“Lovely to see you, Judith. Please excuse me. I have a meeting to attend to.”
Something raw and ugly ignites inside of me. This man is being rude. He hurt Fletcher, and now he’s being rude to Judith. “Does this have anything to do with Fletcher?” I ask.
Judith squeaks and covers it with a cough.
It would be amusing that she doesn’t personally follow me on Instagram if it wasn’t so awkward right now.
Rafferty’s cheeks go ruddy. “How is he?”
Were we talking about anyone else, I’d be politely honest.He could use an apology for what you did to him, but I’m sure you had your reasons. There are always two sides to every breakup story, aren’t there?
And then he wouldn’t tell me his side. I might have his friend’s stamp of approval, but I’m still a complete stranger whom he clearly doesn’t want talking to his daughter. Plus, he’s the head coach for a top rugby club in a country where people watch rugby.
But we’re talking about Fletcher.
And I don’t want to talk about Fletcher. “I don’t know anything about managing a rugby team, but it’s a sign of a massive leadership failure when a longtime star player and team leader departs mid-season under questionable circumstances and you keep getting your ass handed to you on the pitch now that he’s gone.”
Judith makes another strangled noise.
She’s not simply peering at me anymore.
She’s staring at me with her eyes almost as wide open as her mouth.
Probably thinking I shouldn’t be repeating things Gareth said during the game.
But it’s true.
They haven’t played well since Fletcher left.
And he doesn’t want you, I remind myself.Let it go.This isn’t your battle.
“Pardon me, Judith,” I say quietly. “I don’t think I’m myself tonight. Jet lag must be catching up with me. I’d like to head home, if it’s all right with you.”
“O-of course,” she stammers. “I’ll call for the car. Oliver, I’ll—we’ll have tea next week.”
“Annalise broke her engagement because she fancied herself in love with him,” Rafferty says.
It’s my turn for my eyes to bug out.
And for me to choke on air.
He was dating his coach’s daughter and didn’t tell me?
“He didn’t know,” Rafferty adds quietly. “He never knew how she felt. She was thirteen when he started for the team. Always treated her like a little sister. But she—she needed him to go.”
“She needed him to go?” I repeat. What does that mean?
“You dated him yourself. You know how it ends. How italwaysends.”
The reminder is a lovely kick in the teeth, but I blow out asmall breath and ignore the pain to focus instead on something that just doesn’t feel right.
You know how it ends.
She needed him to go.
You can’t talk to my daughter.
Terrible break-up. She’s been isolating.
