Chapter 59 Orla
Orla
National Tennis Centre, Physio Room Four
Danny winced as I pressed my thumb into the scar tissue along his calf. “Jesus Christ, Orla, are you trying to make it worse?”
“You’d know if I was,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
His scowl deepened, sweat beading at his hairline. “I’m telling you, the other guy doesn’t do it right. I can feel the difference.”
I tugged the ice pack into place and stood, the exhaustion of the day already pulling at me. “You’re going to have to get used to him, because I’m leaving again tomorrow. You can’t have me full-time, Danny.”
He muttered something under his breath that I chose to ignore. If I let myself sit with the guilt, the way he still looked at me like I was letting him down, I’d spiral too.
By the time I left Emma’s house later that night, I was running on fumes. She’d needed an extra session, too, her shoulder was inflamed after her rehab work, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
When I finally stepped into the apartment, it was close to midnight and I was pretty certain my monthly gift was also about to make an appearance just to top off an already draining day.
Tyler was sprawled across the sofa, eyes flicking from the TV to me as I dropped my bag by the door.
He looked as worn out as I did from a full day of conditioning.
“Long day?” he asked, more an observation than concern.
“You could say that.” I toed off my shoes, rolling my shoulders. “I had a training update first thing, Danny’s still sulking about his physio, and Emma’s shoulder flared up again this afternoon so I stayed late with her.”
He gave a distracted grunt, reaching for the remote.
“You know, O, you don’t have to run yourself into the ground like this for everyone,” he said lightly. Then, without looking at me, he added, “Just… remember it’s my team paying you.”
I froze. Not quite sure I’d heard him right.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed, already realising how it sounded, but too stubborn and too tired to fully walk it back.
“I just mean… Look, you’re burning out. I pay you to look after me. Not everyone else.”
I went still, the words landing heavier than he seemed to expect.
All I heard was: You’re only here because of me.
“You need to decide who your priority is,” he added, quieter now. “Because you’re spreading yourself too thin.”
“Yes,” I snapped, the edge in my voice surprising even me. “I am burning myself out. For other people. Constantly.”
He flicked his eyes to mine, caught off guard. “Come on, O. That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that. You’re my wife. And my physio—”
“I’m not just yours, Tyler.” My voice rose despite myself. “I’m mine. I have a life outside of you, and I get to decide how I show up in it.”
His brow furrowed, confusion and something like regret flashing across his face, but I was already turning away. Because beneath the exhaustion and the guilt, something darker had lodged itself in my chest.
He could be so damn possessive; sometimes, it felt like his version of loving me also meant owning me.
And I wasn’t sure how long before I snapped.
I stood there in the kitchen, arms wrapped around myself, pulse drumming hard in my ears. Tyler had stood now from where he lay on the sofa, shoulders tense, eyes tracking me like he wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened.
“O…” His voice was softer now, the bite gone. “Don’t do this. I didn’t mean it like that.”
But he had. Maybe not the words, but the thought. It had slipped out before he could catch it, and now it was hanging between us, souring the air.
I turned, pressing my palms to the counter to keep myself steady. “Do you even hear yourself sometimes? You make it sound like I only exist because you let me.”
“Hey, that’s not what I said.”
“Maybe not, but that’s what it feels like.” My throat was thick. “Do you know what it’s like to have everyone need you, to give every piece of yourself away, and then come home to hear you’re not doing enough for your husband, either?”
His mouth opened, guilt flashing across his face, but I was already spiraling.
“I’m burning myself out, Tyler. And not just for Danny, or Emma, or you—for everyone.
Because that’s what I do. I take care of people.
” My voice cracked. “And do you know what it feels like when the one person I thought might actually see me makes me feel like I’m just a fucking extension of his paycheck? ”
He stood then, moving toward me, but I flinched back before he could touch me.
The hurt on his face was painful. But I couldn’t stop now. I’d held this in too long.
“You don’t get it,” I shouted. “You’re so damn possessive sometimes. Like you think if you put a ring on my finger, I’ll never leave. But I’m not just yours. I’m mine. And I’m terrified you don’t love me because of me, you love me because you’re scared I’ll walk away like everyone else has.”
His chest rose and fell, sharp and ragged. “That’s not fair, Orla.”
“Isn’t it?” My laugh came out brittle. “Vegas. The way you cling so tight sometimes I can’t breathe. You think I don’t wonder if this is love or if it’s your fear of being abandoned again?”
Something broke in his face then and the guilt almost consumed me. His jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists. “You really think I married you just to stop you leaving?”
I swallowed, guilt slamming further into me even as the words echoed in the air. But I couldn’t take them back. Didn’t know if I wanted to.
Heavy silence stretched between us, until he shoved his hands through his hair and turned away. “Fuck this,” he muttered, storming toward the door, grabbing his jacket and keys from the hook on his way.
“Tyler—”
The slam of it shutting behind him made me jump.
And just like that, I was alone in the kitchen, staring at the empty space where he’d been. My chest heaved, hot tears burning at the back of my eyes.
I wanted to chase him, to take it back, to fix it. But I couldn’t, not when part of me still wasn’t sure if I was wrong.
Not when the fear sitting in my chest wasn’t just about him. It was about me, too.
I didn’t even remember grabbing my coat, just the slam of the door still ringing in my ears as I flagged down a cab. My hands shook the whole way across the city, my brain spinning so fast I couldn’t hold a single thought steady.
By the time I buzzed Gwen’s door in Richmond, I was seconds from crumbling.
She opened the door in leggings and an oversized jumper, hair piled in a messy bun, a wine glass already in her hand. Her brows shot up. “Jesus, O. You look like you’ve been chewed up and spat out.”
I tried to laugh, but it cracked halfway. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” She pulled me into her arms warmly before ushering me inside. The living room was dim, the only light from the lamp and the flicker of whatever Netflix show she’d abandoned. She gave Tom a quick nod over my shoulder—make yourself scarce, love.
With a knowing nod, he rose to his feet. “I’ll just check on Lola.”
As he disappeared down the hall, Gwen turned back to me, her expression soft but expectant.
“Right,” she said. “From the top.”
I sank onto the sofa, hugging a cushion to my chest, words tumbling clumsily before I could stop them.
I told her everything. Danny being impossible, Emma crying in pain in my office, Tyler’s stupid offhand comment, the fight, the slam of the door.
Even as I spoke, a quieter voice in the back of my head whispered that I’d reacted first and thought second. Again.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Every insecurity I hadn’t meant to say out loud poured out of me in one breathless rush.
God. Had I gone too far?
When I finally stopped, my throat was raw, Gwen just watched me for a long moment. Then she sat back, took a sip of her wine, and gave me that sharp, assessing look that always made me feel both understood and slightly scolded.
“Okay,” she said at last. “First of all you’re not wrong to be overwhelmed. You’ve got three full clients and only one of them pays properly. No wonder you’re frayed.”
I huffed, sinking deeper into the cushion.
“But,” she went on, pointing at me with her wine glass, “I think you’re overthinking the Tyler part.”
My head snapped up. “Overthinking?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward, eyes steady. “Do I think he’s hot-headed? Absolutely. Do I think he says stupid shit when he’s wound tight? Without question. But Orla, there is no universe where that man doesn’t love you. You know it, I know it, the whole bloody world knows it.”
I swallowed hard, heat pricking at the corners of my eyes again.
She softened, reaching out to squeeze my hand.
“Look, I’ve watched you both. He’s not with you because he’s scared to be alone.
He’s with you because you’re it for him.
Full stop. The Vegas wedding? Mental—yes.
But that wasn’t desperation, it was him knowing, down to his bones, that he didn’t want to waste another second without you.
Don’t twist it into something it’s not.”
I pressed my lips together, torn between relief and guilt. “But what if I’m not enough for him? What if one day he realises he made a mistake?”
“Orla.” Gwen’s voice cut sharp, firm. “He’s Tyler Reed.
If he was going to bolt, he would’ve done it the second you told him no.
Instead, he never gave up on you, he put a ring on your finger, bought a bloody house, and tells anyone who’ll listen that you’re his wife.
You’re not going anywhere, and neither is he.
Stop looking for cracks that aren’t there. ”
My breath shook as it left my lungs, and I slumped back against the cushions. For the first time all night, the knot in my chest eased, just a little.
Bloody hell. I’d done it again. Let the fear drive the reaction instead of trusting what was right in front of me.
Maybe Gwen was right. I knew Tyler and I loved each other. I knew I’d been caught at a bad moment but how did I put things right?