by Amy Daws
I’m on my feet in less than a second. “Buried the lead there, didn’t you?” She smiles a coy smile and shrugs her shoulders while I barrel past her and make my way down.
My eyes first land on Roan and Allie, the two of them dressed in black and standing beside my father as they pay their respects. I stride over, and Roan sees me coming.
He opens his arms for a hug that I accept willingly. God, I’ve missed him. “Ag, Mac. I’m so sorry about your grandad. He was the shit.”
I smile at his choice of phrase and turn to hug Allie next, dropping a kiss to her cheek. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She pulls back, and her eyes are teary. “Are you doing okay?”
I nod and glance around, looking for Freya. “I’m all right. I had some good moments with him before the end.”
Allie reaches out and strokes my arm. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ve missed you in London.”
I nod, and my eyes continue to wander. “Is Freya with you?”
Allie’s hand falls from my arms, and her expression shifts from sympathetic to guarded. “She was out on the front porch I believe.” I step away from them to go find her, and Allie leaps into my path. “Mac…just…be gentle with her.”
My stomach sinks as I look down at Allie with shame and regret. I deserve this after everything I said to Freya. I reach out and touch Allie’s arm. “I will be, Al. I promise.”
When I walk outside, I find Freya sipping a whisky with two old men that I recognise as friends of my grandfather. The men are roaring with laughter, and Freya is positively toppled over in her own fit of adorable snort-filled giggles.
When she rights herself, her eyes fly wide the minute they land on me. “What is it with you charming old Scottish men?” I ask, sliding my hands into my pockets.
“Old?” the man I know named Angus huffs. “We’re not old. We’re experienced.”
Freya turns her shocked expression to amusement as she looks over at him. “Angus, you already shared far more than I ever needed to know about your experience.”
My grandfather’s car buddy, Alexander, pipes in next. “Aye…and me too, for that matter. I could have lived the rest of my life never knowing the shite you got up to in Prague.”
“Me too,” Freya says, holding her hand out for a high five to Alexander like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Angus mutters his argument as I step in and hold my hand out to Freya. “Do you mind if I steal her for a moment, gentlemen?”
Freya gazes at my offered hand for a second before standing up on her own. My eyes drink in the sight of her in a fitted knee-length pencil dress that hugs all her curves that I swear have shrunk some since last I saw her. She’s lost weight.
I don’t like it.
Her heels clunk on the wooden steps as I guide her into the house and up the stairs. “Where are we going?” she asks, frowning as she glances down the hallway.
“To talk,” I reply, opening my bedroom door for her.
She hesitates at the threshold. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Mac.”
“Just talk, Cookie. Come on; I promise I’m not going to bite.”
She steps in slowly, her eyes cautiously taking in the small room. “What did you want to talk about?”
I sit down on my bed and pat the area next to me. She chews her lip nervously before coming over and perching on the very edge as though she’s ready to sprint away.
“Whisky?” I ask, grabbing the bottle and offering it up to her. “No glasses.”
The corner of her mouth twitches with a smile as she takes the open bottle and tips it to her mouth. Her lips are a lush ruddy colour as they wrap around the amber glass and drink. Her eyes squint shut as she swallows the burning liquid before she hands it back over to me.
“How have you been?” I ask, my voice deep and steady.
She nods for a bit too long. “I’m okay.” She pulls her lip into her mouth and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry about Fergus, Mac. I know you knew it was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. He was such a unique man. One of a kind.”
I shoot her a wry grin and look down at her hands, nervously clenched on her lap. “He was. And even in the end, he was asking for a shot of whisky.”
She smiles fondly. “I’m not surprised.”
I lick my lips and eye her face, taking in her wee freckles like I’m seeing them for the first time all over again, when a mere three months ago, I could have drawn them in a portrait of her perfectly. “I’ve missed you, Freya.”
She turns her head to look forward, refusing to meet my eyes. “You’ve had a rough couple of months.”
My brows tweak. “Aye, that’s true.” I reach out and brush a wisp of her red hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing over her lobes as I do. Her ears are on fire.
She shivers against my touch and pulls away from my embrace. “Mac, don’t.”
“What?” I state, my voice hoarse. “I can’t touch you now?”
She turns her green eyes to me, and instead of seeing uncertainty in their depths, I see fiery passion. “No, you can’t.” She stands up and moves away from the bed. “No, you can’t touch me,” she exclaims again, as she begins pacing back and forth in front of me. “There’s actually a lot you can’t do with me after the last time I saw you. Honestly, being alone with me in a room should be one of those things you can’t do with me.”
She moves towards the door, and I jump up, splaying my hand out on the wood, my face only a foot away from hers when I rush out, “Freya, I love you.”
Her body freezes as her jaw drops. She turns to look up at me with wide, confused eyes. “You what?”
I lick my lips, the words feeling foreign on my tongue because I’ve never said them to a lass in all my life, but there they are. “I love you.”
Her face wrinkles up like she’s confused, and she begins shaking her head side to side. “No, Mac. You don’t.”
She moves to open the door, and I push it closed again. “Yes, Cookie. I do.”
She laughs and grabs the handle again. “You don’t.”
“I do!”
“You don’t!”
“Stop telling me I don’t love you, woman!” I bellow, my muscles tight with anger. “What’s wrong with you?”
She blanches, her face the picture of disillusionment at the scene taking place in front of her. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me is that I’m just finally feeling human again after you chewed me up and spit me out in a Glasgow hotel parking lot. You acted like I was only good enough for you if I went home and slept with you that night. And the moment I turned you down, you treated me like I was a waste of your time and confirmed the fact that everything you ever told me was a lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” I state, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “Christ Freya, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I only wanted to sleep with you. I just wanted to be near you and have you near me again. Nothing I told you when we were together was ever a lie.”
She purses her lips and nods, her eyes red around the edges. “So you just lie when you’re in a fight with someone. Wow, I feel so much better.”
She moves and opens the door a foot before I slam it shut, placing myself like a barricade in front of it so she can’t reach it without going through me. “Freya, when you told me you loved me in my car that day, I wasn’t ready to hear it then.”
“And I’m not ready to hear you say it now, Mac!” Her hands lift helplessly. “You just lost your grandfather. You should be focusing on your grief, not using me as a crutch to get through your pain. You lost that right when you broke my heart two months ago.”
Her words pierce through my heart, but what kills me is the finality of her tone. The conviction in her body language. She’s changed, and I hate it. She doesn’t feel like my Freya anymore. The woman standing before me isn’t her.
“I’m leaving.” She reaches past my hip, her breasts pressing against my front as she grasps for the doorknob. Her scent is intoxi
cating. Her hair brushes my chin, and every bone in my body aches to claim her. This can’t be over. This can’t be it. Freya is mine.
In one final act of desperation, I reach down and grab her face in my hands and pull her to my lips. The taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her against me once again is everything that makes sense in this world. I move my lips against hers, begging and pleading with her to have me. To remember me. To forgive me.
But she’s not moving.
Her lips refuse to part.
Her hands won’t touch me.
Her heart is in a sealed cage that I cannot access.
I pull away an inch, my breath mingling with hers as I stare into her cold, tear-filled eyes. My voice is a desperate plea when I say, “Please, Freya. I’m sorry. You have to know how sorry I am.”
She blinks slowly, and the tears slide down her cheeks like traitors. “It doesn’t matter, Mac. There’s no going back. You ruined us.”
“I didn’t!” I roar, my voice hoarse with desperation as I wrap my arms around her and crush her to my body. The softness of her in my arms is complete and utter perfection. It’s destiny. It’s tragedy. It’s love. “I didn’t ruin us, Freya. Don’t say that.”
“I’ve moved on, Mac,” she adds coldly, her voice devoid of any emotion.
“Bullshit,” I growl, my lip curling in disgust. “You couldn’t have moved on. What we had was too special. You’re mine, and I’m yours. I’ll never give up on us.”
Her chin trembles, and her lips part as she croaks out the words I never expected to hear. “I’ve slept with someone else.”
And with that punishing blow, she pulls out of my embrace and walks away, leaving me shattered.
“I should have never come to Scotland,” I groan, my head bowed into my hands as my elbows rest on top of the sticky bar of the pub. I stare down into the tumbler of whisky between my elbows as I add, “The transfer I made was wrong. Even my grandad could see that. If I could get in a time machine, I’d go back right fucking now and never step foot into Santino’s slimy office.”
I reach down and grab my drink, taking a small sip, and letting the burn sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing. “And now, Freya is fucking someone else.” A chill runs up my spine over the thought of another man’s hands on her body. The image makes me physically ill.
Or maybe that’s the ninth whisky I’m currently drinking.
Roan sighs heavily beside me and grabs the glass out of my hands. “You didn’t expect her to wait for you, did you?”
I turn glazed eyes to him. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, man. Always yours.” He faces forward and swallows my whisky in one gulp. Thief. “But you can’t really blame her after everything that happened.”
I do my best to focus on my friend, but there are currently two of him. Roan and I have been drinking at the pub around the corner from my parents’ house for the past three hours since Freya ran away from me like I’m a bad habit she’s trying to break free of.
“You seriously won’t tell me where Freya and Allie are?” I ask him for the eighteenth time.
He shakes his head without even looking at me. “I made a promise to my wife, and I’m not starting our first year of marriage with broken promises, Mac. No matter how pathetic you look right now.”
I groan and rake my fingers through my hair, mussing it and then tossing my fists out in anger. “I must be an idiot to think that saying three words could make things go back to normal.”
Roan side-eyes me. “You told her you loved her?” He says the words slowly, as if I might miss the question.
I turn my head to him. “Yeah, pal. I told her, and she couldn’t give a shite.”
Roan blinks back his surprise. “I didn’t know you said you loved her.”
“I did, and it didn’t fucking matter. She’s the first woman I’ve ever loved, and she looks at me like I’m fucking dirt. Christ, I’m an idiot.”
I bury my head into my folded arms on the bar, and Roan jerks me out of my wallowing. “Why did you tell her you loved her?”
I frown over at him, trying to make him into one person. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you say it?”
“Because I love her!” I state again, agitated by his ignorant question. “Christ, get your ears checked, you annoying bawbag.”
Roan purses his lips. “You didn’t give her any reasons for why you love her?”
My face crumples up as I look over at him. “No…what reasons?”
Roan huffs out an annoyed noise and turns me to face him on my stool, nearly tipping me off of it in the process. “You can’t break a girl’s heart like you did and expect to just drop an I Love You. Ag, you have to make her believe it, man.”
“She doesn’t want to believe it!” I argue, my muscles turning to mush with every passing minute. “She’s moved on. She’s fucking someone else, and she hates my guts.”
Roan shakes his head from side to side. “If you can look at that girl’s eyes and not see the heartbreak all over her face when she looks at you, then you don’t know her at all.”
A flash of anger shoots through me, and I sit up and grab him by the collar of his shirt. “Don’t tell me I don’t know Freya Cook. I fucking know Freya better than anybody in this entire world.” I release him with a shove and stare forward broodingly. “I know her favourite Netflix programs and that she prefers Indian takeaway over Chinese, but if I say something sweet to her, she’ll always get us Chinese. I know that she’d have more cats in her flat if she wasn’t terrified of Hercules getting the shits over it. I know that I can’t kill a spider in front of her, but she still wants him dead in the end. I know how she takes her coffee and that she hates shop-bought blankets. I know that she says she hates arguing with me, but deep down, I can tell it makes her feel alive and fuck if it doesn’t do the same to me. And I know that her greatest desire in life is just to be seen by someone, even though she acts like she needs no one.”
I turn to face Roan, my hands shaking as realisation dawns on me. “I saw her the moment we stepped into that shop last year, man. I think maybe I’ve loved her since I first met her.”
Roan nods, his mouth tipping into a sad smile. “That’s why you have to fight harder to win her back, you idiot.” He grabs my arm and shakes me. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and wallowing over this move to Glasgow and make her see that you don’t just love her because you miss her. You love her because she’s your entire world, and you’re willing to do anything to be with her.”
“Fuck me,” I grumble, my heart pumping like a maniac. “I’m a damn fool.”
Roan laughs and almost slips off his stool. “You’ve always told me you’re a trainable fool, though.”
“Aye,” I reply, my eyes blinking as I face forward and wonder how hard I have to bash my head into this bar to knock me back in time.
“I’m surprised you didn’t lose my number when you moved to Scotland,” Santino’s voice rings into the phone, making my skin crawl. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
I clear my throat, my head still banging from this shite hangover I have. “Roan told me to call you and ask some questions about my contract.”
I hear a huff of breath on the other line. “Did he now?”
I breathe out slowly through my nose, trying to find my patience with this bawbag. “Santino, I have a crippling headache, so if you could lose the slimy guy act, I’d be most appreciative.”
Santino chuckles as if he enjoys the thought of me in pain. “Do you want out of your contract with your current club?”
I blink in confusion, the question surprising the piss out of me. “Would Bethnal Green actually consider buying out my current contract for a transfer?”
“No,” Santino replies with a laugh, and then I hear the rustling of papers in the background. “But because I knew you were a fucking idiot when you came into my office that day and making rash decisions, the deal your agent and I brokered inc
luded a buy-back clause.”
“What?” I ask, my face twisting up in confusion. A buy-back clause? Christ, I should have paid closer attention to my contract instead of relying on my agent to handle everything. “So, what does that mean exactly?”
“It means that Bethnal Green can buy you back for a fixed amount when the January transfer window opens up if Rangers agree to it.”
“Fucking hell, are you telling me I could be back playing for Bethnal this winter?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Santino confirms, his voice crisp and businesslike. “I’ve already spoken with their team, and they’re interested in sending you back since you’ve been such a shit purchase for them.”
“Jesus Christ, will they agree? Would Bethnal Green be willing to buy me back?” I ask, my heart beating out of my chest as I consider the idea that I could be back home in London in only a few months.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “I’m sure I could get Vaughn to go for it, but I have a personal request that I need to put in front of you before I go and talk him into this.”
“Christ, man, what?” I snap, eager to get this show on the road.
“I need to talk to your sister.”
My body instantly tenses. “No fucking way.”
“Maclay. It’s just talking.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Mac,” Santino growls into the phone. “I set up your contract to Scotland with a buy-back clause because I knew you were making an emotional decision that you might later regret. And I knew that Vaughn wouldn’t let you go without one. You’re too important to this club. So please try to understand that I’m not a bad fucking guy. And there’s shit you don’t know about me. Shit that maybe I’ll tell you someday. But not before I tell your sister, and I don’t want to speak to your sister without your blessing.”
I exhale heavily at his lofty request, absorbing the serious cadence of his voice. What could he have to talk to my sister about? Haven’t they been through enough together? Then I recall how closed off Tilly is about what happened to her, and maybe that’s because the two of them have unfinished business they need to discuss. Maybe my sister actually wants to talk to him.