Chapter Sixty-one
Rory
I don’t wait. Not this time. Training finishes, I shower, barely listen to whatever Scott’s saying about drills and tactics and the championship game, grab my bag and leave before anyone can drag me into anything else.
Because none of that matters right now. Not when I know something’s wrong and I finally have a pretty good idea what it is.
The drive back feels longer than it should. My fingers tap against the steering wheel, my jaw tight, my head running through it over and over again. The ball. Sienna. The bracelet. Shit. It must be that. She must have seen something. And it must look bad. Worse than bad.
I pull into the cul-de-sac and kill the engine, sitting there for a second, staring at her house. I grab the small box from the passenger seat. The bracelet. I’d imagined giving it to her differently. Not like this. Not as damage control. But it doesn’t matter. I just need her to understand.
I walk up to her door and knock, nerves running through me. There’s a pause then the door opens. Freya stands there in joggers and an oversized jumper, hair pulled up messily, her face tired, her eyes puffy.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
Her voice is polite. Too polite.
“Can I come in?”
She hesitates for half a second. Then steps back. “Yeah.”
She looks equally as nervous as I feel.
I step inside, closing the door behind me softly, the familiar warmth of her house wrapping around me, but it feels different tonight. Colder. We stand in the hallway for a second. Neither of us moving.
“I think we need to talk,” I say.
“Yeah,” she replies quietly. “We do.”
She walks into the living room and I follow, my pulse hammering in my throat the closer we get to whatever this is about to be. She turns to face me. Arms folded. Holding herself together.
“Say it,” she says.
I frown slightly. “Say what?”
“The truth.”
“The truth about what?”
“Rory.” Her voice cracks slightly and then hardens again. “I saw it.”
There it is. I exhale slowly. “A photo?”
“Yes, a photo, well, a video.” She says, a small, humourless laugh escaping her. “You. Her. The bracelet.”
I take a step closer. “Freya… I”
“No,” she cuts in quickly, shaking her head. “No, don’t.”
Her eyes are bright now but I can see she’s holding back tears.
“I knew I couldn’t compete with her, Rory,” she says, her voice quieter and shakier now. “I just didn’t expect you to prove me right so quickly.”
Fuck. Hearing that kills me.
“Freya, that’s not…”
“Isn’t it?” she interrupts. “Because it looked pretty clear to me.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” she asks, finally looking at me properly. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you bought your ex a fifteen-thousand-pound bracelet and spent the evening smiling at her like nothing’s changed.”
I shake my head, stepping closer again. “I didn’t buy it for her.”
She lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Rory… I saw it on her.”
“I didn’t. It wasn’t for her” I say firmly.
She goes quiet. And for a second, I can see her hesitation. The crack in her certainty. But the doubt is still there.
“You thought I bought that for her?” I ask quietly.
She swallows. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I don’t answer straight away. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out the box. Her eyes drop to it immediately.
“What’s that?” she asks, her voice suddenly smaller.
I hold it out to her. “Open it.”
She doesn’t move. “Rory…”
“Just open it.”
Slowly, cautiously, she takes the box from my hand.
Her fingers tremble slightly as she flips it open.
And then she stills completely. Her breath catches in her throat.
Because there it is. The bracelet. The gold links.
The small key. The diamond catching the light.
But this time… It’s hers. She looks up at me, eyes wide.
“I bought it for you,” I say quietly.
She shakes her head slightly, like she’s trying to process it. “But… the photo…”
“She asked to try it on, she was admiring it” I explain. “I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t even realise anyone was taking pictures. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let her.”
Her gaze drops back to the bracelet. Her fingers brush over it. And then she turns it slightly and sees the engraving. She heaves a deep breath.
“What is…?” she whispers, reading the engraving.
12.05.2001
The date. The day I moved to Oakwood. The day I met her. When she was eight years old and bossy and already telling me where I was allowed to play.
Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Oh my God…”
“I wanted something that meant something,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Not just something expensive. Something… ours.”
Her eyes fill instantly. “Rory…”
“I’ve never bought anything for Sienna like that,” I continue. “Not once. Not in all the years I was with her. In fact, I’ve never bought anything for anyone like that.”
She looks at me again. Really looks this time.
“And I never would.”
Her lip trembles slightly. “I thought…”
“I know what you thought,” I say gently. “But you’re wrong.”
A tear slips down her cheek. “I felt so stupid,” she whispers.
“You’re not stupid.”
“I saw it and I just… I panicked.”
“I know.”
“I thought I was just… something easy for you,” she admits quietly. “Something that fits until your real life comes back.”
That hits harder than anything else she’s said. I step closer. Close enough now that I can reach her.
“Freya,” I say softly, lifting my hand to her face. “You are my real life.”
Her eyes search mine with a look of equal uncertainty and hope.
“There is no version of my life where I choose that over this,” I continue. “Over you.”
Her breath trembles.
“You don’t have to compete with anyone,” I murmur. “Because there is no one else.”
Another tear slips down her cheek. And this time she doesn’t wipe it away. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be.”
“I didn’t even ask you. I just assumed…”
“You were protecting yourself.”
She nods slightly. “I was scared.”
“I know.”
I brush my thumb gently over her cheek. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
That breaks whatever was left of her composure. She steps forward, her arms wrapping around me tightly, like she needs to feel that I’m actually here. I hold her just as tightly.
“Idiot,” she mumbles into my chest.
I laugh. “Rude.”
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me, eyes still glassy. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I am.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. Then glances down at the bracelet again. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours.”
She looks back at me. And this time… There’s no doubt there. Just warmth. Just something steady and real.
“Put it on me?” she asks softly.
I take it from the box, gently fastening it around her wrist, my fingers brushing against her skin as I do. It fits perfectly.
“It’s perfect,” she whispers.
I lean down, pressing my forehead lightly against hers.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “It is.”