Page 93 of Ride the Wave

He nods in understanding.

I take a sip of my water before continuing. ‘You know, sometimes I worry that I’m remembering things wrong. Making up happy family memories, all the love and security of this… idyllic family unit I could have sworn I felt, wondering if I was naïve to what was really happening around me. I usually pride myself on being so observant.’ I chew on my lip, my voice wavering. ‘How could I have missed that my own family wasn’t what I thought it was? When I let myself really think about it, I end up feeling so stupid.’

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting until I bring my eyes up to meet his before speaking, and when he does, his voice is so earnest and sincere, it makes my chest ache and my eyes well up with hot tears.

‘Iris, what’s happening now doesn’t take away from what happened before. The childhood you had, the happy family memories – all of that still exists. You didn’t make it up. It happened. All of that is part of who you are. Things may be different for you and your parents going forwards, but nothing can take away from that.’

As his dark eyes search mine, I expel a shaky breath. I’m so entranced by his gaze, I forget to respond to what he’s saying. Finally, I nod, tearing my eyes from his, collecting myself. He leans back in his chair, still watching me, heaving a heavy sigh.

‘I discovered that it really sucks when we get that bit older and find out that our parents are humans who make mistakes, too,’ he notes.

‘Yeah. It does. How dare they live their own lives?’

‘Despicably selfish.’

I give a small laugh. ‘Thanks Leo, for being so nice about it.’

‘You can talk to me any time, London.’

‘I did mean what I said at the party when we spoke about this before, though – I do hope the house sale helps Mum to move on. I really do.’

‘And your dad?’

‘He seems okay,’ I tell him with a sigh. ‘He’s quite difficult to read.’

‘Yeah?’ Leo’s lips twitch. ‘Reminds me of someone I know.’

I give him a pointed look. ‘Trust me, my dad is much more stoic than I am.’

‘I’m picturing the reserved English type.’

‘Doesn’t talk much, works all the time, keeps everyone at a comfortable distance.’ I shift in my seat, unnerved by my own description. ‘I know he loves me, but he wouldn’t be someone I’d rush to with a problem. He’s the reason I do what I do, though.’

‘He got you into writing?’

‘He got me into sport,’ I correct, shooting him an eager smile. ‘And Mum encouraged books and creative writing. Put two and two together…’

‘And you get England’s leading sports journalist.’

I snort. ‘Hardly. But I love it.’

He tilts his head. ‘What do you love about it?’

‘The people,’ I say, without having to think about it. ‘I get to meet and spend time with the most amazing, inspirational athletes in the world, and…’ I hesitate, looking over at his smug smile. ‘Ah. Forgot who I was talking to there.’

‘Please,pleasecarry on,’ he encourages. ‘You were saying?’

Oh fucking hell, he looks so outrageously pleased with himself it’s annoying.Almostannoying. Okay, itwouldbe annoying if he wasn’t so gorgeous.

Still, I play along, narrowing my eyes at him.

‘I was saying that athletes tend to be arrogant arseholes—’

‘That’s not what you were saying.’

‘—who act as though they’re God’s gift—’

‘You were saying something very different.’

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