Chapter 25
If I had a shred of common sense, I’d have blocked Teddy the moment I got in the car, but I didn’t. Now I’m perched on the edge of my bed, listening to his voicemails again. I’ll give credit where it’s due—the man can spin a bloody good story. Comes with practice, I suppose.
Is this how he cuts a woman out of his life and makes space for the next one?
A neat excuse, a handful of messages insisting you’re all he wants, so when you finally do the sensible thing and end it, it looks like you dumped him, not the other way around.
Even if it’s just his way of soothing his conscience and not a genuine attempt to explain the disastrous scene on his doorstep, the sound of his voice still gets under my skin.
Before I know it, I’m googling Briar Hargrove, half-hoping to catch him out in a lie.
Instead, I find pictures of the fierce woman who, a few hours ago, glared at me like she wanted to push me down his steps.
Promo photos from shows, reviews, even an Instagram post of her in the same pink dressing gown. So, no, he wasn’t lying.
Which is why, when my phone rings again and his name flashes up, a part of me aches to answer. I don’t.
I stare at his last message. Call me. Please. I understand exactly why he chose those three words. They’re a hand on my wrist tugging me off-balance. God help me, I want to believe him. But I’m a mess—one moment certain, the next unravelling, swinging between hope and doubt, strength and fear.
If I pick up and he hits the right notes, the soft parts of me will say yes before the sensible parts get a word in; if he fumbles, I’ll torch what’s left out of sheer self-defence.
I want to trust Teddy, to hear the reassurance I crave, but every time I reach for it, the warning is loud and clear: don’t be the girl who gets replaced.
Phone in hand, I hover on the edge of calling him, but it’s too risky.
I can argue someone else’s case, my words coming out sure, my delivery cool.
With Teddy on the other end of the line, I’ll flounder.
He deserves an explanation—an apology even—for my lurching emotions.
If I’m going to give him that, I’ll do what I’m best at: put it in writing. Give myself time to get it right.
I open a blank text and start typing.
Me: Okay. I believe you about Briar. And I know you probably think I over-reacted.
But I have my reasons. Last week was one of the best times of my life.
Yesterday was one of the hardest. You’re one of the good ones.
I know that. You pull people in with ease.
Make them laugh. You’re kind. But it also feels like you hold people lightly, which makes it easy to let them go.
Replace them. I don’t want to be someone you put down when something shinier comes along. I don’t want to be replaceable.
Seeing another woman at your door hurt. It put me straight back in a story I swore I wouldn’t repeat.
I like you. More than is sensible. And that scares me. I’m not ready for a call, but I don’t want to end this either. If you want me to try, I need actions, not promises. If you mean what you’ve said, ask me for a way to let you prove it.
My thumb hovers, then I hit send before I can chicken out. Dots appear almost at once.
Teddy: I hate that I hurt you. Thank you for trusting me anyway. Please give me the chance to show you I won’t drop you when it’s hard. Tell me how to prove it. Set the rules. I’ll follow them. I’m not going anywhere.
I breathe out, the tight band around my ribs easing a notch. Proof, not promises. Right then.
If I’m asking for proof, I need a plan. Time to ask the one person who won’t let me fudge it. I phone Jenna.
“Hi, hun! You okay? Bit of a late one for you.” Jenna runs her own sports PR firm, so she’s no stranger to midnight dramas. Still, I usually avoid calling this late unless someone’s died—or I’m about to make a questionable life choice. Tonight it’s the latter.
“Not really,” I say. “I’ve been working every frigging hour of the day and night just to try and sell myself to the bloody board. So no, this is early.”
“Oh, shit. It’s the wedding, isn’t it? I knew I should’ve checked in, but I didn’t want to be annoying.”
“No, the wedding was fine. Got through it without too much soul-searching.”
She knows what that means. Seven years ago, Jenna’s fiancé called off their wedding a week before the ceremony. My plans didn’t even make it past venue deposits before falling apart. At least I didn’t waste money on a dress.
“Good on you,” she says.
“It was beautiful. Haley looked amazing. And…” I take a deep breath. “I met someone.”
“You met someone?” Jenna’s delighted squeal pierces my ears as her face lights up the screen. “Sorry, love, but I need to see you for this conversation.”
“What conversation?” My brother’s familiar voice in the background is quickly followed by the sight of his goofy face hovering at Jenna’s shoulder.
Even though they’ve been together over a year, seeing my childhood best friend with my younger brother still sends a small jolt of surprise through me, especially at times like this when I realise they’re actually lying in bed together.
“Not one you need to be part of.” Jenna shrugs him away and begins to move. “Let me get rid of this nosy bugger and we can talk.”
“I bet I know who,” Geordie taunts from the background. “That drummer dude.” Sometimes my brother is the same irritating little shit he was as a kid.
“Bet you’re wrong,” Jenna singsongs back at him as she makes her way downstairs to their lounge. “He’s wrong, isn’t he?” she says, flopping onto a sofa. “You’d never hook up with Teddy Hargrove.”
I swallow hard. “What if I said ‘fuck it’… and I did?”
Her mouth twitches at the corners. “I’d say a quick fling never hurt anyone. I’d say maybe he’s the bit of casual fun you need in your life right now.”
“Yeah, he is…”
“Why do I suspect there’s a ‘but’ coming here?”
“Your Spidey senses?” I joke. Jen’s always loved her superheroes. “Your expert PR antennae scanning for trouble?”
“But you like him.” She’s prodding me like she’s the lawyer leading a defendant. “But you want more”
I try to keep my emotions in check as I tell her about the week—the moments that should be etched in my mind as just fond memories.
But my body betrays me. A laugh spills out when I describe Teddy dusted with icing sugar.
The tension in my shoulders dissolves recalling quiet mornings on horseback.
Warmth floods my cheeks when I admit to kissing him first on the doorstep.
My lips curve upwards thinking about the songs we sang together.
Heat flares between my legs as I share the sort of intimate details you’d only tell your best friend.
“You’ve got it bad, hun,” she says softly.
“You think?”
“I know. But has he?”
“He says he’ll do anything to prove he only wants me. That there’s no one else. That he’s done moving on before things get serious.”
“And do you believe him?”
“I want to. And I believe he wants to,” I whisper, thinking of murmured words in a darkened bedroom, the last voicemail on my phone.
Jenna sighs. “But there’s something getting in the way?”
“Jen, I don’t think he’s deliberately bullshitting me, but you only have to look at the tabloids, social media, to see how fucking impossible it feels. All those bloody girls grabbing at him, most of them at least ten years younger than me and—”
“Remember who you’re talking to here,” she interrupts. “There’s a man six years younger than me lying upstairs in my bed. Don’t give me that age gap crap, Rache.”
“The bigger problem is, every bit of evidence screams he doesn’t change. His track record says it all.”
“Fuck the papers. Fuck social media. And fuck his track record.” My head jerks at the unexpected string of f-bombs from Jenna’s careful mouth. “That’s history. Don’t you think you should give him a chance to prove he can change?”
“That’s what he’s asked for. But what if I give him a chance and he blows it? You know how easy it is to spin a lie when you want to convince someone you’re better than you are. You do it professionally.”
“Yeah,” she admits. “Sometimes I help cover my clients’ mistakes.
But more often, I’m helping them show who they’ve grown into, not who they were.
The young rugby player provoked into a bar fight who’s now the gentlest father you’ve ever seen.
The athlete who was always grumpy with the press, learning to laugh in interviews.
People change, Rache. They don’t deserve to be judged only by their past.”
“So how the fuck do I know if he really could be different? If he means it this time?”
“You make him prove it. Not with words—with actions. And you know what? If he’s serious about you, he’ll understand why you need that proof.”
I stare at my reflection in the dark window. The woman looking back wants to be reckless, wants to risk everything despite knowing how badly this could end. She’s considering putting her heart on the line again, even though it’s barely healed.
“What if it’s too soon after Pierre? What if I’m not brave enough?”
“Then you’ll regret it forever. And honestly? I think you’ve already decided. You just need someone to tell you it’s okay to want this.”
By 9amTuesday morning, there’s an email from Jenna.
She’s sent a final version of our carefully constructed list of ten tasks for Teddy—a test to see if he’s more than just a playboy dabbling with the idea of something more lasting.
It’s impressive, even if I say so myself.
Some are fun and light-hearted, others deeply personal, and a few very public—things that will leave no doubt he’s put aside the string of women rotating in and out of his life.
The world will know: Teddy Hargrove has a serious girlfriend, and he’s chosen me.
My hands are actually shaking as I read through it again. This isn’t just asking him to prove himself—it’s me admitting I want this enough to risk everything. Some of these tasks will put us in the spotlight. Am I ready for that? For photographers and gossip and his fans hating me?
I text her immediately.
Me: Time to talk?
Jen: Always time for you hun
She answers my call on the first ring.
“You like it?” I can hear the pride in her voice.
“It’s perfect,” I say. “Just one question. What do I do? Send him one at a time? Or the whole list and let him choose?”
“Let him choose,” she says. “That’s a test in itself.
How he prioritises them will tell you how far in he is.
If he picks all the fluffy fun stuff first, he’s hesitating.
But posting about you on social media? Introducing you to his family?
Taking you to an industry event? There’s no coming back from those.
He chooses even one of those early, he’s all in. ”
It’s a brilliant strategy, but it terrifies me. Probably not as much as it will terrify Teddy, but still. Is there a point where I’ll know he’s not committed enough and I’ll have to walk away? And more importantly—will I be strong enough to do it if that moment comes?
Part of me wonders if I’m setting him up to fail, the way Pierre did. But maybe that’s the point—I need to know he won’t. I’m not just asking him to prove he wants me. I’m asking him to prove I’m worth changing for.
“Help me word this,” I say to Jenna, before I lose my nerve. “I need to send it now, or I never will.”
We craft the message together, Jenna suggesting I keep it simple but clear.
You said you’d do anything to prove you’re serious about me. Here’s your chance. Pick whichever ones feel right to you, but you have until Christmas. That’s three weeks, Teddy.
I paste the list into a text. My finger hovers over the little arrow. Once I press this, there’s no taking it back. No pretending I don’t want this as much as I do.
I press send.