Hannah blinks. “And?”
“And ever since, he’s been… distant.”
She studies me for a second. “Wait,” she says slowly. “So he thought you were taken, was borderline feral about Scott, then discovers you’re single and suddenly goes all weird?”
“Yes.” She sits back, clearly delighted. “That man is spiraling.”
I frown. “Or he’s not interested.”
Hannah laughs outright. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am,” I insist. “Maybe the tension was only there because it was forbidden. Maybe now that it’s not, he’s realised there’s nothing there.”
Even as I say it, I don’t quite believe it. Because the look on his face in my kitchen when I told him about James had not been indifferent. It had been… something else entirely. Something tight and almost disorientated, like the ground had shifted under him. But since then, he’s been distant.
“He’s not uninterested,” Hannah says firmly. “He’s recalibrating.”
“Recalibrating what?”
“His entire nervous system, probably.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s a flicker of something in my chest that refuses to settle.
That evening, I see him again at pickup. Theo runs toward me, breathless, mid-sentence about spelling tests, and Isla is close behind him. Rory stands next to me, slightly behind, hands in his pockets again, that same careful distance between us.
“How was training?” I ask casually.
“Fine.”
“Just fine. Sounds… exhilarating.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s work.”
We stand there for a moment, the kids circling our legs, and I wait for him to fill the silence the way he used to. He doesn’t. Instead, he takes a deep breath and nods once.
“See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. I watch him walk away again, shoulders broad under his jacket, posture steady, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something unfamiliar where he’s concerned. Not longing. Not heartbreak. Not even anger. Uncertainty. I thought we’d broken through something in that kitchen. I thought once we’d established that we could be alone together, whatever this was between us would settle. Instead, it’s gone completely quiet. And quiet, with Rory Bennett, has never meant simple. It means he’s thinking. And I have no idea what conclusion he’s coming to.
chapter twenty-one
rory
I am, objectively, an idiot. Not in the charming, self-aware way. Not in the “ah well, lads will be lads” way. In the very specific, deeply inconvenient way where you discover the one thing standing between you and losing your mind never existed in the first place and has quietly been removed. And instead of stepping forward like a normal, functioning adult, you immediately slam the brakes and reverse.
Freya is single.Single.I found that out standing in her kitchen, tea going cold in my hand, staring at a house that contains no evidence of another man and smells like vanilla and cinnamon and childhood and everything I’ve tried very hard not to want.
The second she said it, the second she casually explained that James was Theo’s dad and nothing more, something inside my chest detonated so violently I’m fairly sure it altered my DNA. Which is precisely why I have been pulling back ever since. Because when she was taken, it was simple. Off limits. Morally uncomplicated. I could look, but not touch. Feel, but not act. It was frustration with a safety net. Now there isn’t one. Now if I look at her too long, that’s on me. If I reach for her hand, that’s on me. If I ruin twenty-five years of history because I can’t keepmy shit together, that is entirely on me. And I have already been a possessive prick once at the fair, practically squaring up to Scott like I had any right whatsoever to police who she laughs with. I replay that moment more than I care to admit, my hand gripping his shoulder too tightly, my jaw set like some territorial idiot.
So yes. I am being careful. I am not standing too close at pickup. I am not letting myself stare at the curve of her neck or the way her mouth softens when she’s thinking. Because I know exactly what happens if I don’t manage this properly. I fall. And I can’t afford to fall. Not where Freya Collins is concerned.
Training doesn’t help. Nothing helps. I can be mid-drill, lungs burning, sweat running down my spine, and my brain will still conjure the exact image of her leaning against her kitchen counter, sunlight catching in her hair, telling me she hasn’t been with anyone since she was pregnant. Which is a detail I did not need to know, but now have stored in high definition.
I drag a hand over my face in the changing room after training and mutter to myself like a man unwell.
“Get a grip.”
She deserves someone steady. Not someone who disappears to the city for years and then comes back acting like he owns the postcode. Not someone who gets territorial over a woman who has never once belonged to him.
