‘They’re cute. And you’re gonna knock ’em dead out there.’ I lean down to kiss Hannah’s cheek.
She giggles and hugs me. Then she bites her lip. ‘Priya, I need to pee again. Guess I’m nervous!’
‘Let’s nip to the bathroom before we line up, just in case.’ Priya gives me a reassuring look. ‘We’ll be right back.’
I watch until they’re out of sight, a low charge running through me. Mum’s somewhere near the back, probably in line for the canteen snacks or charming the ushers into better seats.
The crowd hums with chatter. I shove my hands into my coat pockets and breathe. The Christmas tree by the entrance twinkles far too cheerfully.
Last week, at the Christmas party, Brodie looked like a man sewn together by tension and heartache. Devastating in that suit, collar straining against his throat like it couldn’t contain him. He stood rigid, one wrong move away from breaking. Eyes dark and hollow, every bit of pain he was holding back had carved itself into his face.
It messed me up.
Each nerve under my skin flared up and burned all at once. I felt I’d been kicked in the stomach and couldn’t catch my breath. My body just wanted to close the distance and hold on to him until the hurt stopped.
Still does.
God, I need to keep it together. This is Hannah’s moment, and I’m not letting my bleeding heart ruin it.
But I can smile through the tears. No problem.
The houselights dim. Someone clears their throat behind me. I stare at the stage, trying to swallow the ache.
Another throat clear. Closer this time, the air behind me tightens. Someone’s crowding my space without warning. A looming presence, too big and far too close.
I whip around, already lashing out, ‘Excuse me?’
My heart fucking stops.
My mind stumbles, trying to make sense of what my eyes see.
Brodie’s standing there.
Brodie.
Here.
Coat half unzipped, hair a mess, stripped of all armour – as though walking into this moment had cost him everything except resolve. He’s holding the pink sparkly cowboy hat, and it’s so absurdly out of place in his hands that I almost laugh. Except I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just stand there. My brain’s gone offline, and I’m waiting for a reboot.
He doesn’t move and watches me with all his hesitation laid bare, as if he’s terrified of doing this wrong.
‘What are you doing here?’ I sound almost steady. Almost.
He glances at the hat, then back at me. ‘Brought something for Hannah. Figured she might need this.’
I’m fighting the tremor in my hands. ‘You…came all the way from Scotland to London to give her that?’
‘Wouldn’t be right for her to go on stage without it.’ His voice is low and unwavering. As if he’s made peace with whatever this costs him.
My breath stalls mid-lung, and whatever’s holding me together starts to fray. I can’t look at him without coming apart. ‘You should be playing today. It’s the Dragons and—’
‘Some things matter more. Wallace gave me leave. Said I should rest. My back. My…head. Whatever.’
The weight of that crashes into me, splintering through every rib.
He missed a game.
For Hannah.
