Chapter Twenty-Nine
The World Cup ends and I haven’t said anything to Lachlan about what’s happening between us—and neither has he.
But it continues to build, and I’m increasingly confident that all that’s standing in our way is this unfortunate piece of Scottish legislation.
Amina texts me almost daily for updates, and we’ve taken to speculating on when, exactly, the year of separation started and how close we are to the blessed event.
So, yes, much remains unspoken, and yet I’m happy.
It’s nothing like what went unspoken between Steven and me that eventually broke us apart.
If anything, all that remains unsaid with Lachlan only makes it more exciting. It’s our sexy little secret.
After our stretch session in the gym, we can’t stop touching each other.
He’ll place his hand on the small of my back as I fix coffee in the morning, brush it along my hip as he pivots around me to open a cupboard, leave it there a moment too long, his fingers melting into the stretch of skin between my navel and my hipbone.
I’ll press my fingers into his chest as I laugh at something he says and he’ll lean in, flattening my palm, which I’ll drag down his abs as he smiles at me.
When we hug, my fingers will curl gently around the back of his neck and he’ll angle his face so his lips press against the spot right behind my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.
It’s almost Victorian, these little touches here and there that wouldn’t necessarily look like anything to an outside observer but leave me breathless with want.
It’s to the point where just seeing him walk into the room floods my whole body with a sharp, almost painful desire.
The one fly in the ointment is Josh. I haven’t spoken to him much since his visit a couple months ago, and I’ve barely responded to his texts.
I know that with Amina being the devil on my shoulder, I need Josh to be the angel balancing her out, but I also…
don’t want that. I don’t want to hear his strictures about what I’m getting myself into.
I don’t want to be reminded that I should feel guilty and nervous about what’s happening.
I don’t want to consider the very slim possibility that he might be right about Lachlan and me and my almost inevitable heartbreak.
So when my office phone rings one day and I hear Josh’s voice on the other end, for the first time in the entire twenty-five-year history of our friendship, my heart sinks.
“Okay, just making sure you’re alive. I’ll go now,” he says.
“Wait, hold on, hold on. Hi. How are you? How’d you get my office number?”
“When you didn’t return about four hundred calls to your cell, I turned to this thing called the internet—not sure if they have it over there in England, but it has lots of useful information.
” He’s trying to keep it light, but there’s a serrated edge to his words that slices against my nerves and settles as guilt deep in my stomach.
“I’m sorry, it’s been really busy around here,” I lie.
“I thought the World Cup meant it was quieter for you?”
“Yeah, but it’s over now so we’re back to business as usual.”
“Okay.”
I twist the cord around my finger and ponder what to say next.
I can feel him bristling on the other end of the line, daring me to tell him that I haven’t called him back because I’ve been focused on Lachlan.
That I haven’t taken his advice, haven’t moved out, haven’t moved on.
Not like he needs to hear me say it, though: He knows.
And I know he knows. So I take the coward’s way out: small talk.
“How’s Boston? Cold yet?”
“It’s the middle of December, so, yes, it is cold in Boston.”
I will not be defeated by his clipped tones. “It’s cold here, too. Not as bad as Boston, I’m sure, but pretty chilly, especially near the water.”
“Okay. Good update, Abby.”
I sigh. “Come on, talk to me. I’m sorry I’ve been a bad friend. But I miss you. Tell me about your life. What are you doing for Christmas?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line while Josh weighs whether to engage. “Going to Erica’s parents’ house. Her sister just had a baby.”
“Oh, that’s great! Emily or Elizabeth?”
“Emily.” He pauses again, but I can hear the thaw in his voice, the ice melting away over the telephone wires. “What are you doing? I assume you’re not coming home?”
“No. Mom’s pissed, but I told her Christmas basically doesn’t exist in the Premier League. We play four times between now and New Year’s, so it’s actually our busiest time. But hopefully next year I’ll be able to escape for a few days.”
“Next year?”
“I mean…yeah? I’m not planning to quit anytime soon, though I suppose there’s always the chance Charlotte remembers I don’t know anything about football and fires me.”
“Oh,” he says. “I guess I just figured…Never mind.”
“What, that it was temporary?”
It’s almost like I can see him fidget, three thousand miles away. “To be honest, yeah. I thought this was a temporary escape, not a permanent life change. And then all the stuff with Lachlan, I’m sorry, but I assumed that once his wife came back…”
“I’m not staying here for him, Josh. Have you considered that I might actually be good at this job? That I might have meant what I said about building something for myself? That I might have a future here, even if Lachlan drops dead tomorrow?”
“I’m sure you’re good at it. That’s not what I meant.”
“And his wife hasn’t come back, by the way.
” Okay, so technically that’s a lie, but the birthday visit doesn’t count as her coming back for good, and since my whole life is governed by inane legal bureaucracy right now, what’s one more technicality?
“She’s not going to come back. It’s over between them. ”
His sharp tone returns. “Oh, so you’ve talked about it?”
“No, but he almost called off the wedding before they even got married. And there’s this law in Scotland where they have to be separated for a year—”
Josh cuts me off. “That’s just great, Abby, because we all know about your deep and abiding reverence for Scottish law. So glad you can rely on that rather than have a difficult conversation with a man who’s supposedly your best friend.”
“I don’t need to have a difficult conversation with him. This is what’s happening. Day 365 he divorces her, Day 366 we’re together.”
“How do you know that’s the plan? How do you know they’re not trying to work things out when you’ve still never actually discussed it?”
I am aware my voice is rising to the level of histrionics, but I can’t help myself. “Because…because I just do. That’s just how it is between the two of us. There’s an understanding.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. It’s bullshit!”
“I don’t get why you’re pissed. Isn’t this what you’ve been telling me to do my whole fucking life? Lean in and actively go for the things I want? Stop apologizing and tiptoeing around everything and everyone?”
“Not with a married man. Not with your first relationship after Steven. Not with a situation that could get you fired and deported if it goes south, which it so clearly will.”
“Your confidence in my decision-making is touching.”
“For fuck’s sake, take this seriously.”
“No, you take it seriously, because it’s happening. This is my life. This is how it’s going to play out. And if you don’t like it, whatever—I’m not going to stop. I know what I’m doing.”
When he speaks, his voice is bone-chilling. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong, because I won’t hold your hand through another heartbreak that could have been avoided if you weren’t too scared to have a difficult conversation.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t!” I scream into the phone and slam the receiver down.
It is this moment that Charlotte opens my office door. “Sorry,” she says. “I heard screaming, which I’m sure you’re aware is completely inappropriate for the workplace, even for an American.”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I have no excuse, and it won’t happen again. But it wasn’t a work call, so at least there’s that.”
She purses her lips and I brace myself for a lecture or worse, but maybe she can see the genuine misery on my face, because she just shakes her head. “Shame. I’ve always longed to have a go at the Nike reps.”
I honestly can’t tell if she’s joking—I suppose there’s a first time for everything, after all—so I just sort of make a chuckle-adjacent noise and hope that will suffice.
Charlotte pulls out the chair opposite my desk and takes a seat.
She looks me up and down like a cyborg analyzing a target, a calculating and detached gaze.
“I wanted to stop by to say thank you for taking my feedback to heart these last few months and pulling back a bit on the videos. I appreciate that your personal situation is…” There’s a pause as exquisite as her tailoring.
“…complicated, and as I said, I’m not interested in telling you how to run your social life.
But I am grateful you haven’t let it affect your work, and I’m very satisfied with the content you’ve been producing. ”
I can’t ask her what she knows, what she’s heard, no matter how much I want to.
She must take my silence as understanding, because she continues.
“I hope you had an enjoyable time during the World Cup and that you’re ready to set aside these personal issues and return your focus to the whole squad. ”
It’s like she’s speaking in code, so I send an encrypted message back to her. “Are there any players in particular that need my focus?”
“You’ll have the best understanding of that, of course, but I would say it’s never a good thing to neglect the team captain. Matt Fletcher’s theories are often wild, but I would hate for them to be proven right.” She raises a brow.
Wow, so that fucker actually did say something to her. I can’t believe it.
I’m sure my face is white as a sheet, but I can’t let on that I’m rattled.
Doing so would confirm that whatever Matt said was right.
I take it as a good sign that she hasn’t come in here to fire me, but I’m certainly not going to give her any additional ammo.
I force a smile. “Thank you, Charlotte. I really appreciate your feedback. And I’m sorry for the yelling. ”
With a curt nod, she leaves my office and I live to fight another day. But between Charlotte and Josh, my little bubble of bliss has taken some significant damage.