Page 75 of Blindsided By You

“Tomorrow then?”

“There’s the stupid bloody hike with the guys.” He gives an irritated huff. “I’d bail on it, but Connor’s done all the planning, organising the gear. I feel—”

“Like you’d be letting him down. I getit. Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.”

He leans in. There’s a tentative hesitation before he presses a single, delicate kiss to my lips. I slip out of the van. Rather than watch him disappear into the night, I close my eyes and touch my fingers to my mouth, where the warmth of his kiss lingers like a promise.

Chapter 40

JENNA

WatchingGeordieleave,aheavy, aching loneliness settles on my chest. I’m torn between the need to be alone and a craving for company, but with the one person I want most driving away from me, my options are few.

Talk and laughter, underscored by cheesy pop music, tumble from the glowing windows, but the rugby club holds no appeal. It’s almost eight, so already many will have drifted off home to families and dinner. I could do the same, but the house will be empty except for Andy. After the victory over Cluanie’s old foes today, Dad and Grant will hold out for a few more hours.

Instead, I climb into my car and drive to the Railway. If I’m in luck, they’ll still have the pizza oven fired up.

Skylar’s working tonight. She only stayed after the game long enough to congratulate Brandon on his usual flawless performance, then raced off to start her shift at the pub. Maybe a little time swept up in the sweet, pink cloud of positivity that floats around her might help.

However, after ordering my favourite Margherita pizza and a glass of red to go with it, I fob off Skylar’s offer to sit at one end of the bar and chat with her between customers. Instead, I find a dark booth near the back wall—it matches my mood.

I sip my wine, my head swirling.

When faced with other people’s disasters, I’m cool and decisive. My own problems, though, leave me reeling. These past few weeks have been like a relentless rollercoaster ride—one I can’t escape. My world tilts and spins, shifting beneath me. I can’t tell which way is up, my vision struggling to lock onto the horizon. I’m too paralysed by fear to call for help, and no one’s going to stop the damn thing.

A thought pushes through the confusion: I should text Dad, let him know where I am. As I lean down to find my phone in my handbag, I become aware of the familiar, dull pulsing—a sinister Morse code tapping out a warning message inside my skull. In my peripheral vision, something flickers, like an F1 marshal waving a chequered flag at the finish line. I recognise the signs. Unless I take action, a migraine is coming.

Moving quickly, I dig into my handbag and find Rain’s herbal headache remedy. I roll a little on each fingertip, then lean forward, head in hands, elbows on the table, massaging my temples. The combination of gentle pressure, the repetitive circling of my fingers, and the woody scent bring some relief.

A few minutes later, I hear footsteps approaching and turn, ready to thank the server for the speedy delivery of my meal. But it’s not pizza—it’s Kyle Stewart. Before I can protest, he drops two glasses onto the table and slides into the booth across from me.

“Glad I caught you here, Jenna,” he says, his handsome face lit up with arrogant confidence. On anyone else, I’d describe his smileas sincere. With Kyle, it smacks of smugness, as if he’s a cat who’s cornered a mouse a second time, planning to torment it some more.

“I’mnot,” I snap at him. The situation with Geordie, my unbalanced state, the threat of a migraine, and now Kyle Stewart. What a fucked-up day.

“Yeah, well, I thought you’d feel that way, but that’s why I came over.”

“So you can make my day even worse than it’s already been with more stupid comments?”

“No, because I want to apologise for my stupid comments. And shout you a drink.”

He slides a glass towards me. Golden liquid splashes against the sides. The wood-smoke smell of whisky drifts upwards. “Jenna, how I behaved at the club—I’m not usually like that, not these days. I told you, I’ve changed. But sometimes, out with the lads, I slip back into my old bad habits. It’s fucked up, I know, but words just come out of my mouth without thinking sometimes.”

I snort derisively. Everyone’s telling me this is a new, improved version of Kyle Stewart. I’m still not seeing it. I glare at him. He’s not deterred.

“So yeah, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking the piss about you and Geordie Mac. He’s a good guy and you’re a great girl, and any mug can see you’re good together. Except perhaps your father, and that’s probably not a bad thing, eh?”

He laughs at his own little joke.

“Kyle—” I raise a weary hand, but he ignores it and carries on.

“Jenna, I can only dream of someone looking at me the way you look at Geordie. It’s like those silly little heart-eye emojis my sister puts in her texts. And he’s sending them right back at you. GuessI’m envious. That’s why I’m giving you shit about it.” He pauses, an unexpected wistfulness in his eyes. “Because it’s something I don’t know if I’ll ever have. Not that I deserve it.” His voice trails away, low and unexpectedly sad.

Kyle’s quiet, underlying despair knocks me off balance. He doesn’t see himself as deserving of love, and yet I desperately want to tell him he’s wrong. Everyone deserves love—even Kyle—and shouldexpect to find it.They shouldn’t abandon hope of being loved.

As I look into his hazel eyes—normally sparking with trouble but now dimmed by quiet inner sadness—I see a mirror reflecting my own crippling doubt, clear and confronting.If Kyle is wrong, I’ve been wrong, too. I see myself as unworthy of love, so I keep Geordieat arm’s length, despite his readiness to give it to me. I refuse to allow our relationship to go where both of us want.

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