“—And he’s Cece’s choice. She’ll fall into Will’s arms and move home and have her happy ending, and then I’ll leave. Go back to New York or London or Vienna and make music. Try to feel like myself again.”
“And then?”
I can read so many things in the mosaic of his face. Pain. Pride. Regret. I always liked that about him. How easy he was to read.
“And then you’ll stay with the All Blacks and be amazing at what you do and make Pukekohe proud. You’ll be happy, and I will be too. And eventually, I’ll fall in love with someone else, and so will you.”
He shakes his head, and I realise I’ve just implied I’m in love with him. I don’t take it back. It’s too late for that.
“You’ll have your own family,” I continue. “And so will I. And maybe someday I’ll be able to look back on this whole thing with a tiny crumb of happiness.”
He bows his head, and I know we’re done. I fumble for my tote bag, wanting to leave cash on the table for my drinks, but I know Jake will insist on paying, and I can’t have that conversation.
I get to my feet, the gravity of him so heavy I feel like I’m being sucked into outer space. I let my hair fall into my eyes, turning my gaze toward it so I don’t have to look at him. “Keep the video of me. I trust you.”
I exit the booth, and I’m about to get away clean, when...
“Ada?”
Myfeet halt, as though by magnetic force. “Yeah?”
Jake lifts his gaze, and if I live for another eighty years, I don’t think I’ll ever see anyone so desperately afraid of what he’s about to say. “If I’d really asked you out during the day at school, would you have said yes?”
I know better than to lie to Jake Graves-Holland. I pick up his jersey and pull it to my chest. “Of course I would have, you fucking coward.”
I turn and walk away, his jersey pressed tight to my aching heart.
18
Ada
Iwalk the whole way back to Afterglow. Two hours across the crumbling spine of Auckland, my calves screaming with every incline, but I don’t care. I need to be alone more than I need to be inside someone else’s car with Jake’s jersey. I hold it close, and though I want to toss it into every bin I pass, smarter parts of me know I’d regret it.
Aggie is outside Stabbies when I finally arrive, smoking. I stare at her. Aggie never smokes. I’ve seen her flick lit cigarettes out of other people’s mouths, and she’s always giving me shit about vaping. She looks a mess, her mascara smeared, her apron limp around her waist like she gave up halfway through taking it off. It’s not even dark yet. I check my watch. 4 p.m. She should be elbow-deep in prep, not… whatever this is. My heart clenches. “Hey, Aggie. You okay?”
“Mice,” she says.
I go still. “What?”
“A customer saw three of them running around the bathroom and called the council.” She takes a long drag on her cigarette. “Actually,the idiot called the cops, who told them to call the fuckin’ council, because that’s the kind of world we’re living in.”
“Holy shit. The bar?—”
“Shut down. A bloke from the health board came and saw a mouse with his own fuckin’ eyes. Instant closure. Say we’ve gotta call in an exterminator ASAP. We’re shut for two weeks regardless. Probably more.”
“Fucking hell.”
I’m no businesswoman, but even I know a vermin-based health shutdown spells death for a bar. Reputations don’t survive stuff like this. Not in Auckland. Not with social media.
“Mice?” I say to Aggie. “Since when has Stabbies had mice?”
“Never. Not in my kitchen.”
My stomach churns. Jenny Wallis. She did this. Those mice were adelivery.
It’s too nuts for any health inspector to believe, but she was here, and she used the bathroom, and I know better than anyone that she has a history of unsanitary personal attacks.
“Cece?” I say, looking around. “How’s Cece? Where is she?”
