Page 74 of Blindsided
He reaches out and touches my shoulder and it feels like acid on my skin, because all I can think about is the fact that I won’t feel this touch again. This man has been my hero my whole life. Everything I’ve done was to please him. I don’t know how to be in a world without him.
“So, what now?” I croak, my voice betraying me as tears sting the backs of my eyes.
Grandad sniffs and turns away from me, his jaw ticking as he fights back his own emotion. He clears his throat harshly and replies, “Nothing. You go back to playing football and making me proud. And I go back to watching you on the telly and cheering you on like the overly chuffed fool that I am.”
My stomach twists in pain and my grandad turns to look at me, his expression unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. He grabs me by the arms and yanks me into his chest, his hands wrapping around me and slapping my back as a sob breaks loose from my throat.
Fuck this. Fuck life. Fuck all of this shite.
“Don’t you dare mourn me, Macky,” he says into my shoulder, his voice husky as his hand cups the back of my head. “I’ve lived a good life and I got to watch you live a life I only ever dreamt of. I have no regrets,” he says firmly, pulling back and smiling proudly at me through red-rimmed eyes. “Except maybe never seeing you with a Ranger kit on.”
He barks out a garbled laugh and I reach out to pull him into my arms again. I know he’s joking and I know he’s proud of me. But he has no clue how much he’s done for me and how much I’d do for him.
The next few days with Mac are different than I expected. He still sleeps over at my flat every night, and we’re still having The Sex every day, but he’s not his normal, happy-go-lucky self. He’s contemplative and distracted. And when I tease him, he’s barely able to crack a smile.
At first I assume it’s because he’s training a lot more than usual this week so maybe he’s just over-tired. But then the other night, we were watchingHeartlandand Hercules came out of nowhere and leapt up onto Mac’s lap. My jaw dropped with amazement because ever since the nipple-licking incident, Hercules has been giving Mac a wide berth. So clearly this is a momentous occasion that would have deserved some commentary. But Mac seemed completely unaffected by it. He just mindlessly petted Hercules like it was no bother. The Mac I know would have made some crack about Hercules watching where he put his tongue.
Something is off with Mac. Something that I need to address with him.
The night I plan to talk to him about everything, something incredible happens to me at work.
“Freya! Can you come down here and talk to me and Leslie before you leave for the night?” Sloan calls up the stairs just as I’m shutting off the lights.
“Of course, I’m just coming down now.”
I grab my bag and make my way downstairs just as Leslie turns on the closed sign in the window. She turns and gives me a big smile, gesturing to the back where the sofas are by the changing rooms. Sloan is back there looking over the books as Leslie and I sit down to join her.
“What’s going on, ladies?” I ask curiously.
Sloan closes her book, looks at Leslie with a grin, then back to me. “We want to hear your pitch.”
My brows furrow. “My pitch?”
“Yep,” Leslie stares back at me expectantly. “You mentioned in Scotland you had ideas that you wanted to discuss with us at some point. Well…this is some point.”
My face falls. “Oh God, I’m not ready. I haven’t prepared anything. My ideas are probably shit.”
“Lying cunt,” Sloan says, waggling her brows knowingly. “We’re friends, Freya. We don’t need a formal pitch. Just tell us what ideas you have. We’re dying to hear them.”
My eyes bounce back and forth between Sloan and Leslie as nerves take flight in my belly. That lying cunt of a voice wants to tell me that my ideas aren’t good enough and they won’t like them. But then I hear Mac’s voice say, ‘Your unique brilliance deserves to be seen.’
And Mac’s voice sounds a whole lot sexier than that lying cunt.
I reach into my bag and pull out my sketchbook. Here goes nothing.
“Saints preserve me!” I exclaim, bursting into my flat with the biggest, brightest smile on my face ever.
“What is it?” Mac asks from the sofa where he’s been waiting for me every single day for the past two weeks and where I want him to remain for the rest of my life.
Woah, where did that come from?
I shake the strange thought out of my head and practically squeal, “Sloan and Leslie love my pet clothing idea!”
“They what?”
I nod excitedly and join him on the sofa. “It was the weirdest thing. They called me downstairs before I left for the day and asked me to give them my pitch. At first I was like…what, you guys are mental…then I was like, nope, not going to listen to that lying, insecure voice in the back of my head anymore.”
“That’s dead brilliant!” Mac says, the first glimpse of a genuine smile on his face that I’ve seen since we returned to London. “So what happened?”
