Page 72 of Heart Match

‘Thank you,’ he says.

Why do I get the feeling that my heart breaks a little more with every encounter we have now?

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Just as I close the door behind me, Maurice is coming out of the lift.

‘Hey,’ I say, politely.

He studies me and his bright blue eyes tell me he’s pondering whether he should say hello back or just ignore me.

‘Miss Charlton,’ he says, too formal. It’s kind of weird to hear him call me that. Should I call him by his last name too? I don’t even remember it anyways.

We cross in the hall, each one of us going our separate directions. Then he stops on the way and says, ‘You know, he doesn’t need drama right now.’

I turn my back to face him, ‘Excuse me?’

‘This championship is his dream, you’re not helping.’ He shoves his hands in his shorts pockets. His face is so judgemental I want to slap it. You know, I’m not good at pretending but I’m very good with answers at unrequested comments at the wrong time.

‘Did you know I didn’t know who he is?’ I say.

‘Yes.’

‘Then you too should be blamed for not helping him achieve his dream.’

‘Oh, I told him from the start this was a bad idea.’

‘Apparently your opinion wasn’t enough.’

His smirk is sarcastic. I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to say more. He doesn’t.

‘Good night, Maurice,’ I say, cutting the conversation short because I just don’t have the energy to continue it.

I hear him shutting the door when I begin walking down the steps to my flat. I feel my blood boiling through my veins.

When I get home I pour myself a very chilled rosé in the hopes it will chill me too. I drink it straight down as I look at the dried up flowers Luc gave me, still in the vase on the kitchen island. I’m so tired and mentally drained I can barely stand. I look at my phone and it’s still full of messages and unanswered calls. Everyone that matters already knows I’m alive, all the rest can get an answer another time.

After a long shower I literally throw myself onto my bed. I can feel my brain pulsing, trying to organise thoughts and memories and emotions. It feels like it’s an overworked computer about to shut down. I just want tomorrow to be better.

Chapter Twenty-One

I wake up when my alarm goes off at its usual time. Slowly I open my eyes and instead of getting up, I linger a little longer in bed. My brain feels a bit less worked up right now and I take advantage of this to try to assimilate the last twenty-four hours. But I quickly realise it’s still all too much and roll to my side.

Why couldn’t Luc be just a normal guy with a normal life? Like all the others of the past couple of years? But then, if he were like them would I have gone this far?

I get my phone, and staring at the screen I decide to check his Instagram profile. It hasn’t occurred to me yet. I use Naomi’s account and type in his name on the search box. I shouldn’t be surprised that she already follows him, Lexi and Nate too. This all makes me think that if I’d ever told them his full name, they’d have recognised it immediately and I probably wouldn’t be in this mess. I feel stupid all over again. And mother of God, he has over seven million followers. SEVEN FREAKING MILLION.

luclamaire

900 Posts 7,3 M Followers 370 Following

Lucas Lamaire

Athlete

French tennis player

There are so many photos of him I feel overwhelmed. There’s him playing on the grass just two days ago in Wimbledon when he won. There’s a video of him training with his brother and Maurice. There’s him thanking the public, and another of him punching the air cheering a win, wearing his white cap backwards and that daredevil stare of his aimed at something on his side. I keep scrolling.

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