Chapter 21
Scottie
Coach Wallace’s voice note – suspended pending investigation – is echoing in my brain.
Somewhere behind us, a hatchet thunks into wood, and a stranger whoops.
My contract, my reputation, the salary that pays my mother’s mortgage and keeps David’s neuro-physio running… It’s all been fed into a shredder.
But I’m not thinking about any of that.
I’m looking at Ava. And I’m watching her leave the room without moving a muscle.
One second she was here – panicked, yes, but present – and the next, a shutter was slamming down behind her eyes.
‘You’re suspended.’ A statement of fact, delivered with the detachment of a coroner pronouncing time of death.
‘It’s only a pause.’ My knees bump the underside of the wood. ‘They have to tick boxes. Standard procedure. They have to look like they’re doing something.’
‘Because you weren’t there.’
‘More because I punched a cunt who deserved it, and because sports politics is a cesspit.’ I reach for her hand where it rests on the table, covering it with mine.
Her skin is ice. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t hold on, either.
‘We’ll sort it out,’ I say. ‘Together.’
She seizes at together. It’s a microscopic tremor, but I feel it against my palm. A violent shot of adrenaline courses through my veins.
‘The suspension is the start. They’ll freeze your salary. The SRU will trigger the clawback clause on your signing bonus. They’ll want every penny back. Match fees? Gone.’ Ava withdraws her hand. ‘Your mum’s house. Support for your brother. All of it.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘And if Nevin presses charges, the police get involved. Then they will definitely terminate for Gross Misconduct. You won’t be sacked; you’ll be completely blackballed.’
Every word is a brick she’s laying between us.
‘It’s only money.’ I wave a hand. ‘I don’t care about the bonus. I don’t care about the contract. I’ve got a few savings. I can—’
‘I’m the common denominator.’ She finally levels a look straight at me. Her eyes are huge and empty. ‘Every bad thing that has happened to you in the past week has my name on it.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘You punched him because of me. You missed the event because of me. You’re suspended because of me.’ She picks up a chip from the basket on the table, inspects it, and puts it back down. ‘I’m a walking demolition crew.’
‘You’re the woman I love.’ The words fire out of me. Not to woo her – I’m saying them to stem the bleeding. To plug the hole in the hull. I haven’t said that before to any woman. Because I’ve never felt it. But I do for her.
She looks right through my chest. ‘Don’t… Don’t do that.’
‘Do what? I’m only trying to be honest. To make it right.’
‘I know.’ A catch tears the last syllable. ‘But I refuse to be another weight you carry until you break.’
She’s building a case. For me. Against herself. Against us.
The hell she will.
‘You don’t get to decide what’s too heavy for me.’ Active panic shreds my voice. ‘I’m the one lifting it. I know my limits.’
‘Really? Because you’re about to lose your career for a girl who has nothing to offer you but neurosis, problems, and a mess.’
‘Dammit, Ava!’ I slam my palm on the wood, and the cutlery clatters. ‘I knew what I was risking when I put my fist through his face. And I’d do it again. For you, I’d do it every day of the week and twice on Sundays.’
‘That’s part of the problem,’ she says quietly.
‘How the fuck is that a problem? That I have your back?’
‘No, because you sacrifice yourself in the twisted belief that you have to!’ The volume of her voice spikes. ‘You’re looking at a career-ending disaster. I won’t let you be a martyr for me.’
‘I’m not a martyr, Ava. I’m trying to be a partner.’
‘But I’m not!’ She’s trembling. ‘I’m not. I can’t be. Don’t you see? A partner brings something to the table. More than problems. And I…’
‘Stop it.’
‘It’s true, though. I ruin things.’ She curls her fingers into her palms. ‘I ruined my parents’ marriage. They spent years fighting about my training, my fees, my schedule. I was the stress fracture that broke everything. And now I’m doing it to you.’
‘Ava, look at me. I’ve been handling loads my whole life. My father. Mum. David. The team. I’m not going to shatter because things get messy. Responsibility is my jam. I can take you on. All of it.’ I’m trying to reassure her. Trying to show her my strength.
But she doesn’t smile back. ‘See? But that’s what I don’t want to be.’
Every ounce of heat leaves my blood. ‘What now?’
‘Another responsibility.’ She says the word with the same recoil she’d give a mouthful of grit-salt.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
Her eyes are wet. ‘You see me the same way you see David and your mum. Someone who needs handling and obstacles in their way removed. Well, they don’t, and neither do I.’
‘Ava, no.’
‘I’m not a project, Scottie!’ She stands up. Her movements are fluid. ‘You’re listing your qualifications for caretaker. And I don’t need one.’
I hear the echo of my own words and realise with sick clarity that I’ve handed her the gun she’s going to use to shoot me. I wanted to show her I was strong enough to hold her, to be there for her. But all she heard was: You’re a burden, and I’m the beast of burden.
The trap snaps shut. She’s convinced that her love is toxic, that her presence in my life is a chore at best and destruction at worst.
‘I didn’t mean it like that. Ava, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
‘No.’ She picks up her red scarf and winds it around her neck. ‘You deserve…easy. You need a partner whose life doesn’t come with this much collateral. Who actually helps you lift whatever it is life throws at you. Not a disaster who shits all over it.’
‘You’re making my life better. Even when you shit all over it. Maybe I like that. Maybe that’s what I’m into.’
She lets out a joyless laugh so dry it stings. ‘I got you suspended.’
‘I got myself suspended. And I’ll take the suspension any day if it means I get to wake up next to you.’
‘And what about next month?’ She pulls her coat on.
‘When the money runs out? When the resentment sets in? When you look at me and realise I cost you and your family everything? You’re too good to say it, but you’ll feel it.
And I won’t be the reason you hate your life.
Or me. You’ll hate me in the end, and I won’t watch you grow resentful of me. I couldn’t… I…’
‘I could never hate you.’ The denial is instant, but there’s heat in it now. A flare of anger. Does she think I’m that shallow?
‘Oh, give it time.’ She loops her bag over her shoulder. She’s leaving. Actually leaving.
‘Ava.’ I stand up abruptly. ‘Sit down.’ It’s the tone I use to set the defensive line speed. The one that fixes a drifting prop in his channel. ‘We are not done. You’re running away.’
‘No. I’m saving you.’
‘I don’t need saving!’ Heads turn across the pub. ‘I don’t need saving from you. I need you.’
Her gaze finds mine, and there’s nothing but naked pain. ‘It’s… This isn’t good for either of us. I guess our timing is awful. Maybe we’re both not ready for anything other than healing our own wounds right now.’
My lungs try to draw a breath and get nothing. ‘You don’t get to use clichés on me, Ava. Not after this weekend.’
She stares up at me, her chin trembling. ‘Someone has to look out for you for a change, you know.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m asking you. Stay. Please.’
The battle plays out on her face. She wants to stay. I see it. Every cell in her body is leaning towards me.
‘I can’t.’
‘You can. We’ll sort this out. I’ll call Wallace.
I’ll get a lawyer. I’ve got savings. We can get you a place in Glasgow, or – hell, I can move.
Commuting is fine. We can make it work.’ I hear myself spiral, firing off solutions like a man manic with fever.
I fall right back into the habit. I’m grabbing rocks while I drown.
‘Scottie.’
‘And the money… I’ll sell the car.’ I draw closer, cornering her with options. ‘I can pick up coaching. Personal training. Fuck, I’ll stack shelves at Tesco. I’ll work the doors at a club. I don’t care. I can—’
‘Stop.’
‘I can fix it, Ava. I can fix all of it.’
‘Stop trying to fix me!’ Her shout cracks the air. She stares at me, chest heaving. ‘I’m not a broken boiler!’
The callback carves through me like a dagger. I stare at her, the words dying on my tongue. She’s right. God help me, she’s right. I tried to tell her I loved her. Instead, I showed her I pitied her.
‘I didn’t… Christ, Ava. I want to make this work!’
‘I know.’ Her features soften. She reaches out, and her hand hovers over my chest before she drops it. She doesn’t touch me.
Why doesn’t she touch me?
‘But you can’t hold up this roof, Scottie. It’s already crumbled. And it’s up to me to rebuild it.’
She has chosen, and it’s not me. If I keep pushing, I’m becoming the force she has to survive. I have to let her go, even if it’s tearing me apart.
‘You’ve become my best friend. And I’m not going to watch you go down for me.’ She steps back. ‘I’ll be out of your room before you get back.’
‘Ava—’
Her eyes are glazed over. ‘Please let me do one good thing.’
She turns and walks toward the door. Shoulders squared, head high. A dancer exiting the stage. When she reaches the door, she pauses and checks back over her shoulder.
And it devastates me.
She looks like someone stepping off a ledge to escape a wall of fire. As if anything is better than staying where it burns.
Then she walks out into the rain, taking my heart with her.