Page 44 of Star Rucked Lovers

“George,” his mum said softly, as Sophie and Ellie started clearing plates, breaking through his thoughts. “You’ve barely touched your food. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he lied automatically.

“Don’t give me that.” She reached across the table, placing a hand over his. Her touch was warm, grounding. “Talk to me.”

His sisters exchanged looks and promptly excused themselves, leaving George alone with his mum, a setup he recognized all too well. He sighed.

“Myst posted something,” he admitted, gesturing vaguely to Sophie’s abandoned phone. “About us.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” his mum prompted.

“Yeah, but...” George ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s complicated. This whole thing is complicated. She’s got the world watching her every move, Mum, and I… I don’t know if I fit into that world. I mean, look at me. I’m just a rugby player from the Gold Coast.”

“Just a rugby player?” His mum tilted her head, her expression softening. “George, you’ve never been ‘just’ anything. And neither has she, clearly. That’s why you work.”

“Does it, though?” He frowned, leaning back. “What if it’s too hard? What if I ruin it?”

“Or,” she said gently, “what if you stop being so scared and figure out how to make it work?”

Her words hit him square in the chest. George looked away, staring at the framed family photos lining the wall. One of him as a kid, muddy and grinning after a game. Another of his parents on their wedding day. His sister Amanda coming out of the water after completing her first Iron Woman triathlon. None of them showed anything easy, but they showed love. Effort. Commitment.

“She’s risking a lot for you, George,” his mum added quietly. “If you love her, and I think you do, you owe it to both of you to try.”

The knot in his stomach loosened, just slightly. Maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t about fitting into Myst’s world or making her fit into his. Maybe it was about building something new together. Something worth fighting for.

George paced the length of his small balcony outside his apartment, phone in hand, the cool evening breeze sweeping in from the ocean. The distant roar of waves was no match for the thundering of his own pulse as he stared down at Myst’s contact name on the screen. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the ends.

“Alright, mate,” he muttered under his breath, thumb hovering over the call button. “You’ve played in a World Cup final. You can make one bloody phone call.”

Still, his chest tightened as he thought about his last message, the one sent in frustration, doubt gnawing at his resolve.I don’t think I’m cut out for this.It had been impulsive, unfair, and cowardly. And now, after seeing her post, her vulnerable attempt to hold onto what they had despite everything, he owed her more than just a text.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button before he could talk himself out of it. The line rang once, twice, then clicked.

“Hello?” Myst’s voice came through, soft but cautious.

“Hey.” George cleared his throat, gripping the edge of the railing as if the metal could anchor him. “It’s me.”

“George,” she said, and there was something in the way she breathed his name, relief, maybe, or hope, that made him hate himself a little more for the silence between them.

“Yeah. Look, I…” He trailed off, staring out at the horizon where the sky melted into the sea. Words were never his strong suit, not like hers, but he pushed forward anyway. “I saw your post.”

She didn’t say anything, but he could hear her breathing.

“I screwed up, Myst. That text... it wasn’t fair. Or true. I’ve just been…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Struggling. With the distance. With how different our lives are. But that’s not your fault. It’s mine. And I’m sorry.”

His stomach twisted as he waited, every second stretching longer than the last.

“Thank you for saying that,” Myst finally replied, her voice a little shaky. “It’s been hard for me too, George. Really hard. But I get it, I do. Our worlds… they’re not exactly designed to overlap seamlessly, are they?”

“Not even close,” he admitted with a dry chuckle. “But I…” He stopped himself, inhaling deeply. “I don’t want to let that be an excuse anymore. I miss you, Myst. Every day. And I guess I wasn’t ready to admit how much until now.”

Her sigh crackled softly through the phone, warm and familiar. “I miss you too,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “And you’re right, it’s not easy. But nothing worth having ever is, right?”

“Right,” he echoed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. For the first time in days, the knot in his chest began to loosen.

“Let’s promise each other something,” she said, her tone brightening slightly. “No more bottling things up. If we’re feeling overwhelmed, we talk about it. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said without hesitation. “Even if it means admitting I’m terrible at keeping my cool when I see tabloids full of nonsense about you and that French bloke.”

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