It didn’t work.
I don’t even remember the match. Only that we won. The changing room is a riot of steam, sweat, and twenty competing body sprays. Boots clatter on the wet tiles. Shouts echo. Connor Duff is singing something off-key about a girl from Dundee, and someone’s laughing. I can’t even tell who. It’s a wall of sound that I can’t seem to get through.
I peel the strapping from my ankle. It comes away with a rip, taking a layer of hair with it. Good, pain I can understand.
I’m still not completely sure about Marseille. But I’ll probably do it. Theo and Charlie are right – it’s a fantastic opportunity.
That also happens to tear my fucking heart out.
Scottie catches my eye from across the room. He frowns a little. ‘You awright, pal? Been wrestling a fucking bear, have you?’
‘Just knackered.’ I shove my kit into my bag with clumsy movements.
The sounds in the room swell, pressing in on me. The clank of metal, the hiss of the showers, the endless chatter.
It’s too much.
Theo didn’t fight for me after the meeting yesterday. She didn’t even hesitate. She laid out the red carpet and pointed me towards the door. ‘A fantastic opportunity,’ she said. For me. For the agency. Not for us.
Fair enough, though, because there was never an us. Not for real. Or maybe there was, but it wasn’t enough to win against timing and ambition and fear.
If I were cynical, I’d say I was a project, a stray she fixed up and sent on his way with a pat on the head and a new, shinier collar. But I don’t think she meant it like that. Theo’s building an empire with Charlie. She deserves someone who doesn’t need to be saved. Someone who’s ready. I’d only get my mess all over her life.
And I’m starting to understand that loving someone doesn’t mean you get to keep them, no matter how much it hurts.
‘You coming to the Sin & Tonic for a burger?’ Scottie asks as he pulls on a clean T-shirt.
I shake my head, gaze fixed on the floor. The tiles are a grimy black-and-white pattern. I need to get out. I want to be alone.
‘Naw, got stuff to do.’ I stand too fast and the room warps. I grab the edge of the locker to keep from falling.
‘Finn?’ Brodie sounds seriously worried.
I can’t answer. I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk out, leaving the heat and the noise behind me. But the heartache follows me out.
* * *
As soon as I get home, I collapse onto my bed. My entire body still aches. Not the good ache from a tough training session, but the hurt that comes from pushing too hard to outrun your own thoughts.
I’m doom-scrolling like a twat. Instagram, TikTok, the club’s official page. Pictures of me smiling in a kit I won’t wear for much longer. I’m becoming a ghost in my own life. My brain fills the space with Theo’s voice, the final slide of the lift doors, and the thud of my heart trying not to crumble.
I almost jump up when my phone buzzes in my hand. The screen lights up with an unknown name.
Millie.
Who the fuck is Millie?
The name rings no bells. Don’t even remember saving that contact. My thumb hovers over the decline button. But the silence in the room is stronger than my desire to be left alone, so I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear.
‘Hello?’ I sound appropriately gruff and suspicious.
‘Finn?’ The voice is plummy enough to own a pony.
‘Depends on who’s asking.’
A light laugh. ‘It’s Millie. Or Camilla. Camilla Elphinstone.’
I rack my brain. Nothing. ‘Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong?—’
