44
all to play for
LONDON IN THE SPRING BY PASSENGER
It’s so quiet at work this morning. I think everyone is on pins and needles for the match next weekend. If we win, we’re promoted, and Rockford will join the best of the best in the top tier of English football. I’ll have completed my job. The job I came here to do. The job I promised myself would be temporary.
I’m sitting at my desk, staring blankly at a press release that needs editing. I can’t focus. My brain is somewhere else and has been all day.
Sitting on the corner of my desk is the invitation for tonight's end-of-season awards party. It taunts me, daring me to make a move. I don’t have a dress for it. I haven’t even decided if I’m going.
I should go, simply because it’s a work event and I’m a professional. It’s expected that I will be there.
But there’s another part of me that’s already started stepping back. Quietly. Carefully. Like if I create enough distance now, it won’t hurt as much later.
I pack up my bag for the day, hoping to slip out of the building unnoticed. I step out of the elevator and nearly run straight into him.
Oliver.
Of course.
Because the universe is cruel.
He looks like he always does—hair messy from training, eyes soft the moment they find mine.
“Hey,” he says, smiling. “Leaving?”
“Yeah, I… have some errands to run,” I mumble, hugging my bag tightly to my chest like it’s some physical barrier.
He doesn’t move.
“Are you coming tonight?” he asks. “To the awards party?”
His tone is easy, but I can hear the hope behind it. He almost sounds nervous, like he’s asking me to prom.
I try to smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Not sure.”
Oliver tilts his head slightly. “You’re not sure?”
I nod, focusing on the floor between us. “It’s been a long week. I might just stay in. I need to finish packing.”
I don’t even need to look up to know I’ve hurt him. I can just feel his gaze sharpen. I don’t let myself look up to meet it. If I do, I’ll unravel.
“Packing,” he repeats quietly.
I nod. “There’s only one match left, barring a loss that takes us into the playoffs. I figured I should get a head start.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is tight. “You’re really going to go?”
The tone of his voice hits me harder than I expect. I can feel it softening my walls, so I crush it fast, because hope is dangerous.
“I have to,” I say, forcing the words out flatly. “That was always the plan.”
That’s not entirely true.
I don’t tell him it’s killing me to go. I don’t say I wish I could stay. I don’t ask him to give me a reason not to leave. Because if I say any of that, I’llfall apart. And if he doesn’t say it back, I don’t think I could survive it.
“Addison,” Oliver whispers. His eyes hold mine, and for a second everything in him looks unguarded. Almost exposed. Almost like he’s about to say something that would change everything.
