Page 50 of The Assist
She never was.
And sooner or later, something’s got to give.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DYLAN
The bus smells like stale protein bars and half-washed gear. Murphy is sprawled across two seats near the back, headphones in, mouthing the words to some throwback rap song he definitely doesn’t know all the lyrics to. Ollie’s trying to start a poker game no one wants to play. And Danny’s already asleep, mouth open like he’s auditioning for dental school.
And I’m stuck halfway down the aisle, one headphone in, tapping a restless rhythm against the seat with my thumb, pretending I don’t keep glancing down the aisle every few minutes.
Mia’s sitting near the front, beside Jonno. Her laptop’s open on her knees, but she hasn’t typed anything in a while. Every so often, she tucks her hair behind her ear or shifts like she can feel me looking.
That’s because I am watching her like a fucking idiot.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since that post-game treatment session where things almost crossed the line again. It’s like something cracked open and now I can’t put it back. I can’t pretend she’s just the physio or part of the staff or just anything.
She’s Mia. And she’s everywhere in my head. And I have no idea what the hell to do about it.
I stretch my legs into the aisle, shifting to get a better angle of her face. She catches me looking this time, and lifts one brow like she’s daring me to come over. But then she goes back to her screen without a word.
So yeah. She’s still trying to pretend nothing happened.
Murphy pops one earbud out. “You gonna make heart eyes at Clarke all the way to the venue, or you wanna join us for a game of‘Who Farted’?”
“Classy,” I mutter.
He grins. “C’mon, mate. You look like someone kicked your dog.”
I ignore him, but he shifts forward and lowers his voice. “You talked to her since the other night?”
“No.” I mutter.
“Why not?” he asks incredulously.
“Because I don’t know what to say.”
Murphy shrugs like it’s simple. “You like her, she clearly likes you. You’re both dancing around it like it’s a bomb.”
“It is a bomb.”
“Only if you’re planning to self-destruct.”
I shake my head, looking out the window. Trees blur past, intermingled with the occasional service station or field. I don’t even care where we’re going. The game feels like background noise now. Like static under the bigger thing happening within me.
“Mate,” Murphy says again, quieter this time. “What are you so scared of?”
That’s the thing. I don’t even know if it’s fear or something worse.
I’ve had plenty of girls before, they literally throw themselves at me since I turned pro. But none of them ever made me feel likethis. Like if I screw it up, I’m not just losing a hook-up, I’m losing something important. Something that matters.
And I don’t do well with things that matter. I don’t trust myself not to mess them up. Because somewhere in my head, there’s still a version of my dad telling me I’ll never be more than a show pony. That I peaked at seventeen, or I think I’m better than I am. Every time I get close to someone that voice shows up.
I lean back in my seat, and let my head hit the window. I don’t know how to shut the voice down.
We stop at a motorway service station an hour later, and everyone piles off to stretch their legs and grab snacks. Mia heads toward the coffee kiosk with Jonno, and I hang back, lingering by the vending machines, letting Murphy do the talking.
Then, like it’s fate or dumb luck, or maybe just me finally pulling my head out of my ass, I catch her alone by the bottled drinks fridge. “You’re gonna need more caffeine if you’re stuck with us all weekend.”
