Chapter 23

Istared through the large glass windows onto Sydney Harbour. There’s something to be said about being on home soil. This place will never leave my blood. It’ll forever be a part of who I am and where I belong.

The skies are crystal clear—blue with the sun shining strongly on this autumn day. From the view of my window is the renowned Circular Quay, home to my multimillion-dollar penthouse apartment and me.

The always bustling area and piers are filled with people, tourists, families, and the occasional jogger running along the paved walkways. Only early morning or late at night do the droves of people disappear, leaving only the city sweepers to clean the overpopulated spot.

Ferries are coming in and going out, moving people around the city. The occasional party boats also occupy the water with groups of drunken partygoers with champagne glasses in hand dancing on the top decks of the yachts. Bachelorette parties probably. If I had a dollar for every time I’d watched a drunk woman almost fall off a boat, I’d be rich. Well, richer than I am today.

The iconic landmark of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House are in full view. Breathtaking as usual. I am fucking blessed to be here, and I know that much.

Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepare myself for tonight. Closing my eyes, I work on my mind exercises, my inner pep talks as such, creating a space of ‘zen’ in my usually preoccupied brain.

Today marks the eleventh-month post-surgery. It’s been a grueling eleven months. A mindfuck. The surgery itself went well, no complications or infections holding me back. I followed everything Dr. Fredricks recommended with countless hours of rehabilitation, following a strict diet, and educated myself in Chinese medicine to help with my sleep and nagging insomnia.

I hired a professional life coach, Trevor, a retired A-league player from England. We have worked heavily on my mindset. I’m determined to transition back into playing full-time, and nothing will stop me.

I am in my best possible shape ever.

Recovering was the only thing on my mind, and I committed myself one hundred and ten percent. Coach is pleased with my dedication. My parents are constantly by my side to support and help me push through the toughest of days when giving up seems easier than pushing on. Having them live across the other side of the bridge, only twenty minutes away, is reassuring.

I’ve done everything I set out to achieve.

Two Saturdays from now will mark the day I get back on the field and see if I’ve still got what it takes.

In front of a roaring crowd.

In front of the entire world.

All of this has been a hard lesson in learning to confine myself and creating an isolated environment with no outside influences deterring me from my goal.

I don’t think about anything else.

Especially her.

I adjust my silver tie, positioning it strategically beneath the vest, part of the suit I wear. Regatta blue is the color, according to Bianca.

The boys inside the living room are cheering away to shots of Sambuca. The stuff is putrid. I don’t care for anise-flavored alcohol, but they fucking love it. This is the final hurrah before the big moment. The fucking ‘I do’ in front of hundreds of people.

There’s a loud thump on my bedroom door until it opens wide, and the laughter spills into the room.

“C’mon, Olly, we gotta toast the groom,” Greg slurs, raising his glass with a red face.

I shake my head with a smile. “No drinks for me, but I’m open to making fun of your hair?”

The boys roar in hysterics—it’s a bittersweet moment.

Tate is marrying Bianca.

My Bianca.

Past fucking tense.

When I came back to Sydney, Bianca asked to meet up. I assumed it was to get back together, and at that point, I would have gladly banged anything in sight to forget Gabriella existed. Turns out my arrogant persona got the better of me. She showed me her ring, given by my former best mate, Tate. I was crushed, but not in the way I had expected, more being a bruised ego at best.

“Best man, eh?” Greg snickers. “Better not run off with the bride. Oh, that’s right, she chose Tate.”

Greg is a dick, a small-minded one at that.

At the bachelor party, he drank himself into oblivion, whipped out his tiny dick in public, then proceeded to a pick a fight with some random guys outside a strip joint. The guy has no fucking boundaries.

It called for a comeback, a dirty one to shut him up.

But Tate is behind me, nervously playing with his cufflinks.

I put down my bottle of water and move toward him. Pulling his arm to me, I help him fix the cufflinks into position, relief washing over him as his shoulders relax, and he exhales the nervous breath he’d been holding in.

“Can’t run off with someone who belongs to your best mate,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “You can do this, okay? Don’t know why, but Bianca loves you.”

Tate pulls me into a man hug, holding onto me for what seems like bloody forever. “Thanks, mate. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Here’s the thing about weddings—I loathe them.

If you’re single, you are bound to be set up or placed at a singles’ table, which is usually hit or miss. More miss. Thankfully, I’m on the main table as Tate’s best man. It doesn’t stop Bianca from single-handily introducing her three bridesmaids to me, all of them single.

Out of the three ditzy women, Krystal is the standout of the bunch—sexy, lean legs and a body you could smash and blow in zero-point-five seconds. But in the few short hours I’ve spent with her, it’s become increasingly obvious she’s a stage-five clinger.

The worst kind.

We’ve done all the wedding rituals—cake, dancing, my best-man speech—and thankfully, the end came around quicker than you could say, ‘Are we done yet?’ Look, they deserve the special day and all, but being around all this romantic bullshit is simply too much. Without any alcohol to forget she fucking exists, I find myself in a mental state I desperately avoid.

The night dragged on with endless dancing, being pulled to the dance floor by Krystal, who had the breath of a dog’s arse after vomiting her champagne in the bathroom. Excusing myself, I walk outside the venue, taking in the cool night air and open parklands.

Removing my phone from my pocket, there’s a red notification on the screen.

Seb

Hey mate, landed in OZ for an impromptu meeting with a sponsor. You free to catch up this week?

The second I see his name, my mind races to her. I’ve never once asked him or Lana what happened to her. I choose not to succumb to the pitfalls of social media. My gut warned me what I would find wouldn’t be pretty, therefore I shielded myself from the heartache. I was done grieving over a woman who chose someone else.

I wonder if Sebastian came alone, and I have no doubt he will raise the topic during our catch-up.

Me

Good to hear from you, mate. How about tomorrow? I’m free in the morning. We can hit The Rocks for brekkie. Not too far from my joint.

He responds instantly, asking me to text him with details early the next morning. Tucking my phone back in my pocket, a rustling sound alerts me someone is nearby.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Bianca asks, carrying her dress train in her hands.

I smile, tired and wanting so desperately to call it a night.

“Just needed a moment.” I sigh heavily. “Your friend, Krystal…”

Bianca laughs. “I’m sorry. She gets a bit carried away on the drink, and she recently broke up with her boyfriend, so she’s eager to hook up.”

“Eager would be an understatement,” I mumble.

“Oh, c’mon, Olly. You’re one step away from becoming a monk, according to Tate. What’s gotten into you? Or should I say who has gotten to you?”

I keep silent, not willing to talk about how the girl I fell madly in love with and would have given up everything for couldn’t do the same for me.

“So someone has gotten to you. An American girl, I assume.” Bianca sighs, leaning herself against the street pole. “Olly, I know what it’s like to be in love with you. I also know what it’s like to be hurt by you. I’m not asking you to answer how you feel about me. We’ve both moved on and to a better place. But you’re miserable. I’ve never seen you this miserable, and I’ve known you since high school.”

I hate that she’s right. Unlike most women, she has known me since I was a kid. I treated her like dirt, disrespecting our friendship all because of my selfishness.

Thank fuck Bianca found someone who will treat her well.

“It’s just the way the world turns.”

“No,” she argues softly. “The world doesn’t always turn on its own. Sometimes, it needs a nudge. Now judging by the cynical attitude, I’m assuming she hurt you.”

“A lot of assuming, Bianca?—”

“Well? Am I right?”

The confusion stumped my thoughts. She ultimately decided to stay in that lifestyle, but did I push her away, forcing her back to a place she didn’t want to be?

Fucking questions.

They hurt my head.

What I wouldn’t do for a drop of bourbon right now.

“It’s not meant to be. Can we drop the subject? It’s your wedding day, and you should be inside with Tate instead of feeling sorry for me.”

She shakes her head, eyes flickering with a know-it-all smile. “Still the arrogant boy from high school. Some things never change.”

“I’d love to see the view.”

Krystal sits beside me in the taxi. A small hiccup escapes her lips with a girlish giggle following soon after. Bianca begged me to take her home and as far away from the wedding reception as possible. A fight had broken out after Krystal tried to crack onto one of Bianca’s brothers-in-law. Quite comical, actually. Throw in a wrestling ring, mud, and some score cards, and it would have made for some amusing entertainment.

“Look, it’s just the harbour?—”

“C’mon, Olly, I don’t bite.” Her eyes glint with laughter. “Besides, I need to work off the impending hangover tomorrow. I’m staying at the hotel across from your place.”

With much reluctance, I agree, just to get her off my back.

The taxi driver pulls to the curb of my building and quickly tapping my credit card, I thank him for his service and guide Krystal out of the car.

Walking into the lobby, I smile at Barry, the concierge, then enter the elevator up to the penthouse.

“Bianca said you were comfortable, but this elevator is something.” Krystal hiccups, again. She latches onto my arm for support. “You’re really pretty, Olly.”

“Pretty?” I snort. “You need coffee. Lots of it.”

“Coffee?” She giggles, leaning her head onto my shoulder. “And you smell nice.”

The door opens wide, and upon stepping out, a shadow distracts me.

The mane of curly copper hair catches my attention.

It can’t be her.

You’ve done this a million times—think you’ve seen her.

I dare not move. I can’t even breathe, frozen to the spot. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, it’s loud and disrupting. The hairs on my arms stand to attention as a militia of chills marches down my spine.

This is just my imagination.

The beating becomes louder and louder, it’s intolerable, and my breaths are deeper and deeper by the second. The air around me is incredibly thick, almost choking.

“Oliver…”

This isn’t happening, not now. Gabriella’s eyes are boring into me, speckles of hazel though darker than I remember. They’ve already clawed into my skin, a parasite quick at work ready to demolish everything I’ve worked so hard to build over the last eleven months.

I’m unable to respond, shocked to see her gaunt figure. Her cheekbones are more prominent, embedded into her pale face. Dark circles surround her eyes. They shadow the normally exuberant orbs which reflect back every time I look into her beautiful face.

Overall, she appears thinner, and her arms are skinny in the sleeveless white blouse she’s wearing. She looks terrible, almost sick.

Is she sick?

Fuck. The panic and wild thoughts consume me.

“What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.” Her expression dulls as her gaze shifts to Krystal. “But you’re busy… I see.”

Krystal stumbles forward, sticking out her hand and introducing herself. “Olly and I were about to grab a nightcap.”

Gabriella fumbles with her purse, bowing her head and unable to maintain eye contact with me. “Listen, this was a mistake. Goodbye, Krystal, enjoy your nightcap.”

She repeatedly presses the elevator button as I quietly suggest Krystal go inside my apartment and wait there.

The anger inside me swirls like a tornado in waiting, ready to unleash without a thought of the consequence. Seeing her again has resurfaced the memories of the pain and humiliation she’s put me through. It burned so badly through every inch of me, like fire lacing my veins, fast and apathetic to the pain it’s causing. I’m riddled by emotions, the unwanted build-up residing in my stomach waiting to be spat out of my mouth in hurtful words.

“What the hell are you doing here? In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t wanted to talk to you for the past eleven months, and that hasn’t changed.”

Push her away.

Don’t let her crawl in.

Not now, not ever.

“I understand. I just wanted to apologize?—”

“You understand?” I raise my voice, a sinister laugh escaping my lips. “It’s a bit too late for apologies. I think it’s best you leave. Besides, I’ve got someone here, and she’s waiting.”

It’s the thousand knives stabbing straight into her heart I get some satisfaction from.

Payback for what she did to me.

Revenge should feel so good.

Yet, my desire to watch her crumple by my hurtful actions is suddenly shadowed by remorse.

Lowering her head, her neck almost disappears as she stares directly at the floor. “I… ah… I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here.”

As the elevator opens, she steps in, and before it closes, her eyes glance up, directly staring into mine. There is so much weight in her stare. The once vivacious and overbearingly annoying girl I had known looks like a former shadow of herself, standing beneath a dark cloud, empty and hollow.

She had always been quick with her wit and the ability to put me in my place when I overstepped the line with careless words. But now, she’s inhibited, as if her voice is no longer hers, her mind is no longer thinking how it used to.

“Goodbye, Oliver.”

The doors close, and once again, she disappears out of my life.

Fuck.

Inside my apartment, I fling myself onto the sofa with my head between my legs, ignoring Krystal’s over-the-top commentary about how fancy my apartment is.

I need answers.

No, you fucking don’t.

I scroll through my phone, then remember I deleted her number. I contemplate calling Seb or Lana, but something holds me back.

I will go to breakfast tomorrow and ask the burning questions.

Rein in the curiosity.

Open the vault I desperately buried because one thing is racing through my mind and is refusing to settle.

After all the hurt she’s put me through, I still fucking love her.