Page 39 of Blindsided By You

The fall-out—the sympathetic eyes, the consoling words, the whispering behind my back—would wreck me. I’m not prepared to live through that again. It was bad the first time in far-off London. How much worse would it be if it happened in Cluanie? Where there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No, desperate as I am for this little piece of happiness, I’d rather end it before it’s properly begun than risk that outcome.

Besides, this way, if I leave in November—much as I love my little business, I still feel the magnetic pull of the Highlanders—he won’t have to bear the gossip. There’s plenty in our town who’d love nothing better than to twist my decision to go into proof that Geordie’s nothing special. Not special enough to have kept me in Cluanie.

And then there’s Geordie’s rugby. It brings him so much joy. The way he talks about it, I know that rugby pitch is where he feels mostalive, most capable, most whole. If it were to be taken away from him, over me, what would he have left?

“I’d say that Iamworried. I’d rather they don’t know.” My words come out a whisper as I try to dull their impact.

He’s battling with this. He closes his eyes, as if needing to protect himself against them.

“Geordie, it’s better this way.” I attempt a soothing tone, masking my sudden desperation for his agreement. For all my tough self-talk about doing this on my terms or not doing it all, already the thought of losing him stabs at me. I summon all of my PR wiles, talking him down from the ledge before he jumps right out of my life. “You know, just keep it casual—until we see where it goes.”

It’s a shitty thing to do, tossing him those last few words, a little crumb of possibility, and I swallow down the shame at my selfishness. His eyes flutter open and the glimmer of hope written there confirms I’m the worst sort of person.

“OK,” he says softly, reaching a hand to smooth back my wild hair, like he’s gentling a flighty horse. “Let’s see where this goes.”

There’s a confidence in his small smile, as if he’s indulging me for now while knowing he’ll talk me round. I can’t let him. Fun. Casual. Fleeting. And no one gets hurt.

Chapter 20

GEORDIE

“Ifeellikeshit.”Nathan slumps against the hotel’s front wall.

It’s also an accurate description of how he looks this morning. Even catching a bit of fresh air while I checked us out hasn’t helped his hangover. His dark hair sticks out at odd angles and he looks grimy despite spending so long in the shower I had to yell at him to check he hadn’t passed out.

“Get this into you.” I thrust the takeaway coffee at him. We’ve left it too late to grab a decent breakfast before the bus leaves.

“Thanks, mate,” he mumbles. “Don’t want to sound ungrateful, but what I could really do with is a nice big greasy fry up.”

“I’m with you on that.”

The standard antidote for a hard night would go a long way to settling the nausea in my own stomach. Mine isn’t alcohol induced. Sure, I had a few drinks yesterday, but the moment Jenna invited me into her room, I sobered up instantly. After that, well, I didn’t need booze to give me courage, or use it to blur the edges. In fact, the opposite.

I wanted the clarity to remember every moment with Jenna just in case, come today, it might be all I had of her. She’s made it very clear that’s not the case. She sees something more beyond what happened between us, but it’s definitely not the same something I want.

That’s why, although I agreed to this secret ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement we made in the early hours, by the light of day, it’s eating at me. Especially her abrupt u-turn after the fire alarm. Before that, I’d been sure we’d found something in each other beyond just sex, something meaningful. Then all of a sudden it’s back to sneaky hook-ups, and banging each other without any other expectation than a fun time in the sheets. I hate it.

I take a frustrated slug of my coffee. Returning to Cluanie was meant to be a clean break from my past. I don’t want to drift forever in the aimlessness that has marked my life so far.

Eight years in a job that gave no satisfaction apart from a large bank balance. Now even that seems irrelevant. My ability to earn money proves I’m not thick like my teachers told me, but accumulating it is a hollow goal. It’s a truth I didn’t understand while I was off chasing contracts, always looking for the big bucks, always moving on.

Over that time, I’ve drifted between people too. Sure, I had friends of a sort amongst the crews on the rigs. It’s a harsh life and you need to have each other’s backs. Shore leave can get pretty wild, too, so it’s always reassuring to know there’s someone who’ll pull you out of a messy situation before you end up in some South East Asian jail.

But has a single one of those so-called friends stayed in touch? Not one. Those were friendships with a lifespan limited to the job. Once I moved on, they simply became acquaintances.

So this group of friends within the rugby team, most old and a couple new like Nathan, offer something more. The small uncomfortable niggle that grew into a gut feeling, suggesting I should chuck it all in and come home for a bit, was right. There are things in Cluanie I didn’t realise I’d lacked. Friends are one of them.

A girl like Jenna is another; but what I’m looking for with Jenna is something it now seems she’s not prepared to give me—yet—a proper relationship. Although this arrangement she’s suggested is a damn sight more than anything I’ve entered into previously.

My history with women consists of a stream of casual hook-ups, most the one-night stands that tend to find young men back on dry land after weeks offshore. There were the odd few where they stretched into a couple of weeks of mutually agreed no-strings-attached fun, with no expectations on either side, and no regrets afterwards.

But I’m no longer the horny kid looking for a quick tumble with a pretty girl, despite my actions last night suggesting that’s exactly what I am. Jenna has asked me for a little more than that, but it’s still not enough; not what I’m prepared to try and give someone for the first time in my life. It’s not her fault she’s unwilling to accept it yet. She will, eventually. I have to believe that.

I get it. How risky it would be for her, after what that prick of an ex did to her. So I’ll play along, keep these feelings—which, to be honest, even surprise me—to myself, and play the long game.

There’s no sign of her this morning. In one way, that’s a good thing. I’m not sure how to play it cool with her in front of all the guys. So far, apart from Nathan, it appears no one suspects. They were all too hammered to think anything of our no-show at the fire evacuation assembly point.

But there’s also insecurity nagging at me, a voice whispering the suggestion in my ear that she woke up with instant regrets and is now avoiding me.

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