home advantage
HALF THE WORLD AWAY BY OASIS
I’ve triple-checked my bag, repacked it twice, and now I’m sitting on my couch, knees bouncing, just waiting for Oliver to get here. I get up and peek out the window for the hundredth time, hoping it’s not the exact moment he walks up my front steps.
It’s just a weekend. Just a quick little getaway to the countryside. It was a kind gesture to get me away from Matt. To breathe. To reset. It’s just the kindness of a friend.
And yet—I’m excited. I’m sitting here practically jumping out of my skin. And even more confusing to me, I’m nervous. Spending a day together in London was one thing, but a whole weekend alone with him in his hometown?
I’m not even sure when it started—this thrilling, terrifying shift—but now it’s here.
It’s real, and it’s rooted itself deep in my rib cage.
I keep telling myself he’s just a good friend.
But… Luke is a good friend. Pippa is a good friend.
And despite their friendships, which I am grateful for, it doesn’t feel the same.
I tell myself it’s just because he makes me feel safe. Because he held me when I broke down.
But that’s a lie, isn’t it?
Because it’s not just about feeling safe. It’s because I keep thinking about his smile, the one he only seems to show me. The way he looks at me, not as the club’s PR manager, but as someone he truly sees.
And now I’m about to meet his mother. Not meeting her in a romantic, meet your partner’s mother way. It’s more like, here’s the friend I’m taking pity on. I tell myself that’s all it is. But then, deep down, I want her to like me.
That thought swirls through my head, striking me with the fear that I should have baked something or worn something different, which is completely ridiculous because it’s just a casual weekend and he’s Oliver and—
There’s a knock at the door. It saves me from completely spiraling. I take a deep breath and walk over to the door like I’m totally casual and not at all on the verge of crashing out.
When I open the door, he’s standing there in jeans and a black hoodie—simple and gorgeous.
“Hey, you,” he says, grinning at me. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I say, unable to suppress a smile.
He takes one look at the suitcase by my feet and raises an eyebrow. “Is that for the weekend or are you moving?”
“Well, I… it’s just for this weekend.” Guilty. I over-packed. I do that when I’m nervous. I come up with contingency plans in my head and prepare for every single one of them.
He grabs the handle, lifting it up with a dramatic grunt. “God, it’s even heavier than I thought.”
“I like to be prepared,” I say as I follow him out of the building. “You never know when you might need something.”
“Right,” he says, laughing over his shoulder. “I forgot my hometown doesn’t have a Tesco.”
“Well, how would I know? It’s not like you’ve been Mr. Forthcoming about personal details.”
He huffs out a laugh, then slides the suitcase onto the back seat of his car. He does it like it’s no big deal. Like this whole thing—picking me up, carrying my suitcase—is just a totally normal thing we do.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide in. He climbs into the driver's seat and grins at me.
“Stupid question, but you got everything?”
“Just drive, Captain.”
We’re still gently bickering when we hit the motorway, but it’s easy.
The city fades behind us, and with every mile we put between us and London, I feel like I can finally breathe.
Oliver’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably on the gear stick.
His eyes flick casually between the road and his mirrors.
We chat about nothing and everything—team gossip, weird British TV shows I find on super late at night, what it was like for him coming up through the academy football programs, and all my haunts in New York.
“How long does it take to get to your town?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, laughing. “It’s technically about forty-five minutes southeast, but with good old London traffic, it’s well over an hour.”
“Alright.” I shift in my seat to get comfortable. “Tell me about your mother.”
He glances at me, then back to the road. His eyes flicker, like he’s not used to being asked about her. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” I hesitate, then remember how private he is about his family. I remind myself about Cassandra, and how she sold stories to the press. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to tell me his life story. “Anything you’re comfortable telling me, that is.”
“Hmm.” He chuckles quietly. “Mum is… she’s incredible. My dad took off when I was a toddler, and she raised me and my brother, Henry, on her own. She had two jobs at one point and still never missed a match.”
I’ve never heard him say Henry’s name out loud before. I know from my research that Henry was Oliver’s older brother, and he died when they were teenagers. Oliver never talks about it publicly. I want to ask, but I don’t.
I glance over at him. “That’s amazing.”
He nods, and something flickers in his expression, like the tiniest bit of ache poking through the love and admiration.
“She showed up to everything, but she never let me see the stress.”
“Is that why you keep her out of the press now?”
“Yeah.” He exhales slowly. “I don’t talk about her in interviews. I want to keep her life as simple as possible. I don’t want someone dragging her into this world.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your parents,” he says, glancing over at me. “What was your childhood like?”
“Not bad.” I shrug. “I had two parents, but they were more like coworkers with a bedroom down the hall. I grew up in boardrooms. I think I learned how to manage a relationship before I learned how to actually make a friend.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“Yeah,” I say, quiet but sad. “But I adapted. It’s probably why I’m good at managing chaos now.”
“Still…” His voice trails off. “It was just you, right? No siblings?”
“Just me," I tell him. “It’s not like I grew up without love or affection, though. My parents are wonderful. Sometimes I wished I had a sibling to keep me company, but then I think we’d just have fought each other for their attention. Mom and Dad were so busy in those days. That’s why I was so happy when they brought Luke over in the foreign exchange program when I was in high school. ”
“You guys are close then?”
I laugh. “He’s just… he’s Luke. He’s my brother. I’ve never seen him as anything else.”
We fall into a comfortable silence after that. Not awkward, though I’m sure the mention of brothers possibly stirred a feeling in Oliver’s chest. It just feels like we’ve both said more than we usually do.
Outside the window, the city fades away into the landscape of the English countryside. Fields stretch endlessly, green and wide open, like a postcard come to life.
Everything’s fine on the highway. It’s easy and straight. But then Oliver turns on an exit and the roads narrow. Trees crowd in on both sides, like an illusion making it seem even smaller. There are no shoulders. Just hedges and stone walls, and quick, blind curves that appear out of nowhere.
“Fuck,” I mumble, grabbing the door handle. “Why is it so narrow, Oliver?”
He’s relaxed, like he’s done this a thousand times before, and he probably has. “It’s just a country lane. Relax.”
“Relax?” I hiss. “I can’t relax. These roads are narrow, almost fucking medieval. I’m sitting on the wrong side of the car, and we’re driving on the wrong side of the road, and it’s—”
“You’re fine,” he says calmly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching out to take mine. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Addie.”
Addie.
My heart does a full-on Olympic routine in my chest, and it’s hard to hide. He says it so casually, so easily that it hits me harder than any sharp turn in the road. It’s like he’s called me that a thousand times in his head and has only slipped up and said it out loud.
His eyes flick toward me, panicked like he’s realized what he said. “Shit. Sorry, Addison.”
“No, it’s okay.” I tighten my grip on his hand, and not because of the roads. I smile over at him. “I like it, Ollie.”
He stares ahead at the road, like he’s trying not to smile, but I can see his ears turn pink.
By the time we reach his hometown, Stratton Wood, my death grip on the door handle loosens.
The roads widen slightly as he drives through town, the car bouncing slightly along the cobbled streets.
Quaint storefronts and Tudor-style buildings line the streets, connected by strings of Union Jack flags.
“Wow,” I marvel, pressing my hand to the window like there are fresh pastries on the other side calling my name. “This is the most British thing I’ve ever seen.”
Oliver laughs under his breath. “Is that good?”
“It’s good.” I smile at him. “I’m just waiting for someone to pop out and hand me a bonnet.”
“I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow,” he says, pulling down a narrow street. “No bonnets required.”
The nerves creep back in once we’re parked in front of a small stone house with ivy climbing up the front wall.
I’m about to meet his mother.
And apparently, I’m now Addie.
And I don’t hate either of those things.
We’re barely out of the car before she comes running out of the house.
“Oliver!” she calls in a thick, melodic accent, arms outstretched toward him. His eyes brighten when he sees her. She’s tall—taller than me at least, although everyone is taller when you’re only five foot three. Her eyes are warm and kind, and the same beautiful shade of brown as her son's.
“Mum,” he says, grinning as he moves in for a hug. He wraps both arms around her, fully embracing her. His whole body relaxes into hers.
When she steps away, she looks over at me and smiles. “You must be Addison.”
“Sorry,” Oliver says, a little flustered. “Addie, this is my mum, Danielle.”
“Hi,” I say, suddenly self-conscious. I extend my hand to shake hers. “Thank you for having me.”