Chapter 13 Ollie
ollie
I must’ve done something right today because after the worst bollocking from Will for being the worst bloody assistant coach he’s ever seen, the universe decided to cut me some slack. Seeing Nova was already a win. Seeing Nova without a shirt? That had to be some kind of divine reward.
I was being a gentleman. I was trying to be a gentleman. But I wasn’t blind, and I had fucking eyes—eyes that had been dying to look at her again. Hands that had been itching to touch her. And my heart? It was bloody near clawing out of my chest to check if she was okay.
So I peeked.
Go on, take me to court.
Her black lace bra clung to her perfectly, delicate and intricate against her beautiful skin. The way the lace framed her curves made it impossible to look away, even for a second longer than I should. Her hair was straight today, falling loose and soft around her shoulders.
I noticed her stomach. Slightly rounder, like she’d been eating better, taking care of herself. It suited her—made her look strong, made her glow in a way that was quietly devastating.
Christ, Nova. It wasn’t that she was beautiful—she was everything.
She finished dressing and muttered, “Done.”
I quickly looked away, yanked the towel off the door, and tossed it in the back seat before sliding into the driver’s side. Nova hesitated for a beat, then pulled open the passenger door and climbed in beside me.
“You feeling better?”
She sighed, long and tired.
“Come on, Nova.” I glanced at her. “You’ve all but frozen me out of your life.”
“It’s for the best, Ollie.”
“It’s not,” I snapped and slammed the car door shut.
“It’s fucking not because, no matter what you’ve done, you’re embedded in my goddamned brain.
I can’t sleep without thinking of you. I can’t work without looking around the pitch, hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of you.
And when I do, you don’t look at me. You don’t even glance back. Fuck.”
I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath, and when I opened them, her jaw was hanging open, her eyes wide.
“I hate him.” My voice dropped to something quieter but sharper, angrier. “I fucking hate the man who made you think this—we—could be wrong. I hate him for hurting you. I fucking hate him.”
She blinked at me, stunned into silence, and for a moment, the air between us was thick, heavy with everything I couldn’t say and everything she wouldn’t.
I shook my head, the weight of everything crashing over me—anger, disgust, sadness all clawing at my chest. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even piece together what I wanted to say, so I stayed silent.
I pulled the car toward the training grounds, my grip on the steering wheel tight, knuckles white.
Training was going to be a bloody mess. I was a wreck—an absolute wreck—and there wasn’t a single thing I could do to pull myself together. The more I tried, the more she unraveled me.
When I finally parked, I kept my eyes forward, refusing to look at her. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d fall apart completely.
“Mum’s coming to the game in a couple days,” I said. “She says she wants to see you. She’ll be here after practice if you want to stick around.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I didn’t dare look at her. I got out of the car, slammed the door, and walked away, my boots crunching against the gravel. I kept my focus on the training ground ahead, ignoring the ache in my chest and the pull to glance back.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand it.
Nova was stitched into the very threads of who I was. I needed to let her go, to cut her out of me completely. The truth was, I didn’t know if I had the strength to do it.
Training went . . . as it always did. Between Will chewing me out earlier, calling me the “biggest bloody waste of assistant coach talent” he’d ever seen, and running into Nova, my mind was shot.
I couldn’t focus. My commands to the team were sharp but automatic, the usual phrases rolling off my tongue without thought.
“Get low on the tackle.”
The lads grunted in response, pushing through scrums and lineouts with the kind of determination that usually made me proud.
Eventually Will called it. Training was over. The players clapped each other on the back, dragging their tired bodies toward the changing room. I stayed behind, needing a moment to myself. I grabbed my clipboard and turned toward the sideline—and stopped dead in my tracks.
There, standing by the edge of the pitch, was my mum. She was chatting with Nova, her animated hand gestures matching her usual warmth. But it wasn’t the sight of them talking that froze me. It was the way my mum’s hand rested gently on Nova’s stomach.
Nova’s stomach.
My breath hitched, the clipboard slipping slightly in my grip. It was a small, subtle gesture, but people didn’t go around holding each other’s stomachs . . . unless . . .
No.
No. That wouldn’t—
Wait.
No. That would make sense. It would absolutely, one hundred percent make sense.
But . . . who?
Unless it was . . . his?
“You coming in?” Will’s voice broke through my haze, snapping me back to reality for a moment.
“No,” I muttered, my eyes still fixed on the two figures at the sideline. “Mum’s here, so I’m going to say hi.”
“Cool.” Will shrugged, waving in their direction.
Mum waved back, radiating her usual excited energy. Nova, on the other hand, looked like she said something to Mum before turning and heading toward the car park.
“Gotta run.” I barely registered Will’s response as my legs moved on instinct.
I broke into a full sprint. I wasn’t letting her disappear this time—not without answers. I managed to get into the car park as she walked toward the tube.
“Nova,” I shouted. “Turn around.”
I slowed to a stop as she turned to face me, her expression guarded. My chest heaved from the sprint, but it wasn’t the run that knocked the wind out of me—it was her. The pieces were falling into place.
Baggy sweater, loose jeans. She looked normal enough at first glance, but I’d seen it earlier. That slight, swollen curve of her stomach.
I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to her middle again. It wasn’t in my head.
“You’re pregnant?”
Her eyes widened, and she looked down quickly, like she was trying to make herself disappear. For a second, I thought she was going to bolt. My hands twitched, ready to reach for her, to stop her from running, but then her gaze snapped back to mine. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She brought her hand up, holding an envelope tightly between her fingers. “And inside this . . . I’ll know the sex of the stupid pomegranate.”
My mouth opened, but nothing coherent came out. “Oh. Okay.”
What else could I say? My thoughts were spinning, trying to catch up. If she knows the gender . . . then she’s far along enough . . . fuck. What I said earlier about her ex. He was the dad. He had to be . . .
“I’m so sorry, Nova,” I sputtered. “I told you I hated him, and I didn’t mean—god, I had no idea you were—”
“I hate him, too.” Her voice trembled as she stared down at the pavement. “He also has no idea.”
The weight of what she’d said sank in, rooting me in place. Everything about her—her guarded eyes, her hesitant stance—screamed that she was bracing herself for judgment.
And all I could feel was a fierce, inexplicable need to protect her from it. From everything.
“I-I don’t know what to say,” I said honestly.
Normally, I was a man of a lot of words, but I was stunned into silence.
“Your mom knows. I don’t know how she figured it out, but she did when I met her.” She glanced up before looking down again. “I figured you saw her hand on me, and now we’re here . . .”
“Are you okay? Like is everything . . .?”
“Totally fine. That’s the problem?” She scrunched her nose. “Agh. That’s fucked up to say. I don’t mean that I wish something to be wrong, but this was a wild card.” She chuckled. “I found out I was pregnant on the flight out here.”
“Shit.” I shook my head as small raindrops began to fall. “I-uh—I gotta go get my mum so she doesn’t freeze to death.” I fumbled. “I’m supposed to take her to dinner before she heads to her hotel. Dad’s coming tomorrow.”
“Cool,” Nova replied, her voice tight, shaking her head a little as if trying to snap herself out of whatever spiral she was in.
Yet neither of us moved. The rain came down harder, the drops starting to soak through my coat and plaster her sweater to her skin. Still, we stood there.
She finally broke the moment, shoving the envelope deep into her bag, her fingers trembling slightly. “I should get going then,” she said flatly.
“Wait,” I blurted, the word spilling out of me before I could stop it. “Who’s going to open the envelope with you?”
She froze, furrowing her brows as she stared at me. “Luna. I was going to meet her at the pub by our house.”
“Can Mum and I come?”
She barked out a humorless laugh. “What? No.”
“Why not?” I dramatically held my hand over my heart. “You wound me.”
She shook her head. “You don’t want to know the gender of my pomegranate.”
I took a step closer, the rain dripping steadily between us. “Of course I do.”
“No, you literally don’t.” Her smile slipped slightly. “I hate pity.”
I met her gaze, my tone softening. “I know, love. This isn’t pity. I want to know. Come on. I’ve gotta see if I’m competing with another guy for your attention.”
Nova laughed, a real, genuine laugh that lit up her face for a brief moment. “No one is competing because no one is in the competition.”
“There could be.”
“Ugh,” Nova groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I’m getting wet and cold. Fine. Just come. Same pub as last time.”
“Wait for us, love,” I said, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Can’t make promises,” she shot back, spinning away from me.
With a quick gesture, she hailed a cab, the rain bouncing off her sweater as she climbed in without a second glance.
I shook my head, laughing to myself as I watched her go. She was infuriating, impossible, and absolutely brilliant all at once.
Turning on my heel, I sprinted toward the training ground, determined to grab Mum before Nova actually opened that envelope without us. If the baby was a part of her story, it wouldn’t deter me. I wanted a part of it, too . . . even as a side character.