22. Ollie
ollie
“You mean to say that you’re falling in love—”
“Whoa.” I held up my hands.
At least, I thought I did. Were there three of them? Did I grow a third hand? Or worse—was I a bloody wolf staring at my paw?
“Feeecking hell,” I groaned, letting my arms—or paws—drop to my lap. “I’m pissed.”
The room spun. I couldn’t remember the last time I drank this much. Probably for a reason. Of course, this was the moment—when my head felt like a balloon full of whiskey—someone decided to accuse me of falling in love. Perfect timing. Bloody perfect.
“I’m not in love,” I moaned, slumping over the edge of the table like it might save me from Will’s relentless judgment.
We’d ended up at a pub down the block from my townhouse after I’d called him, only to find he wasn’t at home. This was safer somehow. Less personal. Not safe enough, clearly, because I was here, piss drunk, listening to my best mate call me out.
“I’ve been your friend for years,” Will said, leveling me with that knowing look of his. “And I’ve never seen you interested in a girl, mate.”
I tipped my pint toward him. “This isn’t interest. It’s—”
“It’s distraction.” He raised his glass like he was delivering a bloody eulogy.
“If I’m being honest, I’ve been harder on you on the field because your head’s not where it used to be.
Your focus is shot.” He smirked, leaning back in his chair.
“And now, here we are. At a pub. You’re piss drunk the day before a game. Explain that to me, eh?”
“Fire me,” I groaned, slumping against the sticky wooden table.
“I’m not going to do that,” Will said flatly, waving for the waitress.
“It’s complicated . . . I hate complicated.”
“I’m going to make you tell me what’s going on.”
“Wah.” I mock cried, dragging out the sound as I reached for the pint.
Before I could so much as touch the glass, Will intercepted it. “Water,” he told the waitress. “He needs water.”
“Mother,” I muttered.
“I heard that, you twat,” Will snapped, not missing a beat.
“Fuck off,” I grumbled, folding my arms across my chest like a sulking teenager.
“You’re the one who called me.” He fixed me with that piercing, no-bullshit gaze of his. “So tell me about her.”
“I regret calling you.” I glared at him.
“Great.” Will crossed his hands across his chest. “I’ll repeat it, then. Tell me about her.”
“I, ugh. She’s pregnant.”
He knew who she was because we’d spent the night traipsing all around the area a couple months ago when I’d forced him to help me find her.
“Oh shit.”
I held up both hands like I’d been caught mid-crime. “Not my baby. She was pregnant when she got here.”
“Double shit.”
“Right.” I sighed, grabbing the water the waitress set down in front of me. “I took her out to Camden Market—”
“Very British of you.”
“Anyway,” I bit back, annoyed. “I found out who her ex is.” My voice dropped, or at least I thought it did. “Austin Hart.”
Will pursed his lips like I’d handed him a crossword clue with no hints. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
I threw my phone at him, the screen already open to the grim rabbit hole I’d been obsessively scrolling through for hours. Articles, images, the works. The centerpiece of it all? A grainy photo of Nova with cocaine on her arse while Austin had a rolled bill in his nose.
“Holy. Sheet. Is this Nova?” He pointed to the photo of her in the article.
I didn’t even hesitate—I yanked the phone out of his grasp so fast I nearly knocked over my water.
“What the fuck, mate?”
“You don’t need to be looking at her like that.” My voice was sharp, seething.
Will raised his hands in surrender, eyebrows lifting. “Alright, alright. No need to lose your head.” He slowly brought his hands back down like he didn’t want to make any sudden movements. “When’d you find this all out? Today?”
I nodded.
“Fuck, mate. That’s tough.”
“So if I’m a little distracted and pissed, it’s rightfully so,” I shot back, trying to justify myself.
“Nah.” Will shook his head, taking another swig of his pint. “Alright, listen. You’re here with me, pissed the night before a game, instead of figuring out how to be there for the woman you clearly care about. Wrong move. Absolutely the wrong move.”
I clenched my jaw and grabbed my water, taking a long sip and trying to sober up for whatever lecture was coming.
“Listen, I love you, mate. I’ve known you for years.
You were one of the strongest players I’ve ever worked with.
When you decided to retire because of your shoulder, I went to bat for you.
Demanded the team keep you on as a coach because I knew you’d be good at it.
And you are. You’re a good coach, Ollie. ”
I frowned, unsure where this was heading.
“That’s what you do. You help people. You fix things.
And Nova? She’s been through the bloody wringer.
Look at the shit on your phone. If even half of that’s true, she needs someone steady, someone who won’t fuck off when things get hard.
And what are you doing?” He gestured around us, frustration etched into his face.
“You’re here. With me. Getting pissed. Wrong fucking move, Ollie. ”
His words hit me square in the chest, and I leaned back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. “I don’t know how to . . .”
“Don’t overthink it,” Will interrupted. “You don’t need a grand plan.
She doesn’t need some knight in shining armor.
She needs you. The guy who stands there, takes the hits with her, and stays when the dust settles.
So sober the fuck up and get your head in the game—on and off the field.
” Will clinked his pint against my water glass, then took a sip.
“You’ve got this, mate. Just stop mucking it up. ”
“I already have,” I groaned, guilt washing over me. “I’ve messed it all up.”
“If any of that shit on your phone is true, she’s been through it. More than most people can handle. And now? She’s pregnant, carrying his baby, in another country, and all alone.”
“She has her friend,” I muttered weakly, the excuse sounding pathetic even to me.
Will raised an unimpressed brow. “One friend? Come on, mate. You think one person is enough for everything she’s carrying? Especially when you’re clearly part of the equation now?”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I don’t know how to fix this. How do I make her feel better?”
“You remember when Charlie got taken out last season? That nasty ankle break? Everyone thought his career was done.”
I nodded, the memory vivid. “Yeah, I stayed after training, worked with him. Got him back on his feet.”
“Exactly.” Will pointed a finger at me. “You didn’t have to do that. You did because that’s who you are. You’re a fixer. You see someone struggling, and you step up. It’s who you’ve always been.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “This isn’t a bloody ankle, Will. This is Nova. This is so much bigger than anything I know how to handle.”
He leaned forward, rocking the creaky wooden pub chair. “You don’t have to handle it all. You only need to be there. She doesn’t need a solution, Ollie. She needs someone in her corner. Someone who doesn’t flinch when shit gets messy. That’s it.”
I looked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “What if I mess it up?”
“You might,” he admitted with a shrug. “But running away? That’s the only way you’re guaranteed to lose her.” He reached across the table and clapped me on the shoulder. “Go home. Sleep it off. Then figure out what you’re going to do. Because this?” He gestured to the pub. “This isn’t the answer.”
Will leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms like he was entirely satisfied with his lecture. “Alright, mate. I’ll cover the beers tonight. Consider it my contribution to your epiphany.”
I rolled my eyes, finishing off my water.
“And one more thing, you better be sober and sharp for tomorrow’s game. It’s a big one, and I don’t fancy watching you ball it up because you’re too hungover to think straight.”
I huffed out a laugh, standing up and shoving my hands into my pockets. “Yeah, yeah. Cheers for the words of wisdom, Mother Will.”
He grinned. “You’re welcome, twat. Now go home and sort your shit out before I regret being nice.”
I waved him off, shaking my head as I walked out of the pub. The cool night air hit my face, sobering me further. Step by step, I made my way back to my home, Will’s words replaying in my mind.
I had a lot to figure out, but at least I wasn’t going to face it pissed. Or alone.