Finn slides into the booth opposite, ginger beer hitting the table. ‘Pack it in with the death-glare, pal. You’re scaring the civilians.’ He takes a swig, following my line of sight across the room to land on Nevin and Ava. His grin fades by degrees. ‘Neely’s in fine fettle tonight. Full shark-smile. I don’t know, man… The more I get to know him, the less I like what I see.’
I don’t answer. Finn gets things. Often much more than he lets on. We’ve only been together as a team since last spring. Less than a year. But he’s a solid pal. Can’t imagine my life without him.
The CEO of MacKenzie Sporting is holding court near the bar, expansive gestures, whisky tumbler sloshing. His story has done three laps already. Something about a salmon fishing trip and the Duke of Auchtermuchty.
Nevin clings to the fringe of the circle. He’s killing himself to mimic their posture. Nodding at the right times, swirling his glass the way they do. He leans in, laughing a fraction too hard at the punchline, trying to catch the CEO’s eye. The older man gives him a polite, dismissive pat on the shoulder and turns his back to address someone in a more expensive suit.
For one unguarded second, the strings go slack, and Nevin’s sales-pitch grin dies mid-watt. His shoulders cave, and his focus drifts past the execs toward something only he can see. It doesn’t soften the urge to put him through plaster. But it still gets through. He’s a man carved out of other people’s expectations. I can’t see the hands that held the chisel, but I can see the marks they left.
Doesn’t excuse a fucking thing, though.
Now he’s backslapping with teammates. The good lad routine. But every time Ava drifts more than an arm’s length away, he reels her back. Corrects her posture. Speaks for her when someone addresses her directly.
‘Oh, Ava’s shy.’
The fuck she is. She’s not shy. She’s being silenced.
I add up what I know. The bruises I’ve glimpsed. The flinching. How she apologises for existing. The fear in her eyes at the Burns Supper. I’ve seen this at home, watching my mother pull into herself every time the door opened. Becoming invisible because visibility could be dangerous. The memories sit in my bones. I’ve spent years burying them under weights and training and the contained brutality of the scrum. And now I’m watching the same play out in front of me, and I’m useless again.
Fucking helpless.
I’m picking at a notch in the wood. I don’t notice until the splinter catches.
‘You awright?‘ Finn’s studying me. ‘You’re going to murder that table.’
‘Fine.’
‘Aye, pure Zen.’ His gaze slides back to Nevin, who’s laughing at something one of the props said. Finn drains the last of his ginger beer and stands. ‘Don’t brood too hard. You’ll strain something.’ Then he claps me on the shoulder and disappears into the crowd.
I wait four beats. Nevin turns his back on her to laugh at Wallace’s joke. The gap in his attention is a door left ajar. I move.
Ava’s slipping away from Nevin while he’s absorbed in a conversation with Coach Wallace. Her trajectory takes her toward the bar, ostensibly for a drink. I leave the booth, angling through the crowd, keeping my bulk tucked behind clusters of suits and rugby shoulders.
I reach the bar as she does. She spots me first.
‘Fancy meeting you here.’ Her voice is threaded with something that sounds close to relief.
‘Aye. Funny how we keep bumping into each other.’ I nod toward the MacKenzie CEO, who’s now miming a fishing rod. ‘What’s the next chapter in his tale, you reckon? My money’s on a square-go with a rogue otter.’
She snorts, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth. ‘Stop. I’ll get in trouble.’
‘For laughing?’
Her face flickers. ‘Yes.’
The single word catches me like a blitz I wasn’t braced for. She’s not joking.
I bury the wrath and keep my voice light. ‘Otters are vicious. Don’t let the cute faces fool you. I hate to say it, but… They…erm…violate baby seals.’
‘No! Are you serious?’ Her eyebrows shoot up. ‘I thought they were so sweet with the little stone pocket they have in their fur.’
‘What do you think the stone’s for? Brutal wee bastards.’
She lets out a startled hitch of a laugh. ‘Stop. You’re ruining my worldview.’
‘Good. It could do with some ruining.’
She laughs again, quieter this time. The warmth of it spreads through my chest, loosens something I’ve been holding tight since December.
