‘I got myself suspended. And I’ll take the suspension any day if it means I get to wake up next to you.’
‘And what about next month?’ She pulls her coat on. ‘When the money runs out? When the resentment sets in? When you look at me and realise I cost you and your family everything? You’re too good to say it, but you’ll feel it. And I won’t be the reason you hate your life. Or me. You’ll hate me in the end, and I won’t watch you grow resentful of me. I couldn’t… I…’
‘I could never hate you.’ The denial is instant, but there’s heat in it now. A flare of anger. Does she think I’m that shallow?
‘Oh, give it time.’ She loops her bag over her shoulder. She’s leaving. Actually leaving.
‘Ava.’ I stand up abruptly. ‘Sit down.’ It’s the tone I use to set the defensive line speed. The one that fixes a drifting prop in his channel. ‘We are not done. You’re running away.’
‘No. I’m saving you.’
‘I don’t need saving!’ Heads turn across the pub. ‘I don’t need saving from you. I need you.’
Her gaze finds mine, and there’s nothing but naked pain. ‘It’s… This isn’t good for either of us. I guess our timing is awful. Maybe we’re both not ready for anything other than healing our own wounds right now.’
My lungs try to draw a breath and get nothing. ‘You don’t get to use clichés on me, Ava. Not after this weekend.’
She stares up at me, her chin trembling. ‘Someone has to look out for you for a change, you know.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m asking you. Stay. Please.’
The battle plays out on her face. She wants to stay. I see it. Every cell in her body is leaning towards me.
‘I can’t.’
‘You can. We’ll sort this out. I’ll call Wallace. I’ll get a lawyer. I’ve got savings. We can get you a place in Glasgow, or – hell, I can move. Commuting is fine. We can make it work.’ I hear myself spiral, firing off solutions like a man manic with fever. I fall right back into the habit. I’m grabbing rocks while I drown.
‘Scottie.’
‘And the money… I’ll sell the car.’ I draw closer, cornering her with options. ‘I can pick up coaching. Personal training. Fuck, I’ll stack shelves at Tesco. I’ll work the doors at a club. I don’t care. I can?—’
‘Stop.’
‘I can fix it, Ava. I can fix all of it.’
‘Stop trying to fix me!’ Her shout cracks the air. She stares at me, chest heaving. ‘I’m not a broken boiler!’
The callback carves through me like a dagger. I stare at her, the words dying on my tongue. She’s right. God help me, she’s right. I tried to tell her I loved her. Instead, I showed her I pitied her.
‘I didn’t… Christ, Ava. I want to make this work!’
‘I know.’ Her features soften. She reaches out, and her hand hovers over my chest before she drops it. She doesn’t touch me.
Why doesn’t she touch me?
‘But you can’t hold up this roof, Scottie. It’s already crumbled. And it’s up to me to rebuild it.’
She has chosen, and it’s not me. If I keep pushing, I’m becoming the force she has to survive. I have to let her go, even if it’s tearing me apart.
‘You’ve become my best friend. And I’m not going to watch you go down for me.’ She steps back. ‘I’ll be out of your room before you get back.’
‘Ava—’
Her eyes are glazed over. ‘Please let me do one good thing.’
She turns and walks toward the door. Shoulders squared, head high. A dancer exiting the stage. When she reaches the door, she pauses and checks back over her shoulder.
And it devastates me.
