He drops a grin. ‘I like her, Scottie. You may keep her.’
I stand back, leaning against the worktop, watching it all happen.
Fucking mesmerising is what it is.
Ava’s openly laughing at whatever David threw at her, and I’m…lost in her. The butterflies start in my stomach. A whole swarm of them. I hate the phrase. It’s clichéd and insufficient. But that’s what it feels like to see Ava with them. I’ve never brought a woman home. I’ve never had one sit at this table and fit into my dysfunctional family.
She nibbles on a slice of bacon, chatting to Erin about the mechanics of a pirouette, and the pressure in my chest spikes.
Mum catches my gaze over the top of Erin’s head. She raises her eyebrows slightly, a silent communication: Oh, you’re definitely screwed, son.
My phone vibrates on the table. I pick it up. A notification from the Team Manager.
Remember: Kick Off Kindness @ MacKenzie Sporting flagship store on High Street Monday 11am before training. You, Lennox, MacKenna & MacRae.
* * *
The reality of it douses me like an ice bath. Rugby. The Rebels. The day job. The world outside this kitchen hasn’t gone anywhere. The club owns my time. I read the message twice. MacKenzie Sports promo on Monday up in Stirling.
Wallace has given us one weekend off. Three days to pretend this kitchen is the entire universe, that there’s no pitch in Duncraig. Three days before I’ll have to stand ten feet from the man whose face I rearranged last night.
My knuckles sting. The boys will ask questions. They’ll see my hand, take one look at his jaw, and suss it out. Then the suits will pull me aside with grave faces, giving lectures about club standards and conduct.
And Nevin.
What happens when he finds out that I brought her here? Or when I see his smug mug at training and can’t help but cave the rest of his face in?
‘Scottie?’ Ava’s observing me. The laughter has faded from her face, replaced by that hyper-aware vigilance. She senses the shift in the air pressure.
I pocket my mobile and plaster on neutral. ‘Naw. Only a reminder about a sponsor thing.’
‘Ah.’ The tiny, pinched crease between her eyebrows vanishes. ‘When do you have to head back?’
‘Monday morning.’ I shrug to force the tension out of my shoulders. ‘We’ve got the weekend off. Fallow week.’
The clock’s ticking. Monday will come. I’ll have to face Nevin.
And I’ve no bloody clue how I’m going to do it without ending up in cuffs or out of a contract.
Chapter 16
Ava
Man versus machine is a classic tragicomedy. Right now, out in the driveway, man is losing. Big time.
The Kerr family’s wheelchair accessible van lists to the left because the front passenger tyre is flat. Scottie is crouched beside it, his grey joggers stretched to their limit across his quads. Sculpted muscle shifting with every movement, power wrapped in cotton.
It is half nine, and the Scottish sky is doing its best impression of a damp mop. But I’m warm, fed, and highly entertained. Watching him try to solve a mechanical issue with blunt force is watching a bear attempt to open a jar of pickles.
He is swearing. It’s a low, continuous stream of profanity.
I like this side of him. Slightly…unhinged.
Scottie is trying to loosen the wheel nuts. He has got the wheel brace, but his right hand – currently painted in angry shades of purple – is failing him. Every time he applies pressure, he winces.
‘Get tae actual fuck, ya stubborn cunt of a thing!’
He drops the tool, and it clangs against the drive. Nevin would have kicked the car. He would have thrown the wheel brace across the street and then blamed me for the tyre. Scottie sits there and absorbs the failure as if it’s his personal fault that rubber punctures.
