Page 74 of Blindsided By You

Below us, Cluanie’s lights twinkle, casting an unexpected charm over the plain town. By day, it’s unremarkable—not the picture-postcard Scottish village of books and films—but tonight, the glow of street lamps and lit windows transform it into something almost beautiful.

Lulled by the sight, I sit for a moment, Geordie’s steady, even breathing, strangely calming in the quiet stillness. The citrus smell of soap and shampoo, overlaid with his own familiar soothing scent, fills the van. I slowly inhale it and exhale some of my rage.

I’m not angry at Geordie. Just Kyle who can never leave well alone, and my dad with his ridiculous rules. And myself for believing I deserve someone who’ll lay everything on the line for me, who’d sacrifice the thing he loves most to be with me.

“Ready?” Geordie breaks the silence, his mouth quirking up at one corner, eyebrows raised.

I snort. “For what?”

“Whatever had you ready to tear my head off back there.”

“Kyle.” The name falls flat between us, a weak shield.

“Kyle?” He shakes his head. “The guy’s a pain in the arse. Nothing more.” His eyes haven’t left my face. “But he’s not the one you’re really looking to murder tonight, is he?”

I squirm in my seat, pinned by his gaze. The words tangle in my throat, and my sigh says everything I can’t.

“You thought I’d told them,” he says. Not a question. “We agreed to keep it quiet, yeah? But Nathan’s the only one who knows, and Christ I didn’t tell him—“ He runs a hand through his hair. “Those walls aren’t exactly thick.” There’s the hint of a smile. “Connor’sknown from the start. Reckons he saw something between us out on the terrace back on the night of the party. But he won’t say anything. Even Kyle won’t. The team’s too important to him. He’ll keep his big gob shut.”

Geordie pins me with that stare again. I have to give him more.

“No, Kyle’s not the problem.” I stare at my hands. “He can stir all he wants. And the other guys...you’re right, they’ll figure it out, anyway.” I swallow hard. “But saying it out loud makes it real. We said casual, remember? The moment we tell people, it becomes something else. Then you’re not just...then you’re my boyfriend.”

“Are you sure I’m not?” His eyes lock with mine until something he sees there makes him turn away, his jaw tight against the darkness. “Why not call it what it is?” His voice drops. “Unless you want to sleep with someone else?”

The real question hangs between us, unspoken: Why am I so afraid of calling him mine?

“Of course I bloody don’t.” The words burst out, rough with frustration.

Geordie’s too calm, too reasonable, leaving me nowhere to run. Why can’t we drop this and go back to what we’ve been? That’s what I imagined this afternoon. Everything would stay the same except without an expiry date. But my chest tightens at the thought. Living this half-life where we’re everything behind closed doors and strangers in daylight. Where I pretend what we have isn’t burning through every wall I’ve built. It’s not what I want, and god knows it’s not what he deserves, but I don’t see another way out.

He turns back to me and waits, his eyes pinning me in place. Something wild rises in my chest, a desperate need to break this moment before it breaks me.

“You think I have time for anyone else?” My voice sharpens. “Every spare minute, I’m in your bed. With you. Fucking.” The word sours on my tongue. “There’s no one else, Geordie. I’ve kept my end of the deal.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” I hate the flatness of his reply, the disinterested shrug of his shoulders. “At least you haven’t made a fool out of me by making anarrangementwith some other guy.” The way he spits out ‘arrangement’ conveys the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth.

“Geordie, you don’t seem to understand.” I enunciate each word with exaggerated precision. “I don’t want people to think we’re... in... a... relationship.”

“Yeah, well, that would be fucking terrible, wouldn’t it?” he says. His unaccustomed sarcasm stabs at me. “For people to think you and I are anything at all. How fucking embarrassing for you.”

He turns to meet my eyes, and the raw pain in his gaze triggers a wave of shame. If anything should embarrass me, it’s the hurt I’ve inflicted. I bite back a humiliated sob. This is what I’ve done—driven a gentle, kind man to lash out like a wounded animal fighting to survive.

I stare down at the lights of Cluanie, wavering through unshed tears. Minutes ago, they sparkled with promise; now they’re tarnished by my cowardice. The truth cuts deep—I’m not ashamed for others to know about Geordie and me. I’m ashamed because I can’t face what we are myself.

Geordie’s phone lights up, the distinctive ring tone he’s set for work blaring through the emptiness between us. I hear the echo of an agitated voice as he makes calming noises.

“I’ll be right over, Heather,” he says, ending the call. “Gotta go. Work.”

He starts the engine. We spiral down into the town, the silence a gaping space that neither of us knows how to fill. At the rugby club, he parks the van alongside my car.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He turns to face me, and I can’t believe he’s apologising. I’m the one who’s done wrong here. His eyes catch the dim light, wet with unshed tears. “I’ve been a bastard, I know. But Jenna, this thing is eating me alive. I can’t end it—Christ, I wouldn’t survive. Everything changed that night in Edinburgh. For me, anyway.”

“Can we talk later? After?” My suggestion triggers guarded hope in his eyes, piercing straight through my defences. Since Edinburgh, my world has shifted too. This afternoon, it lurched even further on its axis. The thought of telling him I’m staying terrifies me. It will only fuel his determination for us to step out of the shadows and face the whispers and watching eyes of everyone in town—and my father. But I need to tell him.

“Not sure when I’ll finish,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “Heather Buchanan needs me up there pronto. They’re fully booked and the power’s failed in one of the cottages—right as the last guests were checking in. She’s keeping them calm with complimentary drinks, but that won’t last long.”

“Better get up there,” I say resignedly. Heather Buchanan’s boutique hotel keeps half of Cluanie employed. I can hardly begrudge her an emergency call-out. Of course he has to go.

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