Page 32 of Star Rucked Lovers

“But…” one of the twins started, but Elisa silenced them with a firm look.

“No arguments,” Tommy added, shooing them back into the dining room. He gave George a subtle nod before disappearing after his family, leaving the hallway suddenly, achingly quiet.

It was just the two of them now. Myst shifted her weight, her fingers clenching and releasing on the strap of her bag as her eyes darted away from his and then back again.

“Can we talk?” she asked, her voice trembling just enough to betray the effort it took to say the words.

“Yeah,” George managed, though his mouth felt dry and his tongue thick. “Yeah, we can... uh, out back. Garden’s probably best.”

“Okay,” Myst said, exhaling like she’d been holding her breath for hours. She followed him silently as he led her through the cozy home, passing the lingering scent of just-cooked chips and sausages in the kitchen, until they stepped out onto the patio.

George stopped by one of the chairs near the table, turning to face her.

“Here’s good,” he said, though the words felt stiff. He shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure what to do with them, or with himself.

Myst sat down on the edge of the garden chair, her hands knotted together in her lap as though they might otherwise fly apart. She glanced up at George, who hadn’t moved from where he stood a few feet away, his broad shoulders taut. The silence between them stretched like a rubber band about to snap.

“Right,” she said softly, breaking it first, her accent curling around the word. “I guess I’ll just... dive in then.”

George gave a stiff nod, the muscles along his jaw working as if he were chewing over every possible response and finding none that fit. He shifted his weight but stayed rooted in place, his hands still buried deep in his pockets.

“Look,” Myst started again, her voice growing steadier now, “I know I’ve been rubbish at…” She paused, her lips twitching into a wry smile that didn’t quite reach her pale blue eyes. “Well, at explaining myself. At letting you into my world. And that’s not fair to you. Not even a little bit.”

George frowned slightly, his gaze narrowing but not unkind. He opened his mouth, maybe to counter her, but she held up a hand, delicate and trembling just slightly, to stop him.

“Let me finish,” she said, her words almost pleading. “Please, George, I need to get this out before I lose my nerve.”

He nodded again, slower this time, his expression softening as he finally sank into the chair opposite her. The scrape of metal legs against brick was loud, but neither of them flinched.

“I’ve spent so much of my life chasing this dream,” Myst continued, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater now instead of each other. “Music is everything to me; it’s how I make sense of things, how I connect with people, how I keep moving forward when everything else feels too big or too messy.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his, their usual brightness dulled by the weight of what she was saying. “But somewhere along the way, I got so used to protecting that part of me, to keeping it separate, that I didn’t realize I was shutting you out.”

“Yeah,” George murmured, his gravelly voice low. “I felt that.”

Her throat tightened at the quiet acknowledgment, but she forced herself to keep going. “And I hate that I made you feel like that. Like you weren’t important enough to see it all, the good bits and the ugly ones too. Because that’s not true, George. You’re...” She faltered, searching for the right words, the ones that wouldn’t sound too small or too grandiose. “You’re the only person who’s ever made me think there might be more to life than just music. And losing you, even the thought of it...” Her voice broke slightly, and she looked down at her lap, blinking hard. “It scares me more than anything else ever has.”

For a long moment, George didn’t say anything, and the silence pressed down on her chest like a weight. When she finally dared to look back up at him, she saw something shift in his expression. Something raw, unguarded in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before.

“Bloody hell, Myst,” he muttered, leaning forward now, his forearms resting on his knees. “You think I don’t get scared too? That I haven’t been completely messed up over this?”

Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, exhaling sharply, “that I’ve been a bloody idiot about us. I let my insecurities get the better of me, and I didn’t trust you the way I should’ve. I was jealous.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed in a way that made him look even more vulnerable. “And I kept expecting you to bend over backward to make this work without thinking about how impossible that is.”

“George...” Myst whispered, her voice barely audible.

“No, let me finish now,” he said, his tone firm but not harsh. His intense blue eyes locked onto hers, unwavering. “You’ve worked your arse off for everything you’ve achieved, and I am so bloody proud of you for it. But I let myself get caught up in how hard it all felt; how different our lives are, how impossible it seemed to fit them together. And that’s on me. Not you.”

Myst stared at him, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. She wanted to say something, anything, but the lump in her throat had grown too thick.

“I’m sorry, Myst,” George said quietly, his voice softer now. “I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to choose. For not being better. And for not telling you sooner how much you mean to me.”

“George,” she finally managed, her voice cracking but resolute, “you don’t have to apologize alone. This isn’t just on you. It’s on both of us.” She reached across the small table, her fingers brushing the back of his hand tentatively, like she wasn’t sure she’d earned the right to touch him again.

His hand turned, palm up, and closed gently around hers, calloused and warm. The connection was small but steady, grounding them both in the middle of the fragile moment.

“Maybe,” George said after a beat, his lips curving into a faint, tentative smile, “we’ve both been a bit rubbish at this.”

“Maybe,” Myst agreed, a glimmer of light returning to her eyes. “But we’re here now. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

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