Chapter sixteen
Rory
By the time I get to training, I’ve already replayed the fair more times than I care to admit, which is irritating in itself because it was a school fundraiser, not some life-altering event, and yet my brain seems determined to dissect every second of it.
I shouldn’t have stepped in like that. That much is clear.
Scott leaning too close, Freya laughing, and me moving before I’d even decided to.
I can still see the look she gave me when she turned, that flash of irritation sharpened by surprise, like I’d overstepped into territory that wasn’t mine. Which I had.
“Bennett!” Coach’s voice cuts across the pitch. “You planning on joining us today?”
I jog into position, cold air burning the back of my throat, boots biting into damp grass, and tell myself that this is where my focus belongs. Not in a school playground decorated with paper snowflakes and mulled wine steam.
We run passing drills first and I fumble the opening ball because my hands are half a second behind where they should be. Scott snorts something under his breath and I ignore him, resetting my stance, catching the next one properly and driving forward.
Every time there’s a pause, every time I’m not actively colliding with someone, my mind slides back to the same handful of moments: her knee brushing mine at the planning meeting, light and accidental but enough that I’d felt it up my spine; the way she said my name earlier, firm but not cruel; the laugh she gave Scott that was polite, not inviting, but still enough to make my jaw tighten.
I don’t do jealous. That’s what I keep telling myself.
We move into contact drills and I welcome it, because at least here, if something hits me, I can hit back and no one questions the motive. Scott lines up opposite me and there’s a flicker in his eyes that suggests he hasn’t entirely forgotten earlier.
“You all right, mate?” he mutters as we crouch.
“Fine.”
We collide hard and I drive through him with more force than strictly necessary, shoulder digging in, pushing until he gives ground. It’s not about him. It’s about the fact that my reaction earlier had been instinctive and territorial and completely out of line.
Noah jogs over while we reset, studying me with the kind of look that means he’s clocked more than I’d like.
“You’re off,” he says quietly. “Everything good?”
“I’m good.”
He doesn’t believe me, but he lets it go, which I’m grateful for.
The rest of training passes in a blur of sprints and shouted instructions, my body moving on muscle memory while my mind keeps circling back to the same irritating conclusion: I overstepped because I wanted to, not because she needed me to.
When we finally break, I sit on the grass with my forearms resting on my knees, sweat cooling against my back, and stare out across the pitch while the lads talk around me.
It’s not that I want to complicate her life.
It’s that being back here has stirred up instincts I thought I’d grown out of.
Seeing her every day, hearing her laugh across the playground, watching the way she commands a room without even realising she’s doing it, it’s like my body reacts before my brain can apply context.
She isn’t yours. She never was.
And whatever almost-thing existed between us when we were twenty, it doesn’t give me a say now.
I scrub a hand over my mouth and stand before Noah can ask anything else.
I turn into the cul-de-sac just as Theo’s Dad is walking up the pathway to their house, his hand on Theo’s shoulder.
He leans across to say something that makes Freya smile, soft and unguarded, and the picture settles into something solid and undeniable.
That’s the life she built. That’s the man who shows up.
He’s part of her daily orbit in a way I’m not.
The irritation that’s been simmering all afternoon hardens into something steadier.
Fine. If that’s the reality, then I adjust. I pull back. I keep it clean. I don’t react when some dickhead flirts with her at a fundraiser. I don’t step in. I don’t let instinct override common sense.
I sit in my car for a moment longer than necessary, watching Theo and his Dad disappear inside, watching Freya close the door behind them, and tell myself that being decent sometimes means swallowing whatever flicker of ownership you thought you had and getting on with your life.
Then I cut the engine, step out, and head inside to Isla, determined to behave like a man who knows exactly where his boundaries are.
Even if my body still hasn’t quite caught up with the memo.