Chapter 9
Callum
To say I’m exhausted would be an understatement.
Millie’s presence yesterday riled Fergie up for the rest of the night, and he took ages to fall asleep, repeating "Millie pretty” for hours.
Needless to say, I barely slept. Okay, maybe my own thoughts kept me awake as well, but in my defence, it was a very unusual day.
Millie seems so at ease wherever she goes.
Her second time at my place, and it felt like she belonged here…
maybe a little too much. The way she cuddled with Fergie, etching her laughter on the walls of his room—and inside my head.
“Peek-a-boo,” Fergie says, jolting me out of my thoughts. He’s standing on the arm of the sofa, playing with the mirror hanging next to it.
I chuckle, watching him dance with his reflection, then glance at my watch.
I should really leave now if I want to be on time for practice, but since we’re going to an away match tomorrow, I decide five extra minutes with Fergie won’t hurt.
He hates having pet sitters. Hopefully, Maria—the sixth one in two years—will last longer than the last.
“Maria’s coming tomorrow,” I tell him. Always best to prepare him a bit in advance. “You remember her?”
Fergie looks up at me. “Away?”
“Yes, playing Manchester City tomorrow.”
Fergie tilts his head. “You lose,” he replies matter-of-factly before turning back to the mirror.
I sigh. “Nice.”
“Millie coming?” he asks after a beat.
My brow furrows. “Millie coming where? To Manchester?”
He turns around, shooting me a thoughtful look.
I raise an eyebrow. “Or here?”
He turns around, strutting along the arm of the sofa. “Here. Millie here.”
“No, she’s not coming here.” I chuckle. “Aye, right then, time to head back in for the day, little monster. I’ve got practice.” I hold out my arm. “Let’s go.”
But of course, he refuses, beating his wings and taking off in a dramatic flutter that makes the curtain sway.
I brace myself for a round of hide-and-seek, but to my surprise, he flies straight up the stairs.
I follow him to his room, and he’s already in his cage when I get there.
I make sure he has everything he needs and flip the TV on, navigating to the music channel for today.
The moment the beat kicks in, Fergie bobs his head and starts swaying, breaking into a chirpy rendition of whatever pop song is playing.
As I stand there, Millie’s voice pops into my head, telling me to record him, so I reluctantly grab my phone. I’ll most likely be late for practice, but it’s entertaining, I guess. My last Fergie video—playing ring tosser—got four million views. Or as Millie put it, “went viral.”
So here I am, hovering in the doorframe as I record a video of Fergie’s best dance moves. Yeah, Millie’s rubbing off on me, all right.
Today’s practice is particularly biting.
Whether it’s from my lack of sleep or if Delatour has something against us today, I’m not sure.
He makes us run high-intensity intervals, sprint drills, and defensive shape rotations until my legs burn and my lungs go raw, all under a curtain of cold, relentless rain.
In those moments, I feel every one of my thirty years.
Of course, Millie managed to catch all of it on camera, assuring us this brutal torture will be wildly entertaining for the fans.
People do have a tendency to take pleasure in others’ suffering.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, we head inside for tactical analysis and small-sided possession games that are more competitive than half the matches we’ve played this season.
Manchester City is second in the league, so yeah.
We do need to prep harder for this one. But at this rate, I won’t even make it to the pitch—I’ll be dead on the physio’s table by morning.
“That was intense,” Archie says, slumping into the chair beside me at lunchtime.
“Brutal.” Finn nods, plopping down across from me. “But I’d say we stand a chance tomorrow. Especially if you play like that,” he adds to Archie.
“I always play like that,” Archie says. He puffs his chest out, his confidence seemingly boosting his energy level.
“Where’s Cameron?” I ask, glancing away. He’s usually the one playing referee between those two.
Archie swallows his bite of chicken. “Knee trouble again. Hope he can play tomorrow.”
We begin chatting about his injury, digging into our meals when my phone pings in my pocket. It’s a text message from Maria. As I stare at the screen, my heart lurches. No, no, no. Not that.
“Callum, I won’t be able to make it to watch Fergie. I just got a new job. Sorry for the last-minute warning.”
I curse under my breath, closing my eyes. Then, snapping them open, I get to work looking up every pet sitter I’ve ever had and texting them one by one asking for help. I even offer to double their usual fee. Surely one of them will do me this favour. If not for me, at least for the money.
Placing my phone down on the table, I fork another bite of food when it pings. I put my utensils down and check the screen, but it’s just a group chat invitation. Another one.
“Seriously?” I mutter, glaring at Archie and Finn.
These guys keep adding me to their group chat, and I keep having to leave it. Why can’t they get it through their heads that I see enough of them already?
I open the chat invite, accept it, then post the rudest emoji I can find before removing myself from the chat.
“Oh, come on,” Archie bellows, laughing.
“An emoji?” Finn arches an eyebrow. “Millie is clearly rubbing off on you, lad.”
I swallow hard, thinking about her again. Which brings my mind back around to Fergie and my bigger problem at hand.
Unfortunately, no former pet sitter has come forward to do me this favour, even with the generous compensation, and my parents are out of the question.
They’re currently off enjoying a three-month cruise—a Christmas gift from my brother Alec and me.
As for Alec, he’s no help either. Even if my brother did want to watch Fergie, he’s currently in Australia, making the most of the mild weather as he preps for his upcoming Formula 1 season.
Which means I’ll just have to find someone new. Again.
Before I resort to scrolling through the pet sitting app for strangers, any of whom would probably quit after one visit, I step into one of the empty side rooms and call Roberta, the only former sitter I haven’t texted. She’s an older lady and doesn’t do text messages.
“Hello?” she says, her voice warm and a little breathy.
“Hi, Roberta. How are you doing? It’s Callum Murray.”
“Right, dear. I’m well. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I just have a bit of a situation here, and I was wondering if you could watch Fergie for me tomorrow night?” I wince, already regretting how abrupt I sound. “It would really help me out.”
“Oh, I wish I could,” she says with a sigh. “But I just had a hip replacement.”
Of course. I close my eyes briefly, jaw tightening. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Roberta. I hope you get well soon.”
“I do wish I could help,” she continues. “How is he?”
“Oh, Fergie is good. Still the same, you know? Anyway, I’m at work, so I’ve got to go. But have a nice day, eh?”
“You too. Bye now.”
I sink into a chair, my head falling into my hands.
“Are you okay? Is Fergie?” Millie asks. She’s poking her head through the door, her brows knit with concern. “I heard you say his name.”
I breathe out a tired chuckle and lift my gaze to her. “When’s the wedding? I swear that’s where this is going.”
She laughs, and I hate the way it makes my heart race.
“I could do worse, trust me,” she says, her tone dipping into something more thoughtful. “Actually, I have done worse.”
I frown, half wanting to ask her what happened with that dunderheid, and half scorning myself for even wanting to ask that question.
“So, what’s up?” she asks.
I rake a hand through my hair. “Nothing. Just a typical Tuesday. Another pet sitter quit on me.”
Her face softens. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have someone watching him all day?”
“Naw, he’s fine alone for the day. It’s just nights, when we have away matches.
And, well, he’s not the most, um, pleasant company.
So I’ve been having trouble finding someone who’ll stick around.
Anyway, I’d better get back to it. I need to find someone before tomorrow, and I have tactical drills in ten minutes. ”
“I’ll watch him,” she blurts out, taking me by surprise.
I blink back at her. “What?”
“I’ll come to your place and watch Fergie. I’m not planning to attend the away matches, so I don’t mind.”
I frown, settling into the idea. “Are you sure?”
She nods eagerly. “Absolutely. He likes me, and I like him. We’ll have fun.”
I scratch my head, hesitating, but I’m running out of options. And besides, it’s not such a terrible idea. At least he seems fond of her, which is more than I can say about any of his former sitters.
“I’ll take good care of him, I promise.” Her eyes are now gleaming with anticipation. As if I’d be doing her a favor by letting her spend time with Fergie.
“Okay. You’re sure you don’t have anything better to do with your evening? He can be fun for a few minutes, but he’s a handful.”
“I really don’t,” she replies with a cheeky grin. “Have anything better to do, that is. And I’m sure we’ll be fine. Instalove, remember?”
I roll my eyes, but a smile escapes me. “Well, thank ye, then. You’re a big help. I’ll pay you for it.”
Her face breaks into a smile, and she shakes her head. “No need. That’s what friends are for,” she says before spinning on her heel and walking away, her flowery perfume lingering in the air.
Friends? The word feels so foreign in my mind. I’ve never really had friends growing up. Maintaining social relationships doesn’t exactly come easy to me.
“Fine,” I call after her. “But I owe ye one.”
Her giggle resonates as she turns the corner, and even though I usually hate owing anyone anything, being in debt to Millie Templeton doesn’t feel as heavy as it should.