Chapter 5

5

HAYDEN

Thank fuck I’m in too much of a hurry to feel awkward, and I had years of being naked around players in club changing rooms. At least my hands cooperate enough that I can knot my towel more firmly while Rae apologises.

“Sorry. Sol said there was a spare room here where I could get my head down. To work.”

“Work?”

“On some drawings. Got a deadline for them on Monday. I won’t be here for long, but I wasn’t expecting?—”

“To walk in on anyone? I only came back to clean up.” I tug at one of the burrs in my beard. “I’m heading out as soon as I can shift these. Make yourself at home.” I show Rae to Rowan’s room, still tugging at a burr that shows no sign of shifting.

He dumps his bag and portfolio on the bed. “You got scissors?”

“Scissors? Why?”

He gestures at my face. “Because they’re as snagged as that veil was, and you’re making it worse.” He isn’t wrong about that, or this. “The only way they’re coming out is if someone with a steadier hand than yours cuts them free for you. Or you can go ahead and stab yourself in the eye. Your choice.” He softens that bluntness with a smile that touches his lips as well as his eyes, and this is softer. “I’m just saying it’s no problem for me. You helped that bride and groom. Finn and Willow, yeah? Found them somewhere to celebrate their wedding?”

A ripple of pride rises. Not for me. Marc and Stefan are the ones who came through with a venue for free, so I nod.

He nods too. “Then let someone help you.”

He makes it simple to agree, and before I know it, I’m back in the bathroom where he raises scissors to my throat like he threatened to do with my bramble cutter. This time he does it for friendlier reasons. I still instinctively take a step back.

“Hold still.” His hand lands on my hip and he snips burrs away.

I swallow dryly. Close contact wasn’t on my play sheet for this morning. Hasn’t been for the whole summer if I’m honest. I’m hyperaware of his hold on me, of my towel just below his fingers, and of what is underneath it. It’s a hell of a time to realise I’m touch starved, especially when he shuffles closer.

His shirt brushes my bare chest. “There.” He snips some more, then smiles up at me, easygoing compared to tension that chooses now to coil in my belly. “Ten burrs down,” he says. “Only about a thousand left to go. Typical, just when I’m in a hurry.” He’s exaggerating about the number. Joking. I can’t smile back, not when his shirt brushes my chest again, and his palm shifts on my hip.

Christ.

I close my eyes and give myself an order.

Do not get a semi.

I open them again at his quiet question. “What even are they?” He holds up a tiny burr.

“Probably hedge parsley seeds or cleavers.” At least those are my best guesses. “I didn’t stop to check while I was running.”

Conversation is a good distraction, thank fuck. That coil in my belly loosens, and I focus on the snip snip snip that I bet Rowan would tap along with if he were here. I still can’t help saying, “Can you go any faster?” My reason is hurried. “There’s a lot to do, and my friends can’t help until later. All the farmers around here help each other, and they’re already committed to cutting hay elsewhere.” It’s the only reason their headland wedding venue is available. “This time of year is busy, so it’s down to me, Finn, and a couple of students who came back early to get started.”

“Get started doing what?”

“Making sure the guests all have somewhere to stay. Mowing pathways to the headland. Setting up an outdoor dance floor. And I need to find the arch and decorate it.”

“Arch? What’s that for?”

It’s a reasonable question. I’m still not about to spill how an arch, which I’m almost certain is in Marc and Stefan’s barn, spells romance to me. I settle for giving a less sappy reason. “It makes a great focal point for sunset photos.” I add finding that arch to a mental list that I prioritise while he keeps snipping. “Task number one has got to be pitching a whole lot of tents.”

I catch his gaze, his eyes twinkling. He’s laughing at my phrasing, I guess, and his offer confirms it. “Well, I just happen to be an expert at that if you want a hand.”

What is it about me and smiling today? I can’t remember when I last did so much of it. I haven’t forgotten what he just said though; Rae doesn’t have time to spare. He has a deadline of his own, doesn’t he? Needs to keep his head down until Monday. “Thanks, but no. I’ve pitched plenty all by myself before.”

“With shaking hands?”

“It’s passing.”

I hold a hand up, which still trembles. Wobbly traitor.

“It will pass.”

“Football injury?” he guesses. His gaze flicks to the side, letting me know he’s noticed my scars. “Nerve damage after surgery on your shoulder?”

“No. I’ve been doing a lot of chainsawing.”

“Ah. The vibration?”

I nod without adding more detail, and perhaps he reads that silent hurry-up message without me needing to verbalise it.

“There,” he says almost right away. “All done.” He makes himself a liar by raising the scissors again. “Or nearly. Hold still again, yeah?” His eyes narrow. I’ve been scrutinised plenty over the years, and not only by team doctors and coaches. For a moment, I’m reminded of teammates who had been on my side only to put distance between us, and that’s what he does next.

But not for long.

I still rock, as if his hand on my hip had been doing more than keeping me in place. Then I’m steadied again when he’s back with a comb I’d left by the basin.

“What—”

“Hold it,” he says, his focus intense before he snips some more.

I don’t have time for this. I’m about to say so when those dark eyes meet mine.

“My mum used to work in a salon,” he murmurs. “Had a boyfriend who was a great big beardy fucker like you.”

“And you aren’t beardy?”

He touches his own as if he’d forgotten he had one. “Huh. His was nothing like this.” That intensity bleeds out of his eyes, and it’s been so long since anyone looked at me like he had been, even for beard-trimming reasons, that I want to rewind to being his sole focus.

Maybe he does too. He picks up from where he left off, sounding brighter. “I suppose I am beardy for now.” He also gets back to his trimming, taking his time, like getting this right is important. “I saw her do this plenty for him,” he murmurs. “Give him a good trim. Comb and oil his beard for him. Wouldn’t let him leave our flat untidy.” His eyes narrow again, squinting, before he sets down the comb and scissors. “There. What do you think?” He turns me towards the mirror. His reflection doesn’t smile. If anything, he’s worried. “Might have got a bit carried away.”

Carried away?

I’ve never looked neater. The mirror reflects a different person than I expected. Me, but better. “Wow. Thanks.”

He’s instantly all smiles, and that suits him so much better than worry. He also leaves me in the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. “Not that I really think you need help pitching tents.” His gaze doesn’t drop to my towel, thank fuck. “But I did mean what I said. I’ve had plenty of practice with tents lately. I can help.”

“You don’t need to get on with your work?”

“Me? There’s plenty of time for that. Days and days.” He glances away before admitting, “I need to make revisions to a story. To drawings of a journey.” He tags that last point on while frowning, and that isn’t a first. I saw him frowning with his fists curled earlier, didn’t I?

That anger was about me scaring a bride. Now he’s pissed off with himself. “I still haven’t figured out how. Doing something else might actually help.”

I don’t know why that edge of rawness means I accept his offer, but Rae sits next to me in my Land Rover as I leave the school and head along the coast road with him and two more passengers.

A tense groom also travels with us, as does a surly sixth-form student who throws off leave me alone vibes. I can guess why. I almost walked into him saying goodbye to Sol’s nephew on my way back to the stables, and that goodbye didn’t look easy, so I strain for some way to involve him.

That’s tough when Finn sits beside him and won’t stop talking about the wedding. Not that I blame him for worrying we won’t pull off something as special as the party they’d planned and paid for, but I keep glimpsing teen misery in my rearview mirror. I saw that plenty of times in team changing room mirrors after getting benched, so I can’t ignore it. I wish I had after I say, “You been to any good weddings lately, Teo?” to a kid who looks like he’d rather die than answer.

Rae makes a save by joking, “In Peckham? That’s where you’re from, right, big man?” He looks Teo’s way over his shoulder. “Pretty sure all weddings there start with setting a pile of tyres on fire outside a KFC and end with riot vans and tear gas.”

Teo snorts. He also sucks his teeth and tsks as if insulted, but I know banter when I hear it. So must he. This grumble is low but not unfriendly. “I ain’t from Peckham, blud.” They chat about different parts of London, or Rae does at least, and Teo seems easier in his skin, especially when we’re flagged down at the entrance to a farm lane by a redhead.

Marc’s younger brother, Noah, climbs in, and they must know each other. Teo offers a fist that Noah bumps, and I start the engine again to drive past a sign for Love-Land Weddings with more company than I’m used to.

I like my own space. My own pace. Peace and quiet too.

But this company?

I glance sideways. Dark eyes do the same in my direction, and…

I’m not one bit mad about it.

It’s been a while since I sat in on a pre-match team talk. I give one today, only not on a touchline. I create this game plan in a farmyard, unsure of the strengths and weaknesses of my players, so that’s where I start collecting data. Noah is an old hand at camping. That’s good. Both boys are more help than I expected at loading tents onto the trailer I hitch to the Land Rover. I face Rae next, and Finn—who has a worried Willow on the phone, I guess, when I overhear him sounding a lot steadier than he looks.

The poor guy is frazzled.

“There really are enough tents. They’re nice ones called...” He looks to me for help.

“Bell tents. Some people call them glamping tents. Glamour while camping.”

He pounces on that description. “It’s going to be good, babe.”

I overhear more data.

“What’s that? Luke’s found a way to keep everyone busy until later this evening?” He laughs. “Unpacking boxes and getting classrooms ready? Good.”

That is good news. It’s already midafternoon. I don’t want a crowd wading through thigh-high grass at twilight or tripping over guy lines. Mowing pathways is a priority, followed by pitching these tents and extending the lighting.

First things first. “Can either of you drive a tractor?”

“Yes.” Finn is no stranger to farm life or grass cutting. He still has his phone clamped to his ear. “I spent last summer with Willow on her parents’ farm.” He smiles before rephrasing, now speaking to her. “Okay, okay, it’s a ranch.”

I pass him a set of keys. “Great.” That’s another massive timesaver. “Follow us down to the headland. I’ll show you the marquee.”

Willow must overhear that and ask a question because Finn laughs. “No, a marquee is a really big event tent.” He flashes a worried glance my way and I nod. Stef and Marc’s marquee is massive, their biggest investment in a wedding business that is usually booked solid.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

I drive across fields, leading the way to this wedding party solution, and it’s pure luck that I glance in my rearview mirror just as Finn sees the headland for the first time.

“Wow,” Rae says from beside me, having the same reaction as Finn, who stops driving to take in what I can’t help thinking is one of the best views in all of Cornwall. It sounds as if Rae agrees. “That water… the colour of it.”

I don’t need much of an excuse to stop driving as well. I guess one day I’ll be immune to all of this jade and turquoise shimmering at the base of the cliffs here, to the contrast of it sparkling below the lush grass green of the headland with craggy tors as a distant backdrop. I’m nowhere near immune yet. I see Finn whip out his phone in my rearview mirror and move it like he’s videoing this panorama. He’s setting Willow’s mind at rest, I guess.

And Rae?

He takes it all in too—soaks up this view, only without a phone camera, which I suppose makes sense. He’s an artist, right? I guess that’s why he stares in silence.

I do a bit of staring of my own, only not at the view, then I almost jump out of my skin when Finn taps on my window to give me a thumbs-up. “She’s crying,” he tells me through the glass, but he doesn’t look too sad about that. Happy tears, then. They fuel the next labour-intensive part of my game plan. So does knowing that, yeah, Rae soaked up that view, but his gaze doesn’t end there.

It lands on me and stays, still lingering after I get out of the Land Rover to open a five-bar gate. Before I unlatch it, I mentally shuffle what needs to happen next into order, and the boys join us.

“Noah? Is the arch still in the lower barn?” I point towards the copse of trees hiding that structure. He nods, and Teo’s shoulders straighten when I say, “It takes two men to shift it. Think you can work together to carry it to the headland for me? Then carry out the dance-floor sections?”

“We’ve got it,” Teo rumbles.

The boys climb the gate and run ahead through overgrown grass while I give Finn direction. I’m aware that Rae has climbed the gate too, only he sits astride it. He’s taller than me now, and the view must be even better from up there. I’m still his focus, and I have to resist the urge to check my beard for missed burrs like they’re the only reason for this attention.

Perhaps he spots that. His gaze breaks away as I ask Finn, “See those trees where they’re headed? There are portable bathrooms behind them. And a kids’ play area a bit further on. The paths there all need mowing, but priority number one is mowing one from here to my fairy circle.”

That gets Rae’s attention. “ Your fairy circle?”

He turns back so fast he almost loses his balance on the top bar of the gate. Steadying him is instinctive, an easy save to make, and my hand on his hip is a reminder of when he did the same for me in the bathroom, so I guess we’re even.

It doesn’t feel that way when he slides down from that top bar. He braces against my chest to do that, the contact fleeting. I still feel the whole thing in slow motion, which wrecks my concentration. I end up stuttering, “A circle of my bell tents.”

“Your tents?” he asks quietly, like we’re the only two people here.

He’s the one who slipped so fuck knows why I’m unbalanced, or why it takes Finn repeating a different question for me to pull myself together. “Sorry, Finn, what did you say?”

He points at the marquee. “You said ‘dance floor.’ Is there some kind of sound system here?” The relief I witnessed a few minutes ago fades. “Only the wedding package we booked included a live band. For dancing.” His voice lowers. “Willow really loves to do that.”

Maybe a summer of waking up in the next room to a happy fucker wasn’t wasted. While Finn mows a pathway with the tractor, I get back in the Land Rover to call someone who might help a bride’s big-day dreams rise from disastrous ashes. Rae climbs in beside me, sees the phone in my hand, and makes to get out again until I shake my head.

“You’re okay. This isn’t private.”

I’m making an adjustment to my game plan, that’s all, because that’s what the best coach I ever had always did on the fly. And that’s what I attempt while Rae busies himself with his own phone like he isn’t listening in on what I’m sure we both hear—my call rings and rings before going to voicemail.

I leave a halting message.

“Uh, Rowan? Hey, could you ring me back if you’re free tomorrow and feel like making some noise at a party?” I lower my voice, which is pointless with Rae sitting right beside me, but this part does feel private. “No worries if you’re not feeling it, mate.” My ex-housemate can’t help being shy around crowds. I know all too well the feeling of not living up to public expectations. “Performance pressure is real, yeah?”

I must say that with more feeling than I meant to. In the periphery of my vision, Rae looks up from his phone screen.

His head lowers just as quickly, and I make myself finish.

“A couple of Luke’s old gap-year students were due to get married tomorrow at Glynn Harber but found out today that they lost all their wedding budget. Venue went bust. All they have left of their original plan is getting married in the school chapel. No flowers, no food, not even music. Gotta house the whole lot of guests too, so I’m setting up all my tents.” I’ve got to stop calling them that. “I mean Marc and Stef’s tents.”

Rae’s head lifts again, not hiding that he’s listening.

“But even a loan of some speakers would help a hell of a lot, Row, if you have any to spare. Let me know, yeah?”

I ring off to answer Rae’s earlier question. “They aren’t actually my tents. Saying that is just force of habit.”

“Because?”

“Because I used to run a camping business. Glamping. Pretty bell tents with real beds for the adults. Woodland adventure sessions for their children. That was the best part.”

“Was?”

“I couldn’t justify sinking more cash into a gig that was only busy every summer.” Not with three little sisters who have growth spurts year-round. “So my friends bought all but one of them from me.”

He looks back. “Those are the tents on the trailer?”

“Some of them, yeah. The rest are pitched in?—”

“A fairy circle?”

I nod. I also face Rae to see what kept him busy while I made that SOS call.

My weekend housemate has been busy sketching. Not on paper with a pencil. He’s done it on his phone with a stylus, and for a surprising moment, I’m reminded of my usual housemate; Rae is suddenly as shy as Rowan was when I first met him, which is a stark contrast from the man who curled his fists in the woods at me.

He doesn’t need to be shy. Not about what he’s drawn in the space of a single phone call. “Wow.” I almost touch his phone screen, then pull back a still-shaking finger. “That’s me.”

I’m semi-naked like I was in the shower room, only I don’t have a damp towel around me in this drawing. Ivy leaves cling low on my hips, the top of my bush visible, which makes me think I can’t have cinched that towel fast enough back at the stables.

I don’t know why him noticing enough to draw that dark tangle hits this hard. Maybe it’s because he’s paid attention, and I’ve avoided that for so long that I don’t know what to do with this evidence of it. More than that, he lends a new perspective.

I’ve never seen those scars left by the surgery on my shoulders as anything other than signs of weakness. Now they are the site of gossamer wings, and I don’t know how those add to a picture of strength, of power, which is weird since I also sparkle like I’ve been sprinkled with fairy dust and magic.

I snort at the version of my beard he’s added. “You left them in. The burrs.” I’m not sure how he made them glitter. “Wait. You think I’m a fairy?”

There are several ways to take that.

As a slur?

It’s one I heard plenty of times from teammates. Not aimed at me, but that potential felt like a constant hammer about to fall the same way seeing coaches confer with club doctors about my fitness always left my chest tight. Rae gives me a different reason after touching his screen with that stylus again.

A crown materialises.

“King of the tent-pitching fairies.” He tilts his head. “Or maybe king of whatever tree spirits are called in Cornwall. But you’re the one with a fairy circle, so how about you show me your kingdom?”

It’s hardly that, just a circle of pretty bell tents on the far side of the headland, linked by chains of solar lamps that will glow when the sun sets. That won’t be many hours away now. There’s a lot to do before tonight’s arrivals, and true to his word, he helps me.

“How come you’re good at this, Rae?”

“Because I had to do it a lot in France.” He cinches a knot for me. “Where I run an art project.”

“An outdoor one?”

He matches my heave on a rope, and another tent rises higher, yet this comes out sounding low. “Something like that.”

Three tents later, I know more about migrant children than I ever wanted. More than that, I get to see why this weekend stay is important to him—cash to keep his project running depends on him scoring some kind of publishing deal on Monday.

“That’s the simple version. There’s a ton of steps between getting agented and getting a deal.” He shares more while we’re busy. Not about the publication process. He tells story after story about kids who disappeared between tides. “It wasn’t real to me until I saw what the tide washed back in.” He chokes then, turns silent. Maybe that’s because Finn joins us after mowing to work alongside us as the sun starts to lower.

Those two kids work hard too.

I don’t hear much snarling from Teo. If anything, he lets Noah direct him, and that’s surprising, but good to witness—a sign he knows his limits and can see Noah has better ball skills. Tent skills, I mean, but the analogy holds true. I land a hand on his shoulder after the rumble of an approaching engine registers. “Teo? That’ll be Mr. Lawson come to get you, but know this, yeah? We couldn’t have done this without you.” I include Rae. “Without you, either, but you can both get off now.”

“Now?” Rae looks back at the trailer, which is only half unloaded. There are plenty more tents to keep me busy.

Busy?

I’ll still be pitching them at midnight. Rae must guess that. His hold tightens on a guy line. “But we aren’t finished, and you can’t?—”

I hold up a hand. It’s good and steady. “See? Told you the tremors would wear off.”

“Until the next time you use a chainsaw?”

I shrug. “Everyone’s gotta make a living.” He looks ready to argue about leaving me to it, so I take the rope from his hand and haul a tent up without him. The canvas is heavy, and my muscles bunch. I manage it single-handed. “I’ve been doing this all on my own for years,” I say quietly. “That project of yours gonna keep going all on its own, or does it need you to smash your meeting on Monday?”

He nods, acquiescing.

Rae climbs the slope up to the headland with me in silence, where I discover I was wrong. It isn’t Luke Lawson who’s come to collect Teo. I mean, yeah, Luke is there in the school minibus, but he isn’t alone. Rowan and his builder boyfriend are here too.

Liam is an ex-soldier who has brought reinforcements. All Royal Engineers, he tells me. His crew are rebuilding experts. Putting up tents and setting up an outdoor dance floor are nothing compared to rebuilding bridges and airstrips.

All of that is more than enough assistance, but Stefan also arrives, and he’s brought his mother, who is armed with samples of her baking and a question for Finn.

“How many tiers do you want on your wedding cake, love?”

That’s when Finn finally buckles, and I can’t blame the man for that reaction. I’m a bit teary myself.

“Oh, come here, love,” Stefan’s mum says. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I know she’s an awesome cuddler. She’s given me plenty, so I understand why Finn’s voice is muffled. “You know you’re all invited tomorrow, right? All of you. We wouldn’t even have a wedding without you.”

I walk Rae to the minibus.

He’s shadowed, the vehicle blocking the view of an amazing sunset, but that’s okay. I get another great view the minute that Rae meets my eyes. His are tired and yet still dancing. “You know Finn was talking about you, right? That he and Willow would have fuck all to look forward to if you hadn’t made that phone call?”

I’d turn to point out everyone else who has pulled through to make a party possible if Rae didn’t catch hold of my wrist. And if his close contact in a shower room wasn’t a clue along with that slow slide down my body when he got down from the gate, this rub of his thumb over a skipping pulse point is a signal visible from the moon.

I give him one of my own by letting him do it, and by curling a hand around his neck. No idea if that’s to stop him from moving away or to pull him closer. All I know is that his grip shifts, and I let him cradle my hand, then I watch him lift it.

No one has ever studied me this closely—my wrist and palm and fingers—and if there was ever a moment for those fuckers to shake, this would be it.

I’m rock steady. Not frozen, exactly, but I guess this is what happens when touch-starved kindling meets a lit match. I’ve been tense for hours now, ever since saying goodbye to little Adam and then chasing a bride through the woods. That tension releases, every single nerve under the skin he touches flaring to life where he makes contact, and it’s a lot.

It’s also nowhere near enough.

I don’t know who moves first.

I lean down as he surges up, and we’re kissing, a clash of teeth and lips that quickly softens, all while I’m aware that more cars are approaching.

Headlights dance like Rae’s eyes do when he pulls back. Those cars pass, and we’re alone, out of sight and shadowed again, and you better believe that when he pushes me against the side of the minibus, I let him.

“Gonna be my plus-one, Hayden?”

I must nod.

He grins and kisses me again. His body is a hard and wiry length that feels as tensely wound as I do.

I want to feel all that tautness loosen.

Be the reason for it.

Only he’s gone.

“Yeah, I’m over here, Luke,” he calls out, answering a question that I missed while blood rushed in my ears like waves rush against the base of the cliffs, crashing like my heart does when Rae looks back, his smile a bright flash painted gold by the sunset, and…

I can’t wait for tomorrow.