Page 34 of Blindsided By You

He breaks the embrace, but we stay close. I lie beside him, the two of us like parallel lines, headed in the same direction off into infinity.

“It’s the same for me,” he says. “All of it. Really, I have no idea why I came back to Cluanie. A whole lot of reasons, I suppose.”

“You didn’t enjoy your work?”

“Yeah, I did, but I was tired of the rigs. The heat. The close conditions. God, what it’s like to have your own room, space, privacy. The money was no longer enough for me.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Perhaps it was ego. Come back here and let everyone see that Geordie MacDonald, who barely scraped through school, wasn’t stupid after all.”

“I never thought you were stupid. You always seemed such a bright, lively kid.”

Oops, there it is—the word slipping out without thought, emphasising the six years between us. The age gap has evaporated in these last few days, and I’m sorry for bringing it up, but he doesn’t pick up on it.

“Thanks.” His eyes are grateful. “You weren’t there for the worst of it.” A swallow bobs past his Adam’s apple as he deliberates. “I struggled at primary school, but mostly I could bluff my way through. Memorised whole books so it looked like I could actually read them aloud. Made sure I had plenty to say in class discussions so the teachers thought I knew what I was talking about. Threw sickies whenever there was something written I wanted to avoid.”

“But your mum’s a nurse,” I scoff. “Surely she would have known?”

“I was a very good actor. And she wasn’t so hard to convince, not when she was coming off a night shift. She’d be too tired to argue. Just sigh, send me back to bed, and phone the school.” He chuckles to himself, like the naughty kid he was, a childish pride at conning his mother. It trickles away as he goes on, the light moment gone, as a sad seriousness creeps into his expression. “But high school got tough. I couldn’t hide it so well. As the school became more concerned, Mum became more insistent I go. Dad was on her case too.” From what I saw, Geordie’s dad was always on someone’s case. “He saw school as her responsibility. All the other stuff we had to do—the piano, tennis lessons, chess coach, Rachel’s ballet and horse riding—was at Dad’s insistence, and he made damn sure we went. He’d have shipped us off to some posh school too, but Mum argued we go to school locally. Her punishment for his agreement was she always dealt with school stuff. He held her accountable.”

I know these things. Rachel’s father was—is, I doubt he’s changed—a bastard. While her ability to navigate school successfully kept her in his good graces, from everything she’s said I know, even when he was young, Geordie bore the brunt of his father’s overbearing expectations. There’s remembered pain on his face; it’s drawn, his jaw tense.

“The school tried to help. They put me in the low stream, sent me to remedial reading, but I hated it. Gave up trying. Every year it got worse. Typical story of an undiagnosed dyslexic kid,” he shrugs.

“How did you find out you’re dyslexic?”

I know a little about it. One of the Highlanders’ players a couple of years back confided in me. While it didn’t have much impact on his job as a professional sportsman, so many things I took for granted—sitting my driving test, applying for a passport, signinga sales contract for a car—all these everyday things were a huge challenge for him. This has been Geordie’s life.

“When I was in trade school. One of the tutors—her son was dyslexic—she had me pegged from the day I walked into her class. A week later, she asked me to stay behind after the class. Got me to go get an assessment, matched me up with the right reading tutor. Saved me, really.”

“So you can read now?”

“It’s still challenging, but I manage.” He huffs out a laugh. “Hard to believe, but I even ‘read’ real books,” he says, making air quotes. “Got into it on one of the rigs. I bunked with this guy who’d sit on his bed, with a phone in his hand and headphones on, and sometimes he’d be laughing to himself. I got curious. Asked him what the hell was so funny? A movie or something? But no, he had an audiobook playing while he’d read the actual book on the phone. Fucking brilliant. So I gave it a try.”

“That’s great, Geordie. I love that for you.” My mouth tips up in a genuine smile at the thought he too has the pleasure of books available to him.

Reading has always been such an escape for me. No one in the Highlanders organisation ever suspected serious, business-like Jenna MacDonald, media manager, was reading fluffy romance novels on her phone on all those long team bus trips.

Guess I still believe in happily ever afters even though mine hasn’t come along. Or has it? I don’t want to hope for much beyond this room, but this doesn’t feel like a casual hook-up, certainly not for me, and the way he looks at me suggests Geordie’s thinking that way too.

“Anyway,” he says. “Coming back to Scotland was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.” His voice is softer, his eyes fixed on mine. The message running beneath those words is unmistakable. “Maybe it was meant to be, us back home, together, at the same time?”

In true Jenna style, I deflect; damping down the emotion threatening to swamp me.

“Not sure Dad and Rachel will be too impressed with the universe throwing us together.”

“Well, no disrespect,” he says, “but your dad and Rachel can fuck right off. We’re not kids, Jenna. I don’t care what anyone else thinks—I want to see you, be with you, work out what this is.”

The surety of his words is inescapable. They’re the ones I want to hear, but the intensity in his eyes overwhelms me and I close mine.

“Look at me Jenna,” he says, and I comply. “I’m not putting any limitations on us, and I’m sure as hell not going to let anyone else, either.” I go to drop my chin, turning away from the weight of what he’s saying, but his hand cups my jaw with a gentle but commanding pressure. “I’m not letting you walk away from me when we leave this room. And I don’t think you want me to either.”

“No, I don’t,” I whisper.

“Then whatever this is—we don’t have to put a name on it—let’s give it a chance.” His mouth seeks mine, and I dissolve, sealing our agreement with the taste of whisky and us.

Chapter 18

GEORDIE

Jenna’sheadrestsinthe curve of my collarbone as if someone has hand-sculpted our bodies for a perfect fit. I doze, comfortable with the gentle rise and fall of her breath on my chest as it tickles the hairs. She snuffles a little, almost a snore and it’s so fucking adorable I ache with an overwhelming need for her.

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