Page 62 of Blindsided By You

“I don’t think you realise, Jenna. You’re end-game for him.”

The statement floors me, not only the magnitude of it, but the person it’s coming from. Rachel is no starry-eyed romantic. For her to see this in her brother, to say this—it’s massive. I’m swamped by a dizzy sensation, as if I’m falling even though I’m sitting down. Euphoria and fear wrestle in my stomach.

“He’s not sure you think that way about him yet. But he believes you will. I think he’s wrong.”

My breath hitches. Is this the moment where my best friend agrees with Adam: I’m not capable of caring for a man like he needs or deserves? Hard, unloving, heartless Jenna. I clutch at my chest, the air in my lungs jagged and painful.

Rachel continues, oblivious to my growing distress.

“Jenna, I think youalreadycare for Geordie way more than you’re letting on to him. Or me.” I blink at her, unsure if I’ve heard her correctly. “And why do you say ‘when it ends’ not ‘if it ends’? What’s up Jenna? You can tell me, you know. He might be my brother, but come on, you’re my sister—”

“From another mister,” I finish. As tears prickle threateningly, a tiny giggle rises in my throat. Memories flood in. We’re suddenly chortling together, like the two little girls we once were. When our laughter finally trickles away, and we’re left facing each other, a smile still playing around Rachel’s mouth, I’m struck by a heavy wave of regret.

Chasing my career—and running away from my past—has taken me away from this woman. The one who’s been there for me through so much. The student years in London,sharing dodgy flats sometimes with even dodgier flatmates. The time beyond uni when we snared dream jobs, money began to flow, and we spent hours shopping in proper shops, able to buy the nice things we’d only ever salivated over in the window displays. Living in apartments free of mould and suspect plumbing. Winter evenings in raucous pubs; all-nighters in London clubs. We’ve been each other’s ride-or-die forever, Rachel and me. When I fled from Adam, moving to Glasgow to join the Highlanders, I also left Rachel behind and it’s another thing I hate him for.

Just like I hate him for the power he still has over me. All the self-doubt that’s eating at me has its root in what Adam did. The doubt when I dare to think of Geordie as anything more than a fun distraction. The doubt that causes me to question Rachel’s assertion that Geordie and I could be something more.

Strangely, I trust her instincts more than I do my own right now. So I choose honesty and start from the beginning.

Tears find me when I tell her of the bride in the hotel, with her dark hair twisted in a loose braid and soft tendrils framing her face the same way the hairdresser planned to do mine. I describe the dress, almost identical to the one Rachel helped me choose, the one I can’t part with no matter how much seeing it in the wardrobe pierces my heart.

“Oh, Jen,” she says. She stands, grabbing me by both hands and dragging me up into her arms. “Promise me you’re going to burn that fucking dress,” she insists. “And that you’re going to end this stupid bloody deal with Geordie. Talk to him.”

“I will. Soon.”

I’m glad I’m not looking Rachel in the eye. I’ve just made two promises I know I can’t keep, because I’m not brave enough to do either. Yet.

Chapter 33

JENNA

Itossandturnall night in restless sleep, replaying the scene with Rachel over and over. Her words—some kind, others harsh, but all true—echo in my head. I doze fitfully, waking often only to begin another bout of brittle introspection. Each time, I resist the urge to check the time. Knowing how slowly the hours pass will only add to my frustration.

Finally, seeing a hint of daylight sneaking beyond the edge of a curtain, I relent and grab at my phone. It’s not the time—seven a.m. on Sunday—that jolts me from drowsy to fully alert. It’s the six missed calls from my father. All came between eight and nine last night, when I was with Geordie—oblivious to anything beyond the intoxicating touch of his strong body and the delicious smell of his cologne—while my phone languished on the seat of my car.

In the aftermath of Rachel’s unannounced visit, I’d arrived home just after midnight, tired and emotionally wrung out, and simply plugged the phone into my bedside charger before falling into bed. I curse myself for not looking at it. Even after months away from the Highlanders, checking for urgent messages remains my nightlyroutine before allowing myself to sleep. It’s an unhealthy habit, one I swore I’d break, but last night, of all nights, wasn’t the time to start.

I fling back the covers, grab my dressing gown, yank on slippers, and hurry down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time. The familiar blare of weekend sports news drifting up from the radio in the kitchen tells me at least Dad is here, alive and well. The mingled smell of coffee and toast suggests a normal Sunday morning, despite his urgent need to call me last night.

I slide across the tiled kitchen floor, coming to a halt where he’s seated on a high stool at the worktop. Dad raises his head from scrolling on the new iPad I got him last week. A small victory—he’s actually using it.

“Morning, luv,” he says. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, Dad, I did. You?”

“Like a baby—once I heard you come in. You were late.”

His eyebrow arches, the unspoken question hanging between us. I know what he’s really asking: Where were you until midnight on a Saturday in Cluanie? His implied question irritates me, even though it comes from a place of concern. At thirty-four, I shouldn’t feel obliged to explain my whereabouts to my father.

“Yeah, Rachel made a flying visit home. She was in Edinburgh for work and caught the train up last night. I met her over at Geordie’s.”

I haven’t spoken a single lie—first rule of PR: stick to the truth whenever possible.

“Ah, that’s nice,” he says with a smile that suggests he doesn’t suspect anything untoward in my explanation.

“So what’s up Dad?” I pivot away from any further questions about me. “All the calls?”

“Well, luv, we’ve got a bit of a situation. Think I might need your help.”

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