Page 80 of Blindsided
His hands turn to fists at his sides. “Because I signed a new contract.”
“Why did you sign a new contract?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. “You’ve been doing great for Bethnal Green. Was this Vaughn Harris’s idea? I can’t imagine he meant to do this. The Harris family loves you. You’re an asset to the team! I’m going to have Vi talk to him—”
I move off the dance floor in hot pursuit of any Harris family member, because any one of them will surely have something to say about this.
Mac grabs my arm, spinning me in my tracks to face him again. “It wasn’t Vaughn’s idea, Freya. It was mine.”
“Your idea?” I huff out an incredulous laugh. “Why would you want to go play for Glasgow? Your entire life is in London.”
Mac’s lips thin, and he looks away before replying, “My grandad is sick.”
My stomach drops as the weight of what he’s telling me sinks in. “How sick?” I manage to whisper as I grip his forearms in sympathy.
“The dying kind of sick,” he snaps, his guttural voice making me jump as his jaw ticks angrily. He pulls away from my touch. “He only has months to live, and you know better than most what my relationship is like with him. So I’m doing this transfer for him. This isn’t up for discussion.”
“Oh my God, Mac. I am so, so sorry,” I reply, my mind reeling with this new information. “So…you’re transferring to be close to him. Okay, that makes sense.”
He blinks slowly. “Aye, it’s what’s best for my family.”
“Okay, I understand that,” I nod as tears begin to burn in my eyes. I reach out for Mac again, the need to comfort him and ground myself like a reflex in my body. But something in his expression stops me. “So then…where do I fit in?”
Mac looks at me carefully for a moment. “As…a mate. You and I were always supposed to go back to being friends after our agreement was over anyhow. I’m just ending it sooner.”
“You can’t be serious,” I croak, my hands dropping as I take a step away from him. “You’re moving to play for another team, and now you’re just…done with us?”
“I’m not done with us. We’ll go back to being friends like before,” he replies, his voice flat and unemotive. “My grandad is what’s most important now, and I’m not going to feel bad about this.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself and trying to come to terms with the idea of that wonderfully cheeky man whom I adored being ill. My heart breaks because I only just met him. And I know how much Fergus means to Mac. They are connected in a deep and personal way. But then, so are Mac and I. Right? Can we really just go back to being friends?
The words that tumble out of my mouth beg to be asked because, despite myself, I still need to hear it one more time. “So even after everything that’s happened between us, you just want to be friends?”
Mac’s mouth closes before he nods his confirmation. “Aye.”
His response makes my face feel like it just had ice-cold water thrown into it, even though I knew what his answer would be. I turn away from him, desperate for some space, desperate for some room to think. Why is this affecting me so much? Why can’t I deal with this better?
I make my way through the tables of people, my mind reeling as I think about how stupid I was to think that there could ever be more between Mac and me. All because he kissed me in front of his friends? That meant nothing. Clearly. That was lust. Not love. That was a kiss. Nothing more. Why did I let myself fantasise like it was more?
“Freya,” Mac’s voice calls out behind me as I make my way out of the reception hall, horrid tears spilling freely from my eyes as I pick up my pace. I have to get out of here.
“Freya, would you just wait?”
I find a side exit and push through it out onto the dark street corner, grateful for the broken streetlight because I can’t stand the thought of Mac seeing me like this. It shouldn’t be about me right now; it should be about his grandad.
“Freya, stop for a bloody second,” Mac says, sounding out of breath.
I don’t have any breath either. I’m holding it for fear of breaking apart into a million pieces if I let out one ounce of the feelings inside of me.
He spins me to look at him, his face crumpling when he sees my obvious distress. “You deserve someone that’s going to put you first, Cookie. Not football. And I think now you have the confidence to go out there and find that person.”
I bark out a garbled laugh, wiping at the hot tears burning tracks down my cheeks. “That’s all I was to you, wasn’t I? A charity project.”
“No, I didn’t say that.” He steps into my space, his eyes pained and searching mine for understanding.
But he won’t find it. I’m hurt and irrational, and my heart aches.
“You didn’t have to say it,” I retort with a pained noise, turning away from him and begging my tears to stop falling. “Because if I were more than just a charity project, you’d be asking me to come with you to Scotland. To be with you during this difficult time.”
It’s a statement peppered with a dark truth I know he will not admit.
