Page 121 of Hard to Hold

“I guess you didn’t need my help after all,” Lennox says.

“You didn’t put him up to that? You didn’t set that—”

“No. I’m as shocked as you are. I’m . . . speechless. See? I’m not the only one who thinks you’re worth fighting for.” Her words hang on the line as I struggle with the onslaught of emotions the past twenty-four hours have brought.

“Lennox . . . Thank you. God, you’re—”

“There’s no need to thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

“You got me to London today. And you were trying to do more. And no one has ever—”

“You’re worth it.”

“Thank you. Truly.” We both fall silent. “It’s early there. You must be exhausted. Get some sleep.” I say the words, but would sit in her silence all day long if I could.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you . . . later.”

“Yes. Later.”

And when I hang up, it takes everything I have not to call her right back to tell her what’s on the tip of my tongue.

I love you.

I sit on the thought before I dial the next person I need to speak with. He picks up on the third ring. “Rush.”

“Rory. Mate. You didn’t have to do that. You—”

“Yes, I did.”

“But what about—”

“I’m a big boy, Rush. They’re my cock-ups, and I’ll damn well own them. It’s time I did the right thing and be the friend to you that you’ve been to me all these years.”

“I don’t . . . Fuck, mate.”

“I’ve spoken to Mum, and she cried. And wants to meet Esme sometime. Well. Not yet.”

“She loves you, Ror.”

“Yeah. It’s just . . . But Dad. God. He’s livid. I’ve lived so much of my life desperate for Dad’s approval, but I just couldn’t. It doesn’t fucking matter if I can’t live with the man I’ve become. . . and I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand by and let you ruin everything out of some skewed loyalty he made you feel.” There’s shuffling on the other end of the connection. “I was weak in letting him ask you and in going along with it. There’s nothing more I can say other than I’m sorry for everything, and I’m the sorriest that I let it get this far.”

“Rory. Are you—” I stumble over what to say because his apologies have me fearful they are more of a goodbye than anything. “I mean . . . you’re okay, right?”

“Good God, yes. I’m still on the mend, but life is glorious.”

“What about the club?”

“Let the team transfer me for what I did. I don’t care so long as I still get to play. Besides, Esme will stand beside me regardless.”

“I don’t even have words.” My thoughts are coming too fast to put a voice to them. “All I can say is I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks again, mate. You’re a saint, and I don’t deserve you.”

* * *

“I’m pulling down my street right now, Finn, and after not being home since June, I’m ending the call so I can enjoy the silence of my house without you yakking in my ear.”

“Understood. Be ready for the club to want to push you in front of the press sooner rather than later. You look like a goddamn saint right now, so let them use it to erase all of the bad press—”