Page 28 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Because I’m trying to protect us!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she crossed her arms over her chest as if to steady herself. “Do you think I enjoy walking on eggshells, worrying about how every single thing I do will affect us? Do you know how exhausting that is?”

“Exhausting?” George laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Try being the guy who has to watch his girlfriend’s life play out in tabloids and Instagram posts, wondering where the hell he fits in all of it! Try being the guy who feels like a ghost when she walks into a room because everyone else sees her first, and no one gives a damn about him!”

“Jealousy,” Myst said sharply, her voice cutting through his like the crack of a whip. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You’re jealous. Of my career. Of my world. And instead of figuring out how we can make this work, you keep punishing me for it.”

“Punishing you?” He stepped closer, wanting to reach for her but afraid to while he was this angry. “I’ve been nothing but supportive. But maybe…” he stopped himself, jaw tightening before he finally finished. “Maybe I just can’t handle it anymore. Maybe I’m not cut out for this public circus of yours.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Her words came out quieter, but no less sharp. The anger had drained from her voice, leaving behind something raw and hollow. “Maybe we are too different. Maybe trying to bridge this gap between us is asking too much.”

George stared at her, his hands clenching and releasing at his sides. Her gaze didn’t waver, but he saw the flicker of pain in her eyes. It mirrored his own.

“Fine,” he muttered, the word landing like an anchor between them.

“Fine,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The silence roared louder than their shouting had. She looked away first, swallowing hard before she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her hand resting on the handle, but then she yanked it open and walked out. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound reverberating through the quiet room.

George stood frozen in place, staring at the spot where she’d been moments ago. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the anger giving way to a hollow ache in his chest. Alone again, the silence pressed in on him, suffocating and unrelenting.

George sat slumped on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the muted TV. The neon lights of Paris blinked through the curtains, mocking him with their brightness. He replayed the fight in his head, dissecting each line, each accusation, each regret. His frustration had boiled over, sure, but it wasn’t just anger. It was fear. Fear that she didn’t need him the way he needed her. Fear that he would always be a step behind in her world, never quite catching up.

“Bloody idiot,” he muttered under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand and he picked it up to look at it, hoping against hope it was Myst, saying something that would magically make everything better.

No. Just a message from an old friend, who’d reached out to connect on hearing he was in Paris.Mate, come to Toulouse. Could use your help with some drills. Plus, Elisa misses your terrible jokes.

George exhaled, the corners of his mouth tugging into the faintest of smiles. Maybe some space was exactly what he needed, to clear his head, to figure out what he really wanted, and how to stop this spiral of insecurity before it swallowed him whole.

The next morning, he found Jessie in the hotel lobby, nursing a coffee that smelled strong enough to wake the dead. She raised an eyebrow as he approached.

“Come to grovel already?” she asked dryly, sipping her drink.

“Not yet,” he said, his tone subdued but firm. “I need to take some time, Jess. Heading to see a friend in Toulouse for a few days. Can you... can you let Myst know?”

Jessie studied him for a long moment, her sharp gaze softening slightly. “Sure,” she said finally. “A few days’ space might be for the best right now. But for what it’s worth, George, she’s been happier these past few weeks than I’ve seen her in years. Don’t let this thing between you two go down without a fight. She’s worth it. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, nodding. “I do.”

“Good.” Jessie stood, dusting croissant crumbs off her jeans. “Now go sort yourself out, mate. And come back ready to fix this mess.”

“Working on it,” George replied, grabbing his bag. As he walked out of the lobby, the weight of the city seemed to lift slightly off his shoulders. There was still a storm brewing between him and Myst, but maybe he could find a way to weather it.

The rugby ball spun lazily in the air, arching high above the green expanse of the park before landing with a satisfying smack against Tommy Raedecker’s broad palms. George stood a few feet away, his hands on his hips, squinting up at the French sky that seemed unnaturally blue, as if it had been painted on. The shouts of children echoed around them, mingling with the distant clink of café cups and the occasional chirp of birds darting between the sycamore trees.

“Still got that throw,” Tommy said with a grin, tossing the ball back to George. “But I reckon you’ve lost a step or two since I last saw you. Getting soft, are we?”

“Soft?” George snorted, catching the ball easily despite Tommy’s jab. “You’re one to talk. When was the last time you ran more than ten meters without wheezing?”

“Oi, careful now.” Tommy raised an eyebrow, mockingly offended. “Assistant coach, mate. Strategy’s my game these days.”

“Strategy,” George repeated, shaking his head. He rolled the ball absentmindedly along his forearm, the familiar texture grounding him for a moment. It felt good to be out here, under the open sky, surrounded by something simple. Something real.

“Alright, alright, break it up, you two,” Tommy’s wife Elisa called from where she sat on a picnic blanket nearby. Her blonde hair gleamed in the sun as she leaned back on her hands, watching their twin boys dart around the playground like two little whirlwinds. “George came here for a break, not for you to relive your glory days, Tom.”

“Glory days? She makes it sound like I’m ancient,” Tommy muttered, but there was no heat in his words as he jogged over to join Elisa, plopping down beside her with a contented grunt and leaning in for a kiss.

George followed more slowly, tucking the ball under one arm as he approached. The scene in front of him felt like it belonged in one of those picture-perfect ads for wholesome living; a laughing couple, their kids bounding around, a breeze ruffling through the park. It was so different from the chaos of tour buses and flashing cameras that had become his reality lately. So different from Myst’s world.

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