Page 11 of The Assist
He turns to leave but pauses at the door. “Thanks. For listening.”
I nod once. “Don’t get used to it.” But he’s gone. And I’m left staring at my screen, completely incapable of focusing. Because whateverthisis between us, it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t feel it too.
And I don’t know yet if that’s a crack in my armour or the start of something I can’t control.
CHAPTER FIVE
MIA
There’s something about small towns that unsettles me.
The way everyone seems to know everyone. The way they stare a little too long at unfamiliar faces, like they’re trying to figure out where you’ve come from, or what you’re hiding. And maybe I am hiding something.
Not something scandalous or dark exactly, justmine. Something I don’t talk about. Not to the players. Not to Jonno. Definitely not to Dylan bloody Winters, no matter how close he’s getting to seeing parts of me I’ve spent years learning how to guard. I came here because I needed a reset. A clean start. That and my best friend, Sophie. Somehow, we managed to secure gainful employment in the same town, go figure. Sophie works at the local children’s hospital in the finance department. She actually works for the trust but that’s where she’s based now.
So, there’s no redemption arc. No dramatic escape. Just something different. Somewhere far enough from home that people stopped asking me when I was coming back. Somewhere I could be who I am without always being compared to who I used to be.
But no matter how far I go, some parts of me refuse to stay buried.
It starts with a text.
Mum: Are you coming home for your dad’s birthday next weekend? Haven’t heard from you in days. Please don’t ignore this one.
I stare at the message while sitting alone in the staff break room, kettle half-boiled and forgotten. My thumb hovers over the screen as I contemplate ignoring it.
I’ve done it before. But I won’t. Not this time.
Mia: I’ll try. Depends on the schedule.
It’s a lie. The schedule’s clear. But the thought of going back and walking into that house, into that version of myself I worked so hard to outgrow, makes my skin itch.
I tuck the phone away and shove the kettle back on. When I look up, Dylan’s standing in the doorway.
Of course he is.
He’s wearing a black thermal shirt that clings too well to every sharp edge of muscle, and faded grey sweats that should not look as good as they do. His hair wet from a post-rehab shower. And he’s smirking, as usual. But it fades when he sees my face. “You alright?”
I nod too fast. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Liar.”
I shoot him a glare. “Bit rich coming from you.”
He holds his hands up like he’s innocent, but he doesn’t back off. He comes into the room, grabs a protein bar from the stash in the cupboard, and leans against the counter opposite me like he’s got all the time in the world.
“Let me guess,” he says. “Family drama.”
I pause, halfway through pouring the tea. “Why would you guess that?”
“Because you looked like someone punched you in the ribs after reading that message.”
I snort. “You’re annoyingly observant.”
“It’s a gift.” I sit down with my tea, cradling the mug more for comfort than warmth.
Dylan doesn’t sit, but he doesn’t leave either. “Go on then,” he says. “Give me the tragic backstory.”
“There’s nothing tragic about it.”
