Chapter 28 #2
“In a good way, though,” he says, as though displaying penitence the second after he’d sinned will make his intentions seem innocent.
“Of course in a good way,” I say, because I’m no better.
“You weren’t there at the last Halloween party.
” Lando looks guilty. He knows it was his fault I didn’t go, not that I would’ve relished hanging out with Mathias outside of training.
“Finn’s—Eggo’s—costume was Tom Daley. Literally just hair gel to make it appear wet and a Team GB Speedo, and that was it. Not even any shoes. In October.”
Yup. That sounds about right.
“What did you go as?” I ask him, suddenly FOMOing over an event that happened over six months ago.
“Princess Diana . . . in the revenge dress.”
“Lando!” I punch him on the arm, though the revenge dress was probably my fault. “That’s so despicably on brand for you. Did you win?”
“Naturally.” He flips invisible hair over his shoulder. “Oh my god! I can do a couple’s costume for us this year. Yes!”
“Wait, wait, wait . . . no. I’m not cross-dressing again.”
“It won’t be cross-dressing. I have the perfect idea.” Lando balls up his fists under his chin and squeaks. “But we might need to wear bald caps.”
I give him that look. The “I’ll think about it” look.
“Anyway,” he says, flapping his hand in front of his face as though he’s waving away thought bubbles. “How are you feeling about the captaincy thing? Also Eggo? Like for real? That’s . . . a choice.”
I sigh. “It’s such a choice.”
I can kind of see the logic behind Dan and Eksteen’s decision.
What Eggo lacks in structure and discipline he makes up for in spontaneity and quick thinking.
Whereas Pi’s weaknesses lie in improvisation and his rigidity to the rules, but he’s great at organisation and motivating a team full of very strong-willed blokes.
They have the potential to be each other’s yin and yang.
A balanced duology. I can’t be annoyed that they were chosen because, yeah, it makes sense.
But that won’t stop me from being a grumpy, jealous, whiny baby about it.
“I feel like shit,” I say.
“Oh, my king.” Lando immediately manoeuvres us so that his back is against the headboard, and now my head is in his lap.
“I just feel like . . .” I don’t want to say it out loud because it’s cringe as fuck, but also, this is Lando.
He should know how I feel. I owe him total honesty.
“That I’m always overlooked. That I’m always second, or third, or fourth best. And maybe I should be happy for Pi, he’s my best friend.
And I should be happy for Eggo—he’s bonkers, but he deserves it.
And I should be happy for Mathias, because .
. . you know.” I can’t finish my thought, so I shrug.
Lando knits his fingers into my hair. “Just because people expect you to feel or behave a certain way, doesn’t mean you actually have to.
It’s all performative. Just so you can tick off a little box inside their brains that makes them feel better.
But fuck them. And fuck making our feelings more palatable for other people.
That’s never been my jam. Who are we even performing for anyway?
” He pffts the air out of his mouth. “Jealousy is a valid emotion. You’re not destructive about it—well, not that destructive, so it shouldn’t be wrong to experience it.
You once told me I’m allowed to feel things. ”
I lift my head and look right at him. “Your mum died . . . that’s a different kind of emotion.”
“Baby, you have got to stop comparing yourself to other people.”
“Wait.” I push myself to my knees. He’s so painfully on the money that it robs me of the ability to speak. To think even. “You’ve been studying hard for your therapy sessions, haven’t you?”
“I think I’m finally winning them,” he says, smiling.
“But in all seriousness, you have to stop looking at other people and thinking they have it better than you. Maybe they do. But harsh truth: they’ve probably worked harder to get there.
Or maybe they’re just luckier. It’s not like things are shit for you; you’ve got an incredible life.
You’re twenty-three years old and you play for the Bath Centurions.
How many guys would kill to be in your position?
You’re young, you’re hot, you’re talented, you’ve got an amazing family, and a fucking stellar boyfriend.
You’ve got a lovely flat, in a lovely part of town, you have friends who care about you, and you have an infallible digestive system.
I’m not saying there’s no need to feel jealousy because we all do sometimes, but you should recognise that undoubtedly there will be people who’re envious of you. Like me.”
I scoot up the bed and tuck myself in next to him, lift his arm over my shoulder, and press my head to his chest. I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to be jealous of me—of my family, which is what he meant.
That my family, whether he likes it or not, are now his family for the foreseeable future, and that he’ll probably want to watch out for Casper and Jack especially. But the words get lodged in my throat.
“But also, do you know what?” he says, his fingers now tracing circles on my crown. “I love jealous Harry. He’s fun, and a bit rude, and he makes me laugh.”
“I could try to be less of a cunt,” I say.
“You could, but I didn’t fall in love with Harry Ellis, the happy-go-lucky, positive-vibes-only guy. I fell in love with your grumpy ass. The guy who got drunk because Mathias got played and he didn’t, the guy who stood up to my dad, the guy who shouted at Daisy on Sunday.”
Ah, she must’ve told him. I cringe inwardly and hope they’ve made up.
“I fell in love with Waldorf.”
Lando’s heart thumps steadily against my ear. It beats faster when I laugh at his comment, and faster still when I say, “I love you too.”