The world contracts, tight as a fist around my throat. Every sound dulls, every face fades, because she’s the only thing in focus. She looks like she stepped out of my fucking dreams to wreck me all over again.
Green velvet, curves pouring out of that dress like it was made just to drive me mad. Her hair’s pinned up, but a few strands kiss her neck, teasing me as if they know how much I miss having my hands in it.
When she spots Coach, her face softens, and I hate it. Hate that he gets the smile that used to be mine. Then she laughs. It sounds jagged, too bright, too brittle.
I can’t stop staring. Can’t make myself move.
She looks breakable tonight. Like all that fire’s wrapped in something fragile, and I’m the arsehole who smashed it to pieces.
She lets her gaze skid my way, and I see it. Hurt swimming under ice. A fault line splits straight through me. I’m battling the urge to shove past every arsehole between us and just grab her.
Apologise. Beg. Anything.
Acting like she doesn’t sense me in this room like I sense her – that’s like a fucking broadsword down the middle.
I’m still hers, I will always be hers, and it’s killing me.
Coach Wallace’s gravelly voice risesover the buzz. My parents wander over with him in tow, Mum’s laughslicing through the noise like a knife. Great. Now I’m boxed in on all sides. Parents, coach, sponsor.
Fuck my life.
My stomach twists, and I force down the instinct to leg it to the other side of the bar. Mum’s in full charm mode, gesturing with her prosecco like she’s narrating an epic tale. Dad’s nodding along, giving her the stage like he always does. Coach looks like he’s actually listening, which is a fucking feat in itself.
And then Charlie walks past, blazing a path through the room like a goddamn comet. Her eyes are fixed dead ahead, but Coach spots her and waves her over like she’s just another one of the boys.
‘Harrington!’ he calls out, and Charlie hesitates just long enough for him to notice. ‘Come over here. Got some people you should meet.’
She doesn’t have a choice. Can’t exactly ignore the head coach in front of the MacKenzie brass. So, she squares her shoulders and walks over, looking composed as ever.
She isn’t, though.
‘This is Charlie Harrington,’ Coach Wallace says to my parents, nodding like she’s the MVP of the night. ‘Made a right miracle out of MacRae’s comeback here.’
My mum’s eyes light up. ‘Oh! You’re Charlie!’ She grabs Charlie’s hand and gives it a firm shake. ‘Sandra MacRae. Brodie’s mum. This is his dad, Michael.’
Charlie’s smile stays polite, but there’s a glint of panic in her eyes. ‘Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘All lies, I’m sure,’ Dad says with a chuckle. ‘Though if you’ve heard that being stubborn as a mule is a family trait, that one’s true.’
‘Oh, I figured that out on my own,’ Charlie deadpans.
Mum laughs, delighted. ‘I like you already. We owe you a drink for putting up with him. And for making him cook the family recipe on TV.’
‘Oh, that’s really not—’
‘Nonsense,’ Mum interrupts. ‘God knows he needs someone to keep him in line. This one’s been pushing back against everything since he was old enough to form an opinion.’
‘Mum,’ I mutter under my breath, but she’s not listening.
Charlie glances my way for a split second before forcing her attention back to my mother. ‘Sounds about right,’ she says.
‘Well, whatever you’re doing, keep at it,’ Dad says. ‘He’s looked sharper on the field lately. More focused.’
That digs under my skin. Because beating myself into the ground is the only way I’ve kept from suffocating in the fucking absence of her.
They don’t know. They don’t know I’ve spent the last month dragging myself through broken glass just to get through the day. Don’t know I fucked it all up because I’m a bull-headed prick who pushed her away before she could do it first.
Charlie nods, forcing another smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’
