CHAPTER FIVE
Rory
Today is Isla’s first full day at school, which means I have a few hours to look at houses and pretend I am not still technically living in my parents’ spare room as a thirty-five-year-old professional rugby player.
She clings to my hand a little tighter than usual as we walk toward the gates, though she would never admit to being nervous.
“You’ll be fine,” I tell her as I squeeze back.
“I know,” she replies, with the confidence of someone who genuinely believes that. I envy that about her. Although, I guess she gets the fake confidence from me.
The playground is already filling up and I can feel the shift as soon as we step onto the tarmac. A few nods. A couple of double takes. Someone says my name. I nod, polite but detached, the way I’ve learned to do when I don’t particularly want to invite conversation.
Isla lets go of my hand once she spots her classroom door.
I watch her walk inside, shoulders straight, chin lifted, and something fierce and protective rises in my chest. She is the only part of my life that feels uncomplicated.
I know what I am to her. I know what I owe her.
Everything else feels slightly less clear.
Without her beside me, I am suddenly aware of myself again.
Of the way people look. Of the fact that I cannot simply blend in here.
I start walking back toward the exit and that’s when I see Freya.
She’s standing near the edge of the playground, half turned away from me, laughing at something one of the other mums says.
The sound hits first. Then the way she tilts her head slightly when she laughs.
Then the fact that I am looking far longer than is reasonable.
For a split second I consider pretending I have not noticed her.
That would be easier. Instead, I let my gaze linger, just enough that if she looks up she will know I am there.
If I am going to be back in this town properly, hiding from her feels ridiculous.
She does look up. And there it is. That flicker of recognition. Something that looks suspiciously like heat before she covers it with composure.
I feel it low in my stomach. Shit. This is inconvenient.
She looks good. Not in a nostalgic way, not in a polite former-friend way. In a way that makes me immediately aware of my own body and the fact that I am standing in a primary school playground having thoughts I should not be having.
I force my expression into something easy and casual.
Casual Rory, you’ve got this.
Inside, I am annoyed. It has been years. Years. I have had an entire marriage. A child. A divorce. A life that did not include her. And yet one look and my brain has apparently decided to revisit territory I left behind a long time ago.
I tear my gaze away and head toward the car, telling myself firmly that things will be normal between her and I soon. I’ll be able to look at her without my dick growing and my pulse increasing.
Back at my parents’ house, the quiet greets me. Mum and Dad left yesterday for the Caribbean, which means the house feels larger and emptier than usual. Mum batch-cooked enough meals to feed a rugby team, which she insists is not a comment on my inability to function as an adult.
I drop my keys onto the hallway table and head upstairs for a shower, trying to shake the image of Freya standing in the playground.
It does not work. Under the hot water, my mind betrays me completely.
The way her jeans hugged her curves. The way her mouth curved when she laughed.
The faint flush on her cheeks when she realised I was looking at her.
I rest my hands against the tiled wall and close my eyes. This is ridiculous. She has a life. A child. A man. I left this town deliberately. I do not get to walk back in and start entertaining thoughts that should have stayed buried. And yet my body is not interested in logic.
I exhale slowly and shake my head, turning the water hotter, trying to focus on something physical and uncomplicated instead of the fact that my thoughts keep circling back to her.
I can handle this. I have handled far more complicated things than a childhood crush resurfacing.
Downstairs, I grab a coffee and pull up the property listings on my laptop.
Three viewings today: A cottage on the outskirts, a new build near the bypass, a semi-detached closer to town with a decent garden and carpets that look like they survived the nineties.
We can’t stay here forever. As much as my parents pretend they don’t mind, I need somewhere that is ours.
Somewhere Isla can settle without feeling like she is living in someone else’s life.
I close the property listing tab and lean back in the chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw.
I thought coming back here would remove the stress and drama from my life but seeing Freya again has caused a truck load of anxiety to creep back in.
This town is small. Of course I was going to see her.
That doesn’t mean it has to mean anything.
I have houses to view. Contracts to consider.
A daughter who needs stability more than she needs me revisiting old distractions.
Whatever this pull is, it will settle. It has to.