Chapter 2

2

HAYDEN

Be his plus-one at this wedding? My grin at that thought drops the moment I reach the chapel, where it looks like the wedding has been completely called off. There are no flowers around its doorway, no signs of guests inside. That old building seems empty, another abandoned ghost ship, silent instead of joyous.

Shit. I did ruin her big day.

Low sounds draw me from the tree line to the side of the building. A man stands there with his head hanging. If he is the groom, he’s much more casually dressed than that silently laughing stranger I met in the woods. But even without a smart suit, there’s no mistaking the hunch of his shoulders while the school padre consoles him, and man, I recognise the posture of someone who’s lost everything he ever wanted.

That unwelcome blast from the past makes it almost painful to inch closer instead of away. I push through that discomfort, no team doctors here to dull what comes out sounding rough and grating. “Hey.” I have to clear my throat. This still rasps. “I’m sorry.”

The padre stops his quiet consoling to turn my way, one eyebrow raised in question. Not because he’s snooty. He’s a nice guy. Of course he is—he’s Adam’s other daddy, and the scar that stops him from raising his other eyebrow doesn’t stop him from conveying compassion. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for, Hayden?”

“For being too noisy.” I heft the culprit that I backtracked to retrieve. Then I lower my chainsaw while fighting the urge to pull a Homer Simpson. Merging back into the woodland would be easier than continuing, but I’ve done that once already—hidden myself away after causing chaos. I’m not a teen these days. I’m older and more than man enough to face distress I’m to blame for. “I know how loud my chainsaw gets.” There’s a reason I wear ear defenders. “If I’d known a wedding was in progress, there’s no way I would have ruined it.”

The padre shakes his head. “You didn’t ruin a wedding, Hayden.”

The man I found him consoling agrees. “You really didn’t.” He also gives me a reason for his jeans and T-shirt. “This was only a run-through. A service rehearsal. Just for me and Willow. The wedding is tomorrow. Was tomorrow.” He looks sick for a moment before asking, “You were chainsawing out here?”

I nod at him as the padre answers, “I didn’t hear you.”

The groom confirms it. “Me neither.”

Relief rolls in, strong and sudden. So does awareness that this is the second non-Cornish accent I’ve heard this morning. Australian this time, I guess, instead of inner-city. I quit my wondering as soon as he speaks again. “And it’s my fault that the actual wedding won’t happen tomorrow, not yours.”

The padre reacts before I can, which is good. He must have had a lot of practice with unsure students. Today he steadies a groom who I guess had a change of heart with only twenty-four hours to spare.

No wonder his bride took off running.

Or maybe she changed her mind first.

Perhaps a third option is more likely. I’ve never been a fiancé but I’ve had my fair share of pre-match nerves, and I’ve witnessed plenty of non-players have them. Even Marc got a bad case of the jitters last year on that sea-view headland before exchanging vows with Stefan.

Nerves didn’t stop them both from getting their happy ending. Not with me as Marc’s best man, and maybe the definition of masochism was me marching him across the grass to where Stefan waited under an arch that I’d decorated with gorse blossom, but it does mean that I can say this with conviction.

“Honestly, nerves are normal. Weddings are bloody stressful.” I make an accent-based guess. “You’ve been planning yours long distance?” The groom nods. “That’s gotta be even more stressful, but it will be worth it and it will all work out. Just hang in there, yeah?”

I nod firmly and I don’t know when the school’s headmaster got here to nod right along with me. I only know that him taking over with a pep talk shouldn’t surprise me. What does surprise me is hearing my name used for reassurance.

“Yes, Finn. Listen to Hayden. He’s absolutely right. Everything will work out.”

Here’s what else I’ve picked up about Luke Lawson—he’s good at calming jittery people. It will all work out is what he says whenever Rowan gets wobbly about teaching music and his boyfriend isn’t around to be his firm foundation.

That is what Luke repeats now to someone just as shaky, but to be honest, this groom also reminds me of being stuck between big-league goalposts with less supportive coaches yelling at me. Luke doesn’t use any of their aggressive you wimp vocab. He clasps this groom’s shoulder to make a gentle promise, one I should back away from to let him make in private. And I would, only what he shares roots me.

“Finn, this only feels like the end of the world.”

The end of the world?

Fuck. Has this poor sod really been jilted?

A wave of something all too familiar floods me. Not that I’ve ever been anywhere close to marriage, but switch out a wedding for a life-changing place on a team, and yeah, I’ve been inches from that chance, and lost it.

I still can’t help clutching the handle of my chainsaw, my fist clenched like that guy in the woods clenched his at me before smiling without his lips moving. I’m snagged again now, like that veil he freed for me. This time I’m caught by the sight of someone else discovering that their happy ending is snarled by more than brambles.

Find out that your future is over before it started?

I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Be unable to see a way out?

Maybe that’s why I set down my chainsaw and step into the open to spill what really matters. “You got your family with you?”

“Yes.” The groom—Finn—glances over his shoulder at that empty chapel. “I mean, both sets flew into the UK a week ago. Their train from London gets in later.”

“Then your world isn’t ending.” I must have inhaled sawdust while up in that tree, this croak is so dry and dusty. “I know because my world did end when I couldn’t bring my family home with me.”

The padre lets out a small sound, but I can’t look at him. He can save his compassion for the kids who come to Glynn Harber. Rowan says some of them are feral, and that they only snap and snarl because life hurt them early. That’s what this place is—a school for kids who didn’t ask for what happened to them, not a confessional for adults who caused all of their own problems.

I can’t look at Luke Lawson either. Not when I’ve heard him tell my noisy housemate that his past doesn’t define him.

This definitely defines me.

“You see, my family followed my dream. Supported me every step of the way after I got scouted.” I answer the padre’s sole raised eyebrow. “Football,” I tell him. “Goalie. Lived and breathed making save after save.”

My stepmum always said it’s what my long arms and legs were made for. What the chambers of my heart were built for before it cracked in public.

“And all my family ever wanted was to see me walk out onto a Premier League pitch and walk off ninety minutes later with a trophy. They even relocated so I could still live at home with them while at the academy.”

Luke Lawson asks, “Academy? Which one scouted you? And when?”

“When I was fifteen. By the Supernus Soccer Academy.” That is the elite feeder for England’s top clubs. “I got to train with the best of the best, all of us fighting for a chance to sign first-team contracts.”

I’m aware that he frowns. I’m also aware that another of Glynn Harber’s teachers has joined us. This art master holding a stack of sketchbooks is a nice guy. I saw Solomon leave for France at the start of the summer. Now he’s back with a question. “What happened?”

“I got my shot at making my dream come true.” And my family’s. I shrug shoulders that are broader these days—that can carry what it cost them. “It took two years, but I almost made it with my stepmum right there to watch me.”

Another voice asks, “And your sisters?” and a quick glance suggests the man I met in the woods must have found his way to the art building. Like Solomon, he now holds a stack of sketchbooks and tilts his head, waiting for my answer.

This is a piss-poor time to get self-conscious all over again, but this stranger who made a plus-one suggestion while dressed smartly enough for a real wedding only reminds me that I’m a scruffy fucker with burrs in my beard. And that I’ve been shat on by wood pigeons.

Everyone here must have noticed.

They’ll also get to hear about me getting shat on by life if I keep going, and who wants to hear that sob story?

My gaze skips away from dancing dark eyes to land on the padre’s half-frozen, half-sympathetic expression before skipping again to the headmaster. All of Luke Lawson’s concerned forehead furrows mean it’s easier to focus on Finn. At least him listening to me bleat about my worst day distracts him from his own. The whole time, it’s hard to resist taking another look at someone who joked about the size of my chopper before curling his fists, despite my height and weight advantage.

He was brave.

I wasn’t.

Not when it really mattered.

Maybe that’s why my gaze doesn’t only land on him. It sticks like the burrs in my beard. Those clingy fuckers have hooks. I wish I did as well to stop this landslide, this plunge into a second pool of prolonged eye contact where he smiles without his lips curving and mine can’t help parting to spill my whole truth. Or almost.

“Yeah,” I partially admit. “My sisters got to watch me walk onto a Premier League pitch with a top team.” This part is harder to admit. “And they got to see me get escorted off right before kickoff.”

Here’s what I hope is actually helpful. I meet the groom’s eyes and tell him, “Next to my dad, my sisters and my stepmum were my number one supporters. He was my first and best coach. They were my cheerleaders. He almost made it in football once himself. Got a second shot through me. I lost it for all of them on the worst day of my life.” This is the part that really matters. “I’m still standing. You and your fiancée will too.”

That plus-one stranger reclaims my attention. “Escorted off?”

He’s right to question my word choice. I’d been marched away with TV cameras trained on the Novac name printed across my shoulders. Not in the same way I marched Marc across a headland towards the man he married—my ending wasn’t half as happy. Finn’s still can be, but it isn’t him who asks, “Why?” and it sucks that this is the moment that the sun takes another shot at finding fire, this time in a dark gaze. It burns intensely, lingering and molten, which only spotlights that he’s…

Fuck me, he’s a looker.

Forget that smart black suit. Forget the beard that is so much neater than mine. His gaze has a wild edge, and wildness has always done it for me.

It conjures cliffs and tors and moorland.

Spells sleeping under stars with nothing but the beat of my bruised heart for music.

Most of all, it magics up hope that I’ll somehow get to stay here. That is even more unlikely now everyone knows I didn’t have the grit to reach my potential, even if they don’t know why.

Luke Lawson saves me from blurting that shameful confession. “Finn, your family will want the same as Hayden’s. To be here for you in good times and bad.” That’s only part of my story, but he mentions what I suppose must have sent that bride running. “You couldn’t have predicted your wedding venue would go bankrupt with no warning. That you’d have nowhere for your guests to stay or to hold your celebration.”

Ah, shit.

Luke winces along with me before adding. “Getting that news during your rehearsal was far from optimal, but flowers and food only make a wedding. Willow knows what is truly important.”

“The marriage?”

I nod like Luke does at Finn’s answer, then I nod again as he keeps going.

“I-I know that flowers and food don’t matter.” He takes a staggering breath, which is all too familiar. This is what someone digging deep to play through his pain sounds like, and I wish I didn’t know that. Playing through my own only led to worse hurt in the long run, but maybe this groom really has got more grit than me and isn’t done yet.

It sounds that way when he says, “We both know the marriage is the important part, not all of our savings going down the drain. It’s just that Willow’s heart was… is…” He glances in the direction I last saw his bride run, and his swallow might be a dry click but he digs deep again. “I let her go because she said she had a way to solve it. Willow always finds a way. Nothing stops her when she knows what she wants.”

No one argues with him. He still does what my very first coach drilled into my team at training sessions—if I was under attack in goal, Dad said their job was to protect me. This guy is just as quick to come to his fiancée’s defence.

“Not because she’s some kind of bridezilla.”

“Of course not,” Luke agrees. “Willow couldn’t be even if she tried.” He gives an example. “Remember when I took on the school headship? I didn’t have time for two homesick gap-year students, but what did both of you do?” He answers his own question. “You and Willow threw yourselves into helping me through the toughest weeks of my professional life.” He points away from the chapel towards where the woods are thickest. “And you were part of the search party when little Tor Trelawney got lost, remember?”

Finn nods, a smile almost flickering.

“He isn’t so little these days,” Luke says, “but I’ll never forget who stayed behind to make sure the rest of my youngest students weren’t frightened while you helped scour the woods for him.”

Now Finn’s voice turns strangled. “Willow.”

Luke nods. “And I’ve never forgotten her kindness with the little ones that day, either. With everyone. I’m sure the years since haven’t changed that aspect of her. Of course she isn’t a bridezilla. She knows we’ll help to make the best of it right here. We can definitely feed your guests in the dining hall. I only wish the school could be prettier for your photos.” He looks back as if he can see the scaffolding that has surrounded the main building all summer. “The main issue will be bedrooms. Some of the sixth-form students are already back, so I can’t host anyone in the boarding houses.”

I see Finn nod, his shoulders hunching again, and that should be a signal for me to leave them to their problem-solving. I even make a start on that by retreating, until I’m stopped by dark eyes studying me as if I’m a puzzle, not an ex-footballing fuckup, then I’m distracted by Finn’s next statement.

“Willow only ever wanted to come back to Cornwall.”

It was that simple for me as well.

When my world ended, running home was all I’d wanted, even if the house I grew up in no longer held my nearest and dearest.

Finn’s voice strengthens. “You know, we thought about getting married in California or in Australia, but either location meant travel for our families. Willow wanted the wedding here because it’s where I asked her to marry me.”

Luke can look forbidding with all of those deep forehead furrows. He’s a different person when he’s delighted. “You proposed here? At Glynn Harber?” And yeah, he loves this place too, right down to his marrow. Call me a sap, but I recognise that bone-deep connection with bricks and mortar. With deep roots and with safe havens.

“Almost,” Finn says. He points in the direction of the moors beyond this woodland. “I actually popped the question on the top of High Tor while we watched the sun set over the sea.” He lets out a soft snort, and yeah, I don’t care if this makes me even more of a sap, but I’ve always been a sucker for a happy ending, so I’m surprised by the turn this story next takes. “And that’s where she turned me down flat.”

I can’t hold back a shocked blurt. “She turned you down?”

I’ve seen this groom with bowed shoulders and recognised crushing disappointment. Heard his voice waver, and remembered being voiceless. Now another voice speaks, and forget sunsets—his bride returns, and Finn’s smile is as bright as any sunrise at her saying, “I told you to ask me again when we knew each other better.”

“Willow.”

Her eyes are rimmed red, her arms scratched by brambles, but at least a wedding dress didn’t get ruined by her sprint through the woods. She’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and has brought reinforcements.

Charles holds Adam on his hip and pushes his pram towards us, all while apologising.

“So sorry, but Casterley is booked solid, unless you can wait until the end of next week?”

Casterley must be another wedding venue. That isn’t what holds my attention. This bride-to-be walking into Finn’s open arms does, and I’m not sure we’re all meant to hear what she adds as they embrace, but sound carries in this valley, and yeah, I’m the big softy who can’t help melting the minute she murmurs, “But I couldn’t wait, could I? Had to fly out to propose. You saying yes was the best day of my life. Us getting married tomorrow will be even better. We can’t leave it over a week.”

Finn nods, and turns to tell us, “Our families need to fly home.”

Her eyes shining make me think what she says next is a lie. “I’ll be happy even if we don’t have a party. Or flowers.” She touches her hair. “Or the full hair and makeup package. I only wish I hadn’t tried on my veil for the practice run-through.”

I’m still being watched by dark eyes, or maybe I’m the one doing all the staring because I get to see a smile light them as soon as she says, “I lost it in the woods.”

I don’t know why that stranger winking at me again makes me stutter like Rowan does whenever he catches me in a damp towel after showering. Like him, I struggle to get my words out.

“I-I found it.”

I pull that veil from my pocket and get honest.

“But it wasn’t me who untangled it from the brambles for you. It was him.” I nod towards a man with much more nimble fingers than my thick ones, and his smile makes it all the way to his mouth.

“We made a good team…” He hesitates before adding, “Hayden?”

I haven’t been part of a team in forever. I still nod and accept the handshake he offers, unable to feel his grip while my hand tingles, and he must notice that tremor. A slight frown flickers. “Lewis Raeburn,” he tells me. “Rae to my friends.”

Here is something else I haven’t been in forever—the last time I got to feel a hero was after getting scouted. Today, I get a second shot with Lewis Raeburn watching.

“Listen, Finn? Willow?”

They face me.

“You wanted a sea view for your wedding party?”

They nod.

“And you’ll need accommodation for you and all of your guests?”

They nod again, and here I go, trying to make a save.

“No promises, but I might know a place with both where you could hold your celebration.”

So what if I missed my first shot.

I do have friends who own a wedding venue.