CHAPTER twenty-four
RORY
Fuck. I fucked it.
I walk slowly back from the last school drop-off before Christmas, cold air biting at my cheeks, and replay every second of that almost-kiss and the conversation like some kind of emotional car crash I can’t look away from.
I couldn’t control myself and then couldn’t articulate my feelings, and now she thinks this is some ego trip.
Some rebound fantasy. She is absolutely not a rebound or a back-up. She never has been. She never will be.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling hard. I have always known I loved her. Always. I just buried it under excuses and distance and ambition and fear.
God, I was so stupid.
For years I rehearsed asking her out. On buses.
In hotel rooms. Lying awake at night before big matches.
Whole speeches, jokes, casual lines that would somehow make it low-pressure and cool.
And every single time, I chickened out. Told myself she was too good for me.
That she deserved someone better than a lad chasing contracts and headlines.
I shake my head, a bitter laugh slipping out.
Being fullback for the Ravens? That’s everything I ever worked for.
I wouldn’t trade the career, not for a second.
But the spotlight, the city life, the parties, the people who only liked the version of me that came with press and perks…
I didn’t have to disappear into that world the way I did.
I didn’t have to let Oakwood become somewhere I “used to be from.” I didn’t have to let Freya become someone I “used to know.”
I wince just thinking about it. I don’t even recognise that version of myself now; posing for photos, playing house with someone who looked perfect on paper and felt like a stranger in real life.
It wasn’t love. It was momentum. Image. Ego.
It wasn’t the boy who sat on a kitchen floor at fourteen helping Freya build a model volcano for science class.
She’s right. I can’t do this to her. I can’t come back with all this history and heat and unfinished feelings and expect her to just…
be there. Waiting. I don’t get to stake a claim because I finally grew up enough to realise what I lost. She deserves better.
She deserves a man who doesn’t hesitate.
Who doesn’t vanish when life gets big and shiny.
Who doesn’t make her feel like she wasn’t good enough.
She deserves someone braver than me. And the worst part?
That mistake might have just cost me not only the girl of my dreams but my best friend too.
I arrive back in the cul-de-sac and glance over at her house. She’s already home and right there in the window. She looks up for half a second, and the look on her face hits me like a punch, not just hurt. Disappointment. Then she drops her gaze again.
I swallow hard and turn away before I do something stupid like go and make it worse.
The second I step through my parents’ front door, something in my shoulders loosens.
It’s ridiculous how instant it is. The smell of bacon cooking, the familiar creak in the hallway floorboard, the low hum of the telly in the living room.
This house has always been my reset button.
No headlines. No expectations. Just… home.
Moving back to Oakwood hasn’t just brought me closer to Freya.
It’s brought me back to them. Mum and Dad have always been the blueprint.
They met at secondary school, sat next to each other in maths, Mum likes to say, because Dad was rubbish at fractions and needed “academic supervision.” They’ve only ever loved each other.
It wasn’t perfect. They split for a while when I was little.
Too young, too skint, too tired. But they found their way back.
They chose each other again and were stronger for it.
I always thought that’d be me one day. I just…
thought it’d be with Freya. They’re both retired now.
Mum; Margaret, though no one calls her that unless she’s in trouble, worked at the bookshop in town for years.
She still pops in now and then “to keep her hand in,” but mostly she’s happiest in the garden or baking with Isla.
Dad; Arthur, drove trains back and forth to the city for decades. Early mornings, late nights. Now he just enjoys cruises, his armchair, and being climbed on by his granddaughter.
I walk into the living room and mum engulfs me in the biggest hug as if she didn’t see me just twenty minutes ago.
But even here, in the warmest, most loving place I know, there’s a restless feeling under my skin.
I still haven’t found a place for me and Isla.
I’ve looked. Flats, little houses, big houses, new builds.
None of them feel right. None of them feel like…
this. But I can’t stay forever. Nanna and Pops deserve their quiet back eventually.
“So,” Mum says, dishing up bacon sarnies, “what’s Freya doing for Christmas this year? We heard she and Theo were on their own last year.”
I hesitate. “Theo’s with his dad this year. So… she’ll be on her own.”
Mum and Dad exchange a look.
“Well that won’t do,” Dad says firmly.
“You’ll invite her,” Mum adds, like it’s already decided.
“I already did. She said no.” I say bluntly.
Mum gives me a look. “No…?”
“She said it wouldn’t be right to be celebrating without Theo.”
“Fair enough.” She says before taking a bite of her sandwich. “But when Theo’s back we should throw another shindig. Doesn’t have to be a Christmas day. More like a ‘Frory’ day”.
Frory. Freya and Rory. It’s what we were always known as in Oakwood since we always came as a pair.
And despite everything, the mess between us, the regret, the ache in my chest, I find myself smiling.
Because the thought of Freya at this table feels…
right. Not just nice. Not just convenient.
Right in that deep, settled way that makes your bones feel heavier and your breathing slow down.
Freya has always felt like home to me, even when I was too stupid to stay close to it.
I can picture it so clearly it almost hurts.
Her laugh mixing with Mum’s in the kitchen, Dad pretending not to tear up at something sentimental, Isla and Theo playing sweetly on the rug in front of the fire.
I imagine her in one of those soft, festive dresses she wears; something dark green or deep red, hugging her in that way that makes my heart do back-flips while still looking completely wholesome.
Hair loose, cheeks flushed from the cold, rolling her eyes at one of Dad’s terrible jokes.
I want that. At least, I think I do. And maybe she does too.
But without that certainty, I don’t want to risk losing her completely.
I’ve hurt her by leaving her once before, I can’t lose her again.
I would rather have her in my life as a friend than not at all.
But I can’t help but feel like I’ve fucked it all up.
And now, I don’t have a single clue what the right move is.