Chapter 15
Scottie
My right side gave up two hours ago. The arm trapped under her head is numb, and a spring’s drilling into my hip. Katie never complained about this mattress, but my sister weighs nine stone. I’m eighteen stone of centre. Two of her.
Waking up feeling like I’ve been run over by a freight train is standard.
The warmth radiating through my chest is new.
Ava’s dead to the world, breath hitching slightly on the exhale.
A tiny, uneven catch that shivers through my torso.
Early light filters through the Velux window.
Shifting to get some blood into my arm without waking her, I turn my head.
Her face is inches from mine.
The trouble of the past months shows in the dark smudges under her eyes. But underneath the exhaustion, there’s softness. Her long lashes rest against her cheek, dark fans against milky skin. Her lips are parted slightly. She looks unguarded. Safe with me.
The truth strikes me without preamble.
A cheap hit on the pitch that whips your head back and leaves you wondering which way is up.
I’m falling in love with her. I’m falling for the woman who needs me as a friend.
I’ve never felt anything like it. I never saw this coming…Ava.
Her heartbeat is right there, and the want that blazes through me burns so hot it hurts. I want to kiss her awake. I want to keep her safe. I want to strip the world of anything that could hurt her and stand between her and whatever the fuck it is.
It’s how she fits into my life. As if everything before now had been a warm-up for her.
I clamp a mental vice on the thought and crush it.
Don’t go there. Don’t even look at the map.
Ava doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need another man right now. Men are dicks. That’s a proven fact. My dad was a raging dick. Nevin was a dick of the highest order. But even the best of us take up space, attention, and energy.
And Ava’s in recovery. She’s putting herself back together. The last thing she needs is an emotionally stunted rugby lad muddying the waters with his own messy feelings. She needs to be on her own. To find her rhythm again. Her strength and confidence.
I exhale slowly and force my heart rate to match the dragging tempo of the morning. My role is clear. I’m the beams you don’t see behind the plaster. I hold the weight so she can rebuild the house.
Her lashes flutter, and she shifts, her nose bumping against my pec. Then her eyes open. They’re dark with sleep and trying to focus on mine. She squints and processes the proximity of my face.
‘Have you been watching me, Scottie?’ Her voice is a sleepy rasp that travels straight down and starts a hungry pulse in my balls.
I keep my expression neutral. Deflection is the only safe play here. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Left my phone in my room, and there’s no telly here. You were the only available channel.’
She grins. It starts small and breaks across her face like sunrise over the Campsies. Bright, sudden, and breathtakingly stunning.
‘That’s not creepy at all.’ It’s a tease. An invitation to the patter that keeps us safe.
‘Says the one drooling on my sister’s pillow.’
‘I did not.’ She yawns. ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Aye, fine. Once the circulation in my left arm packed in, and I accepted the loss of a limb.’
‘Drama queen.’ She stretches, and her toned body lengthens against mine, shifting the warmth of the duvet.
Biology has no fucking respect for circumstance.
The feel of her, warm and small, sends a primitive demand straight to my groin. I want to wrap myself around her, to sink into that softness, but I’m here to protect her. I shift my hips back, putting distance between her and my semi. It takes every ounce of discipline.
‘What time is it?’ she asks.
‘Almost six. The house will be waking up soon.’ I watch her carefully. ‘How are you doing?’
She pauses mid-stretch. The shadows are still there, but the terror that had her shaking last night has receded. ‘Complicated emotional questions later. Coffee first. And maybe toast.’
‘Your wish is my command.’ I roll away from her. The loss of contact pulls at my gut, a sudden step out of a warm bath into a draughty hall.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand up. My back cracks in three places. ‘I spent an entire night folded up like a cheap deckchair. I’ll be sending you the chiropractor’s bill.’
She wriggles her nose. ‘Maybe you should see the London specialist that deals with all these Christmas romance injuries.’
That pulls a genuine laugh from me. I head out into the hall with a grin that refuses to shift. Flawless sarcasm after a night like that? The pure pluck of her. Fucking adorable.
The kitchen is command central, and Mum’s at the helm. She’s tightening the loose screw on the kettle with a butter knife, a mug next to her elbow.
She sets it down and turns to me. ‘Front tyre on the van’s flat. I was about to phone Joe down at the garage to—’
‘Leave it.’ I pull out a stool, already mentally mapping where the jack is kept. ‘Don’t call him.’
‘It’s no bother for Joe to pop round.’
‘Save the cash. I’ll swap the wheel out the second I finish breakfast.’
Her gaze lands on my hand, then on my eyes. ‘Is the lassie still asleep?’
It’s less a real question than an invitation to tell her more. I only gave her a rough sketch last night.
‘Aye. Just waking up.’
Mum takes a sip of her tea. ‘She seems nice. Bit quiet.’
‘She’s had a tough time recently.’ I turn my attention to the chrome hostage I tucked under one arm last night.
It uses an expensive Italian setup, but my fingers know the shape of a portafilter almost as well as a rugby ball, thanks to double shifts at Jenny’s Coffee House to help Mum with the electricity bill when I was sixteen.
I plug it in, and the machine hums to life.
In the cupboard, I find the last bag of the dark roast.
‘Are you in trouble, son?’
‘Naw.’ It’s only half a lie since I don’t know how much trouble I’m actually in.
Mum has this knowing look on her face. ‘Does she need an ear? I can—’
‘Don’t think so. Not yet.’ I switch the grinder on. The aggressive noise of the high-torque motor drowns out the conversation I’m not ready to have. Dark powder mounds in the basket.
She needs safety, not an interrogation.
I level the grounds with my finger, then tamp them down, before locking the portafilter into the group head and flipping the switch. Dark liquid oozes out. A mouse tail of perfect extraction. Small triumphs.
Mum’s still studying me. She sees right through the ‘just friends’ defence I haven’t even officially constructed.
‘She’s safe with us,’ Mum says quietly. ‘You know that.’
‘That’s why I brought her here.’ I turn to the door. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
She reaches out and squeezes my arm. ‘Get that coffee into her. And make extra toast. She looks like a breeze would knock her over.’
‘She’s a lot stronger than she seems.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Mum moves to the fridge. ‘I’ll get the eggs and sausage ready.’
Ten minutes later, I sort a tray. There’s no chance she is ready to face a kitchen full of strangers – my mother, Erin and David.
I stick a mug of strong coffee next to a morning roll loaded with square sausage, egg, and brown sauce.
A glass of water and a tin of Irn Bru go next to it.
Giving her something solid to eat is the only useful thing I can do right now.
I carry it up the stairs and leave it on the bedside table while she’s in the shower.
Downstairs, the rest of the squad is surfacing. David wheels himself to the head of the table, locks the brakes, and surveys me.
‘Good fucking morning, Sprinkle tits.’ He smirks. ‘Your knuckles are swollen. And you’ve got that face. The one you wear when you’ve done something stupid.’
He reaches for the toast rack, and I move to help.
‘I swear to God, Scottie.’ He stops me with a scathing look. ‘If you reach for that, I will end you.’
‘Fuck off and stub your toe.’
‘Ha. I wish.’
‘Och, sorry, Dave. I—’
‘Jesus, keep your knickers on. I heard you brought company. Where’s she?’
‘Shower. Be nice.’
‘Always. I might be younger than you, but I’m the clever and charming one, remember? You’re the brawn, I’m the brains.’ He snatches his grabber from the back of his chair, snaps a mug off the shelf with precision, and places it on the table.
‘Sorry again,’ I mutter.
‘Fuck’s sake. Stop apologising. I’ve got working parts, you know? I’ve got a girlfriend coming round later who likes them. From where I sit, I’m winning. See what I did there?’
I groan. ‘Too much information.’
‘Get over it.’ He grabs a piece of toast from the rack. ‘So, is she fit?’
‘David!’ Mum warns from the sink.
‘What? It’s a valid question. Scottie’s brought a bird home. That’s never happened before.’
‘She’s sound,’ I say. ‘And she’s not a bird. Don’t be such a dick.’
Footsteps thunder down the stairs. Erin bursts in, seventeen and made entirely of elbows and hormones.
Mum doesn’t even look over her shoulder. ‘Morning, blessed fruit of my loins.’
‘Ew, Mum! Minging. Where’s the guest?’ Erin looks up from her phone for once.
‘Upstairs in Katie’s room.’ I plate the toast. ‘Give her some space.’
A shadow shifts across the hallway floor.
I turn to the doorway. Ava stands there in one of my old hoodies – a faded grey thing that swamps her – and leggings.
Her hair is damp, pulled back into the usual bun that highlights the delicate lines of her face.
She’s clutching the coffee mug with both hands.
I move, physically blocking the line of sight. I’m ready to be the shield intercepting the questions and the noise and the overwhelming chaos of a Kerr family breakfast. Even now, in my mother’s kitchen, my body’s primed to take the hits for her.
Mum turns. ‘Ava, love. There’s bacon going if you’re still hungry. So nice to meet you properly. I hope you slept well in our Katie’s room.’
Ava leans in and gives my mother a hug. ‘Thanks for everything. That roll was my salvation.’
Mum pats her back, completely won over. ‘Nae bother, darlin’.’
‘And I’m Erin,’ my sister proclaims.
Ava manages a tired smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Erin.’
David pulls out a chair for Ava.
‘Cheers,’ she says, arching an eyebrow at him as she sits down. ‘Chivalry isn’t dead after all.’
‘Naw, but it skipped him.’ He nods towards me and extends his hand to her. ‘I’m David. The one with the superior parking permit.’
She shakes it. ‘Ava. The one with the superior balance.’
‘Is that right? Don’t tell me you’re one of those annoying yoga people?’
‘No. Ballet and carrying the weight of my own bad decisions, mostly.’
He drops a grin. ‘I like her, Scottie. You may keep her.’
I stand back, leaning against the worktop, watching it all happen.
Fucking mesmerising is what it is.
Ava’s openly laughing at whatever David threw at her, and I’m…
lost in her. The butterflies start in my stomach.
A whole swarm of them. I hate the phrase.
It’s clichéd and insufficient. But that’s what it feels like to see Ava with them.
I’ve never brought a woman home. I’ve never had one sit at this table and fit into my dysfunctional family.
She nibbles on a slice of bacon, chatting to Erin about the mechanics of a pirouette, and the pressure in my chest spikes.
Mum catches my gaze over the top of Erin’s head. She raises her eyebrows slightly, a silent communication: Oh, you’re definitely screwed, son.
My phone vibrates on the table. I pick it up. A notification from the Team Manager.
Remember: Kick Off Kindness @ MacKenzie Sporting flagship store on High Street Monday 11am before training. You, Lennox, MacKenna & MacRae.
The reality of it douses me like an ice bath. Rugby. The Rebels. The day job. The world outside this kitchen hasn’t gone anywhere. The club owns my time. I read the message twice. MacKenzie Sports promo on Monday up in Stirling.
Wallace has given us one weekend off. Three days to pretend this kitchen is the entire universe, that there’s no pitch in Duncraig. Three days before I’ll have to stand ten feet from the man whose face I rearranged last night.
My knuckles sting. The boys will ask questions. They’ll see my hand, take one look at his jaw, and suss it out. Then the suits will pull me aside with grave faces, giving lectures about club standards and conduct.
And Nevin.
What happens when he finds out that I brought her here? Or when I see his smug mug at training and can’t help but cave the rest of his face in?
‘Scottie?’ Ava’s observing me. The laughter has faded from her face, replaced by that hyper-aware vigilance. She senses the shift in the air pressure.
I pocket my mobile and plaster on neutral. ‘Naw. Only a reminder about a sponsor thing.’
‘Ah.’ The tiny, pinched crease between her eyebrows vanishes. ‘When do you have to head back?’
‘Monday morning.’ I shrug to force the tension out of my shoulders. ‘We’ve got the weekend off. Fallow week.’
The clock’s ticking. Monday will come. I’ll have to face Nevin.
And I’ve no bloody clue how I’m going to do it without ending up in cuffs or out of a contract.