but Billie isn’t listening.

  She’s backing up along the ridge.

  I start kicking at her sides harder, yelling at her. “Go, move!”

  But another hit of thunder, one that rattles my fillings, makes her rear again.

  “Come on!” I’m screaming, grabbing her mane, holding on.

  Billie keeps up on her hindlegs, backing up.

  I see Julie twist in her saddle to look at me, barely visible through the rain.

  Then Billie lets out a sharp scream as she backs up to the left.

  It happens in three seconds.

  One second of seeing the horror on Julie’s face.

  One second of me looking down and seeing that Billie has backed off the path and onto the steep, muddy slides of the hill.

  One second where I yell because we’re going down.

  And then we’re down.

  Billie’s back hooves slip on the sides of the hill, and my stomach rises as we fall, the horse pitching toward the slope.

  I have no time to jump off.

  No time to do anything but scream.

  Billie lands on her side and all two thousand pounds of her slams right on my leg, crushing it between the saddle and the slope.

  The sound that’s ripped from my throat fills the sky, drowning in the rain, and my vision starts to go black as the horse and I start sliding down the side, until I’m able to reach up and grab sagebrush, holding me in place while Bil
lie slides the rest of the way.

  “Ruby! Ruby!” Julie is screaming.

  The sky is screaming too.

  I cling to that vegetation, vaguely aware that Billie is getting to her feet at the bottom of the hill, that the horse is okay, but that I am not.

  I am so not okay.

  And the pain that has been eerily absent is coming back with a vengeance.

  My leg.

  My life.

  I scream and cry and then it goes black.

  Part One

  Lisbon, Portugal

  Nine Years Ago

  “They say, Ruby you're like a song, you just don't know right from wrong. And in your eyes I see heartaches for me”

  – “Ruby” Ray Charles

  One

  Ruby

  Where the hell am I?

  I was having a nightmare, being on a horse again, knowing where this was going, the way it always does. The horse falls, I’m crushed, and we both slip into this slippery, thick darkness, drowning in tar and ink until I wake up screaming.

  But this time, something woke me before I had a chance to scream.

  Thank god, because as my brain trudges on, feeling like it’s been poured with hot concrete, and I stare up at the slats from the bed above me, I realize I’m not alone.

  I’m just not sure who is here with me.

  I blink and roll my head to the side and stare at a girl who is rifling through a backpack on the bunk across from me. She’s shooting me a glance over her shoulder and then looking away, pretending to mind her own business even though she’s totally not.