Within half an hour I could feel the relief wash over me as we pulled up outside the Taylor’s house in Richmond. It was still only eleven p.m. The living room was dark save for the glow of whatever trashy Netflix dating show the girls were watching. The crackle of Noah’s baby monitor beside them. Both girls curled up either side of the sofa under blankets. Orla’s head snapped round when she heard us. “Jesus.” She checked her watch. “Didn’t expect you two at this time. Get kicked out of the club already or what?”
Jordan smirked, tugging off his jacket. “Nah, just realized we’d rather be here than there.”
Kate arched an eyebrow over the blanket. “Translation: you two are getting old.”
Orla’s eyes lingered on me, searching, like she could tell something had happened. I just shrugged, dropped down beside her, and let her tuck her legs over my lap. The smell of her shampoo, the weight of her against me, Noah’s soft baby breaths crackling through the monitor, it was everything the club wasn’t.
“Old or not,” I said, pressing a kiss into her hair, “this is where I’d rather be. Every single time.”
We ended up staying the night after talking for hours with the kind of easy, rambling conversations that only happen when you’re surrounded by people who make you feel safe. When morning came, I woke not to the pounding of a hangover or the hollow pit of regret, but to the smell of coffee drifting up from the kitchen and the sound of laughter echoing through the house. As I headed into the kitchen, Noah was in his highchair, his angelic face smeared with blueberries, giggling like his dad had just performed the world’s greatest magic trick by throwingone in the air and catching it in his mouth. Kate was pouring the coffee and Orla leaned against the counter watching it all with a content little smile. I’d never felt so complete.
For the first time, I realized this was what I’d been chasing all those years in clubs and bars. Not the noise. Not the chaos. But this. Mornings wrapped in love, laughter filling the room and the promise of a family of my own someday.
Chapter 62
Orla
Ireland
Two Days Until the Wedding
It feltgood to be home.
The feeling hit the moment we turned off the main road and onto the winding lanes that snaked toward the castle near Ballyadam. Green fields rolled on either side, stone walls appeared mossy and weathered, and sheep scattered like little clouds across the hills. As we crested the last bend, the castle we’d chosen for our venue came into view, its turrets rising against the cotton scattered blue sky like something out of a storybook.
When I was a little girl, I used to dream of getting married in a place like this. As I got older, I’d learnt not to aim so high. Josh and I had spoken about booking the golf club in Cork which was sensible—practical for family. But it was a far cry from fairytales. When Tyler asked where I wanted to hold the wedding, no expense spared, there was only ever one answer. Funny how life works out.
Tyler slowed the car to a crawl, his hand tightening on the wheel as he stared up at the stone towers, ivy climbing the walls.
“Jesus Christ, O…” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You weren’t kidding when you said castle.”
He hadn’t said much on the drive from the airport, but his face had been a picture. Tyler had never been to Ireland before, London was as close as he usually got when he played this side of the world and now he kept staring out the window like a kid at Disneyland. Every few miles, he’d mutter something aboutGame of Thronesor fairytales, which made me giggle.
To me, the stone walls, the green rolling to the horizon, the damp air that clung to your hair, it all felt like home. To him, it was another planet.
We were staying in one of the cottages on the estate for the next few days, a quiet hideaway whilst we prepared for the wedding on Saturday. Dad, Mal, and Danny were driving up tonight to meet us before Kate, Gwen, and their husbands joined tomorrow for the pre-wedding celebration. The thought made my stomach twist. Not about the wedding itself–Tyler and I were already married–that part felt steady and right, but about my family spending that much time with him under one roof.
We’d only managed one visit from Dad since everything changed, he’d insisted on coming over to stay with Danny for a few days after his surgery just like we’d done for him. He and Tyler had gotten on like a house on fire, of course. Dad could talk to anyone, charm anyone. But Danny was another matter. Tyler had tried with him these past few months, gone out of his way, even, but Danny’s injury had left him brittle and not quite himself. The surgery had gone well, the rehab too, but there was still something unresolved in his eyes every time I looked at him. Something I couldn’t quite reach.
After we collected the key to the cottage, we unloaded the car in a flurry of bags and boxes. Tyler kept sneaking glances at my dress in its carrier like it might reveal itself if he stared long enough. I swatted him away each time, rolling my eyes.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Can’t blame a man for trying.” He grinned, hauling another case from the boot.
“And did you remember your shoes?” I asked, for what must have been the nineteenth time since Heathrow.
He groaned theatrically. “Yes, O, the goddamn shoes are here. You’ll see them on my feet, promise. Unless you’d rather me go barefoot? I think it fits the whole castle vibe.”
I shook my head, but truthfully, his teasing had kept me sane all day. Beneath it, my stomach was a knot of nerves. Dad and my brothers would be here within the hour.
We set everything down inside and collapsed onto the sofa, sinking into the cushions like we’d been carrying bricks on our backs. Tyler looked wrecked. Still gorgeous, still mine, but wrecked all the same.
He hadn’t properly stopped since Wimbledon. Five brutal sets against Jordan, two men going at each other like they had something to prove to God himself. I could still see it, the way Tyler’s final return clipped the net cord and dropped cruelly into Jordan’s line, only for him to chase it down and whip it just wide. Inches. That’s all that separated them.
Tyler had said all the right things afterward, smiling for cameras, clapping Jordan on the back, telling the press he’d be back stronger, but now, sprawled with his head tipped against the cushion, I could see the exhaustion humming through him. He was running on nothing but adrenaline and stubborn pride.
I brushed a hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. “You could nap before Dad gets here,” I murmured.
