I swallow, feeling sick. “How is the guy?”
He shrugs, taking a sip of water. “I don’t know, I wasn’t holding his hand. But he left the bar on his own two feet and before the police showed up, if that makes you feel any better. I think you got away with near murder on this one. What the hell were you thinking?”
I give him a sharp look. “I obviously wasn’t thinking.”
“I know, just…take it easy man. I’m sorry, I should have known better than to bring you to a bar. I thought you were doing better. You were the last time.”
“That was months ago,” I remind him. “And I’m fine,” I add quickly. “I just have a lot going on right now. It’s tripping me up.”
“The girl,” he muses.
“It’s not her fault,” I say harshly. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“But she’s what’s on your mind, what’s tripping you up. No?”
I wiggle my jaw back and forth, trying to relieve the tension. “I’m going through some things. It won’t happen again.”
“Well it better not, Lach,” he says to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Because that girl is in love with you. Believe me, you do not want to fuck that up.”
I squint my eyes at him. “So what really happened in Paris?”
But he just smiles at me and walks away.
I sigh and return to the game.
Being on the rugby pitch has always been the one place where I can put everything behind me, all my past and my future and just live in the present.
But for the rest of practice, I’m as useless as tits on a bull. Maybe it’s the hangover but it’s most likely everything else. The great highs of this morning in bed with Kayla, hearing her say she loves me, having her tell me she might stay, combined with the lows of last night, the shame over my violent behaviour, the way that I must have made her feel. How quickly I went from “one drink will put me at ease” to not having a limit at all.
“McGregor,” Alan yells at me as I’m leaving the pitch. “Smarten up next time. We need you sharp.”
I nod, grunting, and head into the locker room to shower.
I needed to smarten up and fast. For the sake of everything.
CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE
Kayla
“Please stay with me.”
I hear his words over and over again and each time my mind replays it, each time it brings up that look on his face, desperate, needing, my heart is torn in so many directions. How is it possible to feel so alive, so full, at knowing he wants me to stay, at even considering it, while I also want to crumble and weep because it just seems so impossible?
I mean, how could I stay here? Is this something I really want to do?
I know the answer to the last question but the first one needs a lot of work.
“You going to be all right?” Lachlan asks me. His voice is so low, so quiet, that I turn away from the drawing room window and look back at him.
He’s got his duffel bag full of rugby gear slung over his shoulder, brow furrowed in concern. After he told me that he wants me to stay, he’s been acting different around me. Like he’s afraid to say anything more, as if it will set me off and running.
I raise my cup of coffee at him. “I’ve got this. I’ll be good.”
“Weather isn’t very nice,” he says and I look back out the window at the rain streaming down.
I shrug. “Perfect day to stay indoors. I’m sad I won’t see you getting all muddy in the field though.”
“Actually we’re at the track today, conditioning,” he says. “You’re welcome to come.”
I’m not sure that I am, not after the other night. Sometimes I worry that it was me being around his field, around his teammates, that it set him off. I shake my head and give him a small smile. “That’s okay, I have a whole day to lounge around here with the dogs and watch The Vicar of Dibley. Besides, I have to get ready for your gala hoopla and I’ll need a lot of time to get gorgeous.”