Chapter 24
“Dory, you got any more wine?” The plaintive voice echoes from the kitchen.
“Coming Bee.” I drag myself away from my FIFA game to answer her Majesty’s latest request.
She’s perched on the worktop, bowl of popcorn in her lap, remains of a glass of red balanced beside her.
Still in that skimpy pink dressing gown, now paired with knee-length stripy socks.
Looks like some kind of sexy elf-on-the-shelf—one I’m pretty sure causes more chaos than the rest of our family put together.
Not that any of us could rein her in even if we tried.
Right now, though, I’m just glad it’s me she’s crashing with while everything goes to shit.
“It’s up here,” I say, reaching into the top cupboard. “Deliberately out of your reach.”
“Typical,” she huffs, holding out her glass like a weary duchess.
I crack open the bottle and splash a generous glug into her glass. She takes a big sip, smacks her lips as if she’s a judge on MasterChef.
“So you made us popcorn?” I grab a handful and shovel it in. Salty, buttery, properly done. Tipsy or not, she’s still safe near a microwave.
She bats my hand away. “Oi. You owe me for that.”
“That reminds me.” I reach for my wallet on the dining table, pull out a tenner and drop it beside her. “That’s for the charity collection.”
She swipes it up, grinning. “There wasn’t any charity collector.”
I blink. “What?”
“I told that woman to leave and not come back. I was fierce.” She raises her hands, curling her pink nails like claws. “Rah.”
Normally, drunk Briar doing tiger impressions would be funny. Cute, even. But the glint in her eyes twists something in my gut.
“Briar, what woman?”
“The one asking for you. Bit older than your usual. Still fit, though. Blonde. But I chased her off.” She takes a smug sip. “Told her you didn’t need her because you had me.”
“What did she look like?” The words scrape out of me.
“Tall. Long wavy hair. Blue eyes—proper Disney Princess eyes. You should’ve seen her face. Bet she thought I was your girlfriend,” she cackles.
“Oh, fuck, Briar. What have you done?”
“What d’you mean?” She sits up straighter, my tone cutting through the wine haze.
“I was protecting you. Getting rid of another woman trying to corner you.” She studies my face, the frown setting in.
“At first I thought she might be a journo—she didn’t look like the groupie type.
But she definitely had her sights set on you.
” She gives me a playful poke in the chest, but I’m not laughing.
“Teddy, you’ve only been here five minutes and they’re already sniffing around.
Of course I needed to tell her to piss off. ”
“Not this one.” I yank my phone from my pocket.
She tries to joke again. “Who is she? You holding out on me, Teddy? Got a new mystery woman?”
I don’t answer. Just shove the screen in front of her face.
She squints at the photo of me and Rachel outside the stable. Her breath catches.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “That’s her.”
“You didn’t have to say anything,” I mutter. “But you did.”
“I didn’t know,” she says, wiping at one eye. “I didn’t know she mattered.” A tear slides down her cheek.
“Hey.” I pull her into a hug. Her arms wrap tight around me, sudden and needy. Briar’s emotions are all over the place these days, and with the booze in her system, she’s too brittle to stay angry with.
“Don’t cry, love. I’ll sort it.” I’ve got no idea how, but I have to believe it.
“I’ll help,” she sniffs. “I’ll call her—say I was being a dickhead. Just mucking around.”
“No, it’s all right, love.” I smooth her hair. “Come on. You should get some kip. You’ve only got tonight off. Might as well enjoy it, yeah?”
She exhales, sliding down off the worktop. “I really did screw this up, didn’t I?”
I shake my head. “We’ll fix it.”
She gives me a watery smile and pads off across the tiles, socked feet making no sound.
Once she’s gone, I just stand there, staring at the photo on my screen, trying to work out what the hell I do about this mess.
I need to hear Rachel’s voice. Need the chance to explain before this spirals past saving.
My thumb hovers over her contact. I can already picture her seeing my name flash up and letting it go to voicemail. Again. The silence is worse than anger—at least anger means she still gives a shit.
Texting’s like trying to play a drum solo with one stick and a sock on your hand.
How the hell do you strip off years of polished charm and show someone your actual heart through a screen?
But with Rachel dodging my calls—and yeah, fair play, it’s not surprising—these half-arsed words are all I’ve got left.
Slumped on my bed, I type and delete a dozen messages. Explanations that sound like excuses. Apologies I don’t even buy myself. In the end, I send the only thing that feels true:
It’s not what you think, Rachel. She’s my sister, Briar.
And that was her idea of looking out for me. Call me. Please.
I stare at my phone, waiting for the screen to light up with that tiny word: Read.
Nothing.
I start to pace. End up downstairs, checking in on Briar. She’s out cold, face soft, peaceful—finally. No sign of the girl who turned up on my doorstep at midnight last night with a suitcase and eyes still full of hurt.
Even so, I can’t be angry at her. She thought she was protecting me. That’s what we do, always have. But, Jesus, I wish she hadn’t blown up my one shot with Rachel. The shot I never thought I’d get. And now it’s gone.
When I get back upstairs, my phone lights up.
Rachel’s seen the message. A new kind of waiting begins.
I asked her to call me, but that’s a hell of an ask—to trust me, after everything.
She’s probably thinking this is textbook Teddy: one girl after another tumbling into my bed like it’s part of the itinerary, and me spinning some polished cover story to make it all sound reasonable.
I hate how right she’d be about the man I was only a couple of months ago.
But that’s not me anymore. This time, there’s no one else—only Rachel.
Around half nine, I crack and call her again. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t mean it’s over. Just means she needs time.
I’ll call her tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the next.
Until she answers.