Chapter 19 #2
Most of my life, I’ve moved through this house trying not to take up space. Eat quickly, clean up after myself, disappear so there’s room for everyone else’s issues. I never brought friends here. Ever. Definitely never a girl.
And now I’m walking into my mum’s kitchen with a woman’s fingers laced through mine.
Christ, why are my knees so wobbly? Probably all the shagging. Aye, that must be it.
David’s at the table with his mobile and a cup of tea, looking far too awake. He takes a long, slow sip on purpose.
‘Morning,’ I grunt.
‘It’s ten.’ David sets his mug down. ‘I’d ask how you slept, but judging by the thumping coming through the ceiling, I’m guessing the answer is “briefly”.’
Ava goes still, the milk carton hovering over her tea. Splotches of pink creep up her cheeks.
I turn to glare at him. ‘Wind your neck in.’
‘Merely an observation.’ He leans back with a shit-eating grin. ‘You seem…different, big man. Less heavy.’
‘David Kerr,’ Mum shouts from the lounge. ‘Wheesht. Gie them peace.’
‘I’m just saying,’ David continues. ‘It’s a good look. Suits you both.’
Less heavy. My brother said that like he was commenting on the weather. He has no idea that those two words reached into a twenty-four-year backlog of silence and yanked.
Still. Having my bedroom activities audited over a plate of toast makes my ears hot.
Mum comes in and notices our interlaced fingers. Her face softens. ‘Sit down. I’ll warm up some tattie scones for you.’
Ava moves to help, but Mum waves her off. ‘Sit yer bum doon. You’re a guest, love.’
Ava obeys and slides into the chair beside mine. She catches my eye while Mum’s back’s turned and shoots me a private smirk. The pure, easy freedom of it takes me out at the knees. There is a chest-expanding pride in knowing I put that glow on her skin.
Four minutes later, Mum sets plates in front of us, then takes my wrist, turning it over to inspect my knuckles.
‘I’m still not asking why or who, even though I’d like to.’ She presses lightly on a bruise, and I wince. ‘But looking at the state of this…I’d wager the wee scrote deserved it.’
‘Aye,’ I say roughly. ‘He did.
Mum pats my cheek. ‘Now eat. You need to build up your strength.’ She catches Ava’s eye and winks.
Judging by the deep cherry colour on her cheeks, Ava’s mortification reaches new heights. But she’s smiling. We’re both smiling.
Ava spends four hours training at the studio above the charity shop, while I repair the boiler.
I learned how to do it from watching YouTube tutorials back when Mum couldn’t afford the emergency call-out fees.
It’s satisfying work. Better than thinking about what happened upstairs and what it means.
By the time she returns, I’ve rinsed the dirt off my hands. Wrestling with the pipes tore my knuckles open again, but the sting is a welcome distraction from the riot inside.
As soon as she’s out of the shower, she insists on tending to my wounds properly. ‘Sit still,’ she orders.
‘Honestly, Sergeant. It’s fine.’
‘I have eyes, and it’s very obviously not fine.’ She dabs antiseptic on the worst of it, and I hiss through my teeth.
As she blows on the sting, her tenderness nearly undoes me. Being the one looked after chafes in a place I can’t reach. Every instinct says pull the hand back, tell her it doesn’t hurt, be the one who’s fine so everyone else can fall apart.
Carefully, she wraps clean gauze around my knuckles. I take in her face as she works – the furrow between her brows, the way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating.
‘There.’ She secures the bandage with tape, smooths it down and looks up with a pleased expression. ‘That’ll do.’
‘Thanks, Marzipan.’
‘Always.’
And then she kisses me, and those fucking butterflies are back with a vengeance.
We lose the rest of the day on the sofa, cuddling and watching the telly.
She leans into me, wedging herself under my arm, her breathing slow and even.
Rain patters on the glass as the fire crackles.
Erin’s upstairs, Mum’s visiting gran, David’s out with his girlfriend. The house has settled into itself.
‘Tomorrow.’ Ava traces a scar on my arm. ‘What happens tomorrow?’
The question I’ve been avoiding. ‘I need to go back to Duncraig.’
‘And me?’
‘You can stay here, or you can come with me. Whatever you want. It’s up to you.’ I tighten my arm around her. ‘But this doesn’t end when I leave. Not on my account.’
She’s quiet for a long moment. ‘What if Nevin… If the team…’
‘Then we deal with it.’ I tilt her chin up, so she has to look at me. ‘Together.’
She doesn’t retreat. But she doesn’t lean in, either. Her fingers still follow the ridge of my scar, back and forth, back and forth, as if she’s rubbing at a stain only she can see.
‘I need to find somewhere to stay eventually,’ she says, and my lungs harden in my chest. ‘I can’t keep imposing on your mum.’
Imposing. The word scratches against my sternum.
She’s already building the exit. Already making sure she can disappear without inconveniencing anyone.
And the thought of her disappearing that cleanly, as if she was never here at all, makes my blood run cold.
Because if she doesn’t need my help, I’ve no fucking idea how to convince her to stay. Why would she?
‘You’re not imposing. But aye, we’ll sort it.’ More words are crowding the back of my teeth. I want to lay out a plan. Move into mine. Stay. I’ll handle it. I’ll handle all of it. That’s what I do.
And then there’s a fist of certainty squeezing my heart that says when the dust settles, she’ll realise she doesn’t need the structure. But I’m ready to risk it. For her.
‘For months I’ve watched you,’ I say. ‘Kept my distance. Tried to be your pal. Guess how surprised I was when I realised that it’s been you all that time.
You’re my friend, but you’re a hell of a lot more to me.
Fuck, I’m so far past friends I can’t even see the line anymore. So aye, I’m all in, Ava. Are you?’
She searches my face. Her reflex to vanish before she can become an inconvenience is right there. ‘I’m not really low maintenance. I can be…a lot.’
‘And I can’t wait to see that.’
An amused huff slips out of her. She climbs over the cushions, straddling my thighs, and wraps her arms securely around me.
‘All in,’ she breathes against my skin.
I kiss her slowly and pour every unspoken promise into her mouth until the outlines of us blur. When I pull back, her blue eyes are full of light.
I’ve carried weight my whole life. Family, expectations, the team. But here, with her against my chest, I’m not bracing. I’m not assessing who needs what and how fast I can deliver it.
I’m at peace.
The fire is low, and she’s curled into me, head on my chest, one leg draped over mine. Her breathing matches mine. Or mine matches hers. I can’t tell which.
Ava’s phone vibrates on the coffee table. Neither of us moves at first. It’s probably spam. But it keeps buzzing again and again. Insistent.
She sits up, frowning, and reaches for it. She unlocks the screen, and the light washes her face pale.
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
She doesn’t answer. Her hand shakes as she stares at the screen. I lean over to see. A text from her friend Laurel with a screenshot of a TikTok video.
A clip of Nevin.
He’s glaring into the camera with an expression of wounded bravery. His cheek is bruised, eye swollen and artfully displayed. A video designed to elicit sympathy. Poor lad. Look what they did to him. That arsehole should be in jail.
The caption reads:
Betrayed by those you invited into your home. Violence is never the answer, but the truth always wins. #SpeakingMyTruth
The warmth in the room evaporates.
Ava’s breathing goes shallow. ‘He’s…’ She stops. ‘He’s making himself the victim.’
I take the phone from her and scan a screenshot of his post. He hasn’t named me. Not yet. But he’s taken this public.
‘How many people have seen this?’ There isn’t a ripple in my voice.
‘Thousands, according to Laurel. It’s been up for two hours. I blocked him everywhere, I’m… I don’t know what to say.’
The comments are full of supportive messages. Outrage on his behalf. People demanding justice.
I know how to take a hit on the pitch. How to absorb impact, to keep my feet, to protect the ball when giants are trying to bury me. But this? This is a different fight. One I’ve no playbook for.
I’m running through solutions. Call the Rebels’ media liaison. Screenshot everything. Contact a solicitor. Get ahead of this.
‘Scottie.’ She drops the phone on the rug. Her hands are shaking.
‘He knows what he’s doing.’ She’s staring at the dead fire. ‘He doesn’t care about the punch.’ As she turns to me, I see her eyes are wild with fear. ‘He’s going to burn everything, Scottie. He’s going to burn you down to get to me.’
‘Let him try.’ My anger is calm, not the hot flash of the fight in Nevin’s flat.
You’re coming after my woman? Get ready to face the consequences.
‘You don’t understand!’ Ava jumps up, pacing the rug. ‘You have a career. You have the Rebels. You have… everything. He will take it. He’ll sue, he’ll lie to the press, he’ll go to the police, he—’
I reach out and catch her wrist as she passes. ‘Ava.’
‘I have to go.’ She’s hyperventilating. ‘If I leave… if I say it was my fault… Maybe he’ll leave you alone.’
There it is. The thing that could actually kill me. Her, erasing herself to protect me, the way she’s been trained to disappear by every person who ever showed her that having needs drives people away.
‘Stop.’ I yank her towards me and wrap my arms around her waist, locking her in. ‘Stop and listen to me.’
She’s strung wire-tight in my arms, every sinew braced for flight.
‘Nevin’s a bully with a mobile and a fragile ego,’ I say.
‘He thinks he can scare you into hiding. He thinks he can scare me into letting you go.’ I look up, letting her see the steel in my stare.
‘Let him try to burn everything down.’ The certainty in my chest bleeds straight into the words.
‘I will stand in the ashes and hold you, Ava. Do you understand?’
I’ve never said anything like that in my life. I don’t make fucking speeches. Let alone promises that require me to be the main character. But I am now. And I fucking mean it.
Ava searches my face, looking for cracks. For doubt and regret.
She won’t find any.
‘I’m not letting you go. Not for him. Not for anyone. As long as you want to be with me, I’ll stay right fucking here. Is that clear?’
She nods, but the fear is still there. Our bubble popped. And judging by the terror on her face, I realise one thing with chilling clarity.
Knocking Nevin out wasn’t the end of the fight. It was the opening bell.