Page 81 of Blindsided
Mac exhales heavily. “I’d never ask you to come with me, Freya. You’re just starting a new venture with the shop. I won’t ask you to choose between me and your career.”
“Of course you won’t,” I snap, a hot flush of anger surging through me. I step back into his space and eye him harshly. “Because to you…career always comes first.”
Mac’s eyes narrow. “You’ve known that since the beginning, Freya. Don’t act like this is new information. You’ve also known I don’t do relationships for this very reason. Nothing’s changed about me. I’m the same man I’ve been for the past year.”
Except now I’ve fallen in love with you.
I purse my lips together and close my eyes, pleading with my heart to calm down so I can breathe normally again.
Mac’s words are all true. I have known how he feels about football. And relationships. And me. I should have seen this coming.
“This is why you’ve been different with me since we got back from Scotland, isn’t it?” My eyes flutter open, a cool, empty calm overtaking me as acceptance replaces hurt. “You knew you were going to leave.”
Mac’s guilty look is all the response I need.
I nod slowly, rubbing my lips together as I think back to the last night we slept together and how in hindsight, I should have realised he was saying goodbye. It felt so final. The way he looked at me, touched me. Held me afterwards. The way he kissed my shoulder when he left the next morning. I should have known I was in this alone all along.
That lying cunt that tells me I’m not good enough for a happily ever after turned out to be the one voice in my life who I should have been trusting all along. I should have never stopped listening to it because now that I’ve tasted what I thought was love, I’ll always know what I’m missing. And the memory of that feeling will be like a wound that never truly heals.
I inhale a deep breath through my nose and move past Mac to head back inside. “Good luck in Scotland, Mac.”
“Don’t be like that, Freya!” Mac reaches out and grabs my arm, his grip tight on me as he stares back at me with a wild look in his red-rimmed eyes. “We’ll still keep in touch. You’re my best mate.”
I plaster on a smile because I could so easily mistake that fervent look he’s giving me for hope. But I know better now. I know the truth. “Sure, Mac. We can be friends.”
He releases my arm, and I walk away, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I will never be friends with Maclay Logan again. How can you ever be friends with someone who completely shattered your heart?
Two Weeks Later
“All right, that’s it for the day, gentlemen. Go hit the changing room!” Coach bellows from the sidelines as I finish my last drill and drop down onto the Rangers training centre pitch. We’ve been pushed to our limit this week as we prepare to play a friendly match against Oxford United in a few days. I often survey my surroundings to remind myself I’m not at Bethnal Green anymore. I’m home. In Scotland.
Everything happened quickly after Roan and Allie’s wedding. I went to Glasgow and was checked out by the club’s doctors, ran a few drills with the team, and then before I knew it, I was having my photo taken in Ranger gear and signing my name to a new contract that Santino, of all people, helped draft. I barely even looked at the terms, trusting that my agent did me right. It’s probably foolish of me. This is how footballers get taken advantage of, but I just don’t care at this point. I’m here for one reason and one reason only.
My grandad didn’t know any of it was happening until I showed up at his flat in my Ranger kit and turned around to show him the Logan name embroidered on the back. The old man wept in my arms that day, and I knew without a doubt that I made the right decision. Not only will my grandad get to see me play for his team, but I’ve been able to spend as much time with him as I can between matches and trainings. I lost all of last year with him, so I won’t lose what wee bit of time I have left.
My new teammates are good. Several of them look at me like I’m mental because they know what I left behind, and most of them wish they could have just traded places with me instead of play alongside me for this club. But I know in my bones that I’ll never regret this extra time I’ve got to spend with my grandad.
Every night after training, I drop by for tea and talk football with him. He has a hospice nurse that’s with him during the day now, but despite his body growing weaker and weaker every day, I can see that twinkle in his eye again. Nothing lights this man up more than football, and for that, I’m glad I came.
But practices could be better for me here. I’m struggling to find a rhythm with the team, and Coach keeps saying that it’s just the transition, and it’ll come.
After showering, I make my way out to the players’ parking lot and do a double take when I see Roan standing next to my car.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I ask, looking at the security gate.
Roan’s brows lift. “I told them I was your brother, and they bought it because we clearly look so much alike.”
I laugh and shake my head, dropping my bag on the ground to stand in front of my friend, whom I haven’t seen since his wedding day—a day that I’m sure he remembers fondly, but one I’d rather forget.
Roan holds his hands up to stop me from hugging him hello. “Can you tell me what day it is? What year? How old are you? What’s your last name?”
“What are you going on about?” I ask, cutting him off and propping my hands on my hips.
Roan smiles. “I just wanted to make sure you had your wits about you before I launch into you about how truly fucked up it was for me to get back from my two-week honeymoon to find out that my best fucking friend, roommate, and teammate for the past three years is now playing for another team.”
I open my mouth to reply, but Roan lifts his hand to cut me off. “So, of course, I assumed there had been some sort of sabotage. An evil plot against you that’s riddled with false information. So I broke down the door to Vaughn’s office and screamed at him. ‘You get rid of Logan, you get rid of me! I don’t care that I just married your niece. I’ll quit this fucking sport before I play for someone that could trade our best midfielder.’”
“Fuck,” I growl, running a hand through my hair.
