Page 84 of Blindsided
“You’re wrong, Freya,” Roan says, his brows furrowed in sympathy. “I’ve never seen him like this. He may have gone through something similar after Cami and he broke it off, but it wasn’t this bad. What’s happening to him now is intense.”
The mention of Cami’s name makes my teeth clench so hard that I swear I hear them crack. I don’t even want to begin to compare me to Cami. I know Mac was with her for a long time, but I have to believe that what we had was different. And hearing that our split is affecting Mac makes me feel strangely vindicated.
Roan continues, blatantly unaware of the tailspin my emotions are going through. “You know you’re more than a friend to him even if that bull-headed Scot won’t admit it out loud yet.”
My chin trembles at his words because bleddy hell, there goes that voice of hope again, and it’s a lying cunt. I shake my head and look out the window. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“He needs you, Freya,” Roan says in a rush. “You’re his voice of reason. His person. And he’s yours…Even though you’re both too stubborn to admit it.”
I bark out an incredulous laugh. “So what shall I do? Fly to Glasgow and surprise him so he’ll play a good football game at the expense of my own damn heart?”
Roan’s eyes soften. “I can’t tell you to do that. I can only tell you that your best friend is in a bad place and could use a friend.”
Roan stands up to leave, and the tears that I thought had dried up at last return all over again.
“My name is Freya Cook. There’s supposed to be a ticket for me?” I say into the round circle of the box office at Ibrox Stadium in Glasgow.
The woman searches in a little box and then comes out with my ticket. My lonely single ticket. “You know it’s halftime already, right?”
“I couldn’t get here any sooner,” I say as I take my ticket and rush through the crowds milling about for their halftime snacks.
This is the second football game I’ve ever attended, and I’m in a city I don’t know, navigating around a stadium I’ve never been to, and I’m late on top of it. And now I’m looking for people who probably don’t even remember what I look like.Thanks a lot for the suggestion yesterday, Roan.
“Freya!” a female voice calls out, and I look around to see Tilly’s tall model-like body striding towards me.
“Oh good, she remembers me,” I cringe and exhale heavily, steeling myself to be friendly.
“You got your ticket, I see,” she says with a warm smile.
I nod timidly. “Thanks for securing it for me. It was lucky Roan had your number, or I might have been standing out there holding one of those signs asking for a ticket.” I look around nervously. “Sorry, I’m late. Stupid flight delay. I still have no idea what I’m doing here exactly.”
She wraps her arm around me and squeezes me into her side. “You’re here to cheer on my brother and the best football team in the world.”
I nod and let her lead me to the section where her parents and grandfather are. Mac’s mother hugs me while his dad gives me a soft smile. At the end of the aisle, my eyes land on Fergus, and my heart sinks at the sight of him. It’s only been weeks since I was here last, but he’s visibly lost weight and is so pale, it almost hurts to look at him.
“Hiya, Red!” Fergus bellows with a big smile for me. “I saved you a seat right next to me.”
I move past Tilly and sit down next to Mac’s grandfather, who now only faintly resembles my beloved Jack Bartlett fromHeartland. “Fergus, you look like you need a whisky.”
He barks out a laugh and then begins to cough. When he stops, he turns to me and says, “Thanks for stating the obvious, lass. It’s better than what most people do.”
I sigh and look back at him. “What do most do?”
His lips purse together beneath his thick white mustache. “Pretend I’m not dying before their very eyes.”
My eyes sting with tears because his candor is unexpected. I lean over and kiss his cheek. “In that case, let me be the one to tell you this fucking sucks, Fergus.”
His chest shakes with a silent huff of laughter. “Aye, it does.” He turns to look out at the pitch just as the players come running back out after the half break. “But this…this doesn’t suck, Red. In fact, this moment here is a dream come true for me, even if he had a shite first half of the game.”
“He didn’t play well?” I ask nervously, Roan’s fearful words obviously coming true.
“Played like shite!” Fergus harrumphs. “His head isn’t in it. His focus is piss-poor. He doesn’t even look comfortable out on that pitch.”
I frown nervously at the pitch, searching the players for Mac as I ask, “Doesn’t sound much like a dream come true to me.”
Fergus turns and looks at me accusingly. “My grandson could ride that bench, and I’d still be just as proud of him as I am when he plays well. We’re not fair-weather Ranger fans, and we’re not fair-weather Macky fans. Got it, Red?”
I smile and nod. “Got it, Fergus.”
