“I’m good, thanks. You?” I asked, forcing a smile.
I wanted to ask her how she and Finn had made it through all the barriers life threw at them. But I just smiled, paid, and walked back across the street to the shop.
Back at the shop, I found June at the counter, filing an order from a vendor.
I worked quietly beside her until my phone pinged with a message. Almost noon here. Owen’s evening.
I hesitated a second before unlocking the screen, bracing without meaning to.
“Got called into a meeting with management tomorrow. No clue what it means yet. Heading to meet my agent now. How are you, Wio?”
This was it.
My fingers trembled a little when I typed.“I’m Okay. I’ll be thinking of you. Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.”
June must have sensed something—she turned, watching me finish typing.
I looked up from my phone. “I don’t think he’s coming back.” The words slipped out, raw and real, finally spoken after circling in my head all day.
June didn’t say anything right away. Just reached and placed a gentle hand on my forearm.
“Would you consider going there?” she asked softly.
I bit my lower lip. “I would, in a heartbeat, if he needs me,” I said, thinking about his smile—the perfect one that hid so much. “I just don’t want to add pressure. Not when he already feels like he has to be everything for everyone.”
I kept my worst fear to myself—what if he gets his dream back, and I’m not part of it?
36
Owen
“WHATEVER HAPPENS, I’Mproud of you.”Funny how six words from her carried more weight than a stadium full of fans.
The next day, I walked into the same green-and-white painted hall. Same smell of sweat, turf, and ambition.
This time, the meeting ended with more than just vague optimism.
“We want you to continue with the club,” they said. “Same position. Extended contract. Full compensation for the suspension period. No need to file through insurance.”
Until the last moment, when the words and documents for me to sign were actually on the table, I hadn’t expected them to say it. I figured they’d skirt around it, leave the door cracked without fully opening it.
I’d dreamed of this exact moment, fought for it, bled for it. And now, handed to me like a gift, it felt like a weight instead.
37
Rio
THAT NIGHT I BARELYslept.
Hope and fear twisted beneath my skin.
I was nervous for him, like this thing he’d chased and fought for belonged to both of us now.
The meeting could mean anything. Everything. Nothing. I just wanted it to be whatever would makehimhappy. I felt it then—the impossible tug-of-war he must have been caught in, wanting to hold on without having to let go.
At some point before dawn, I found myself checking flight times to London—not booking anything, just ... looking. Like if I knew how quickly I could get to him, maybe it would steady something inside me.
By morning, I’d played out every outcome I could imagine. So when his name lit up my screen during my late lunch break, I took a deep breath before swiping to accept the video call.
