Page 10 of Blindsided By You

“Not great either, to be honest.” The confidence from earlier is gone. Her voice, thinner now, cracked at the edges.

“At least you’re not going round biting people.”

Her mouth twitches, then she shakes her head. “No, not yet.”

She could sink her teeth into me any day—not that I’d say it out loud.

Jenna drops her gaze, twisting a ring on her finger, her teeth catching at her lip. I watch her hesitate, weighing something in her mind. On impulse, I reach out, laying my hand over hers, offering a gentle squeeze.

I can’t imagine what she’s been through. One minute, she’s running PR for a pro rugby team—jetting across the UK, a big office at Highlanders HQ in Glasgow, probably a slick city apartment too.Working alongside her dad, who she’s always adored. Then, in the blink of an eye, it’s all gone.

Suddenly she’s back in Cluanie, living a nightmare—her mum sick, then gone in just a few months. And now she’s in this house, big enough to fit a rugby pitch inside, rattling around with only Razor and that evil bloody dog for company.

How the hell did Fiona Sharpe cope? With her husband always away, her daughter too. Alone in this mansion—surely she was lonely? Maybe that’s why she got the dog. Probably why he resents all these strangers invading his space, the little fucker nipping at people to make his point.

As if she’s read my mind, Jenna waves a hand at the house. “And then Dad does this. Rips Andy out of the only home he’s ever known, sets us up here. It’s so big, I even get lost sometimes.”

“It’s impressive,” I say, although I’m not sure it’s a compliment.

“When Mum was in hospice, Dad got it in his head to buy her a new house. Thought we’d all move in, start fresh once she got better. He couldn’t face the truth. Guess he was trying to make up for always being away.”

I don’t speak. What the hell can you say to that? Razor comes over as a tough old bugger, but man, he’s been through some tough shit. No surprise it had him making crazy decisions.

Jenna exhales a deep sigh. “Do you ever look back and wish you could make different choices?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. She already knows hers. “God, I do. I could have come home more. What would it have hurt? To skip a weekend clubbing in Glasgow and come home instead? Two hours in the car. But before she got sick, I came home what—maybe two or three times a year?

“And I could have called her every day, instead of once a week. It was always Thursdays at two—before her piano students. Like she was just another task on my to-do list.”

She presses her lips together, closing her eyes for a moment. A deep furrow between her brows. The weight of regret sitting heavy on her shoulders.

Her words hit close to home. Sure, I’ve been thousands of miles away. Ducking home for a weekend was never an option, but I know, even if it had been—like Jenna—I wouldn’t have made the effort. Not with my father waiting to pounce on me the moment I walked in the door. At least this time, with Mum sick, he’s been less ferocious, his mind on her, not on how useless his son is.

Jenna’s guilt triggers my own. My mother deserves better. It’s not her fault Dad hates everyone but her. Jenna’s weekly phone calls home seem a pretty damn good track record; something she should be proud of. Me, I might have phoned Mum no more than a couple of times a year, outside of her birthday, Mother’s Day, and Christmas.

A trickle of hot shame creeps through me. I’ve been a slack bastard and I have no excuse for lumping my mother in with the bad feelings that even mention of Cluanie always stirred in me; feelings that stem mostly from my father. Unlike me, Jenna has no reason to be ashamed.

“But you did call her, Jenna. I bet she looked forward to Thursdays.”

Her smile is sad. “She did. I swear most weeks she’d made a list of things to tell me—who’d just had a baby, who’d moved away or moved back—the latest gossip, even if I didn’t know who the hell she was talking about half the time. Someone’s mother, brother or greataunt. She knew them all.” We both shake with laughter, knowing how the jungle drums never stop in this small town. “Sometimes we’d spend an hour. Might have been longer if she didn’t have some kid knocking on the music room door.”

“There you go,” I say. “Your Mum knew how much you loved her. I don’t doubt it. You shouldn’t either, not even for a second. I think it’s human nature to look back and wonder if we should have done something different. We all have regrets about the things we’ve done or haven’t done, but you can’t change the past, Jenna. Just remember the good bits and keep moving forward.”

The words are as much for myself, as her.

“Listen to you, Geordie MacDonald,” she says, her voice soft. “All grown-up and wise, too.”

“Well, I don’t know about wise,” I laugh. “No one’s ever called me that before. But you know, if you need someone to talk to, someone who knew her—and if it’s too hard to talk to your Dad—I’m here, for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot, Geordie,” she says. “Thank you.” She pauses a moment, looking at me, one dark brow softly arched. “Maybe we can get a drink sometime?”

“I’d like that,” I say. The offer of a listening ear was genuine, with no expectation of anything in return, but there’s a selfish part of me whooping in pleasure, knowing I’ve opened up a way to spend more time with Jenna. It urges me to make damn sure by getting her number. “I’ll text you. Or you can text me when you’re free. Here, give me your number.” I pull my phone from my back pocket and pass it to her.

There’s something totally captivating about Jenna that urges me to shove aside all the reasons she should be off-limits. I’m trying hardto keep a smug grin off my face as she takes my phone and taps in her number with shiny red pointed nails.

I shiver at the sight of those nails, imagining how they might feel raking down my back. My mind descends into another bout of filthy thoughts. I shouldn’t be having those thoughts about my sister’s friend, worse still my Coach’s daughter, because from thoughts come actions. Acting on those thoughts could well see her father tossing me out of the team, taking away my rugby—the best thing that’s happened to me lately—and I can’t imagine how I’ll survive Cluanie without it.

Still, the moment my phone’s back in my hand, I fire off a text to her number straight away. If she sees a message from me there, perhaps she’ll actually make good on the suggestion. I’ll be waiting, even if meeting up with Jenna is probably the worst idea I’ve had in a long time.

Chapter 6

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