Danny nodded, appreciative but clearly lost for words after what he’d just admitted. No wonder he’d gone off the rails the other night. We really couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop Vegas on him.
“Okay, well… I need to head off.” He slapped his thighs and pushed up from the sofa with a grunt. I rose too.
“Send me your appointment schedule,” I said quickly, reaching for his arm. “I’ll be there.”
As he crossed the room toward Tyler, I noticed it, the stiffness in his gait, the way he was trying to disguise the limp. He must have been in agony. Guilt pressed heavy against my ribs.
Tyler held out a hand, tentatively and to my relief, Danny took it. He even hauled him into the frostiest bro hug known to man. But still, a hug. I’d take it.
When the door closed behind him, Tyler’s eyes widened. “Jesus, I did not expect that,” he said, incredulous.
“That was huge for him,” I nodded, sinking back onto the sofa. My chest still tight from barely breathing the entire time he was here for fear of spooking him.
Tyler leaned against the doorframe, brows furrowed. “What was that about appointments?”
I exhaled loudly. “He’s ruptured his Achilles. Doesn’t know if he can play again. I told him I’d go with him to the consultation. Rehab him when I’m here in London. Same as I’m doing with Emma.”
Tyler’s brows shot up, the weight of it landing on him too. “Shit,” he murmured “That’s…brutal”
“I know.” My voice cracked. He didn’t say anything else, but I could see it in his face, the recognition. He understood what this kind of injury took. The fear. The grief. The terrifying question of who you were when the game was suddenly taken away.
Tyler pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, sitting beside me without a word. His hand found mine.
“Well, lucky for him he has you; he won’t have to deal with it alone,” Tyler said finally. Somehow, despite the shaky start to their relationship I already knew that the two of them were goingto understand each other far better than either of them realised yet.
Chapter 52
Orla
Nothing settledafter Danny’s blow-up; it just shifted into hospital appointments, rehab sessions, and tabloids that still couldn’t decide whether Tyler and I were doomed or delusional.
Danny went under the knife mid-September after I managed to throw my weight around and push him quicker. I was there for every step until I had to leave for Shanghai with Tyler. Holding his crutches, scribbling questions the surgeon hadn’t thought to answer, fielding his frustration when he realised just how long the road back would be. Emma was still in physio, too, and had somehow managed to work her way onto my caseload, all sunshine and grit despite her own shoulder surgery, so most days I felt stretched in three directions at once.
Somehow, Tyler and I carved out space for ourselves in the middle of it all. We ditched the hotel suites and landed in a penthouse flat near Wimbledon. Far fancier than my little place in Balham, I’ll admit, but our names were on the letterbox, our mismatched mugs filled the cupboards, and slowly, quietly, a life was taking shape outside the chaos of the tour.
It still felt surreal. Buying a place that was ours. With my husband. A few months ago I’d been kidding myself that I couldkeep this incredible human being at arm’s length, that I could compartmentalise him the way I always did everything else. Before I knew it, we were unpacking boxes, arguing over where the toaster should live, and building a real marriage in the gaps between flights and matches.
The headlines kept circling, but we learned to live around them. In all honesty, they were getting tired of their former headline stealer becoming domesticated and boring. Slowly, between ice packs, media storms, and normal late-night takeaways on the sofa, we started to feel less like a Vegas headline and more like a married couple.
By the time December came, it almost felt like the dust had settled. Just in time for Jordan and Kate’s wedding.
?If there’s one thing Jordan and Kate Taylor knew how to do, that’s throw a wedding, ??and I don’t mean in a shiny, white roses and candles everywhere, glossy magazine deal way. That’s not what this was. I mean a proper Aussie-Welsh crossover celebration. Tyler had been to plenty of high-end events in his time, but this was new territory for him. It was equal parts tradition and chaos. A sleek, intimate vineyard ceremony, heartfelt speeches, a fancy dinner, followed by someone’s uncle doing the worm on the dancefloor. ??
Don’t get me wrong, they looked every inch the celebrity couple— all annoyingly perfect bone structure and effortless style. Kate was the picture of elegance in a fitted strapless satin gown that clung to her tiny frame and soft curves like it had been sewn onto her—she was breathtaking. Jordan, in a sleek, classic black tux, didn’t take his eyes off her once…right up until the moment they got so drunk he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her off at the end of the night to do God knows what to his new wife.
Gwen and I had flown out to Melbourne the week before to take our duties as hen party organisers and chief bridesmaidsvery seriously or, in Gwen’s case, with the military precision of her husband.
“Listen, Ashford, this is the second and last time I’m doing this for you, so let’s do it right.”
Her excitement was palpable the minute we led her into that bottomless brunch. The thing about Kate is she’s all professional, kind-hearted, and soft-spoken…until she’s on a night out. Then, she’s bloody feral. We had the time of our lives, dancing on tables, convincing handsome barmen to give us free shots but I will never forget the look on Jordan’s face when we called him to come retrieve her from a bush at nine p.m.
“Jesus, woman, it’s not even dark yet.” ??He laughed, knowingexactlywhat was ahead of him that night.
We didn’t hear from her the whole next day.
The wedding ceremony had been seamless and by evening the sky had become an inky shade of navy, the air still thick with the cooling summer heat as I sat at the edge of the dance floor beside a table draped in crisp white linen. The grounds of the vineyard they’d chosen were stunning, the dance floor framed by rows of rustic vines, strings of twinkling lights swaying gently overhead, and the scent of something earthy and herbaceous drifting on the night air. Glasses clinked and the sounds of champagne corks popping could be heard in the distance. ??
The day was perfect, completely and utterly perfect, and yet, deep down in my stomach, there was a pang I couldn’t quite ignore.
