Page 45 of One Last Try (Try for Love #1)

I wait one minute . . . two . . . trying to convince myself he’s just messing around and he’ll be back any second, but he’s not coming back. Hundreds of eyes bore into my flesh. I look to Molly for guidance and she shrugs back.

“Want me to get Daze?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

I feel so fucking lost, like I’m on a dinghy in the middle of the ocean and there’s a storm tracking straight towards me.

“He is coming back, right?”

“I don’t know, Mols. I don’t think he is.”

“Shit, shit, shit. This is all my fault.” Fat tears rush down her cheeks, and I decide if Molly’s crying, I can’t fall apart too. Even though I want to.

I want to chase him down through the gaps and figure out where he’s gone and demand to know why he ran away like that.

Why he left me.

Fuck it .

That’s what I’m gonna do.

I can’t just let him go without telling him everything.

“Wait here, Molly.” I don’t give myself time to second-guess my plan; I’m already running through the gap in the bleachers.

But he’s not in the field next to the club—the one with the bouncy castle and fun-fair type games—and he’s not in the one beyond that, in the space we’re using as an overflow carpark. Maybe he went back to the cottage.

So I run uphill until I get to Fernbank Cottage, my lungs screaming and sweat streaming from every pore, but Mathias is not there either. Where the fuck did he go?

I’m panicking now. The tears I held in earlier threaten to surface.

I part stumble, part run across the road to The Little Thatch. It’s busy, crammed with folk who couldn’t get tickets, and I have to push inside. People cheer when they realise it’s me, one half of the reason they’re here, and move out of my way.

Viv looks up from behind the bar. She scowls at me. “What in the blazes are you doing here?”

“Mathias!” I’m so out of breath and it’s got nothing to do with jogging uphill to get here. “I can’t find Mathias.”

“Mathias Jones?” A white woman with pillarbox-red hair asks. She has a Welsh accent and has arrived with a whole group of women around her age. The Mathias fan club, no doubt. Maybe I should request membership.

“Yeah.” I turn to the women. “Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, he’s lovely, he is,” one of them jokes.

I don’t have time for it. “No, I mean—”

“Oh look, he’s right there. On the telly.” Another points to the screen, and my heart jumps into my mouth.

Mathias, my Mathias, is on the pub’s ancient TV, staring straight into the camera lens, and for a moment I forget he can’t see me. That it’s not just us alone in my pub together .

He’s frowning, squinting against the sun trying to break through the clouds. There’s a penny-sized microphone gripped between his fingers. He looks around the grounds for something or . . . someone . . .

Me!

He’s looking for me.

The realisation hits me all at once. He didn’t run away.

He went to find the camera crew. Maybe to .

. . I dunno, deny the evidence of the photos?

Claim we haven’t been fucking this entire time?

Nobody’s gonna believe him if that’s the case.

That photo speaks for itself. Unless he says they were all AI . . . but still . . .

What if he’s about to publicly dump me? Explain that while we were fuck buddies, as of next week it’s all over.

His mic isn’t switched on, but his mouth moves and I hear his voice inside my head. That beautiful soft accent of his. “Where’s Owen?” I love the way he says my name.

Ohh -win.

“He’s right here!” says one woman, having obviously read the words on his lips too, and the rest laugh.

Arms belonging to one of my daughters move into view and affix the microphone to his collar. “Say something to test the mic,” Molly or Daisy says faintly after moving back behind the camera. I’m still not sure which of my offspring it is.

“What should I say?” Mathias says, clear as day, and the patrons of the pub mute themselves to listen.

“Yep, that’ll work.” Definitely Daisy. She hands him another microphone. This one’s longer with a big silver head thing. The emcee mic. He’s going to speak to the entire crowd and the live stream viewers at the same time.

I’m pawing at the TV like a cat beside an aquarium, though nobody asks me to move.

“He’ll hear you, don’t worry,” Daisy says .

Mathias nods once, fixes his posture and the frown on his face, and looks out to the bleachers. “Good afternoon Mudford-upon-Hooke! I hope you’re all having a lovely day here.”

People cheer, but peppering the applause are a few boos. I want to run down the hill to him, but I can’t miss whatever he’s about to say. I’d rather be run over with a cast-iron hit shield than miss this.

“Oh, come on. Can we just stop it with the booing already?” Mathias says, slapping one hand against his hip.

“I’m well aware I’m the bad guy. I get it, okay?

I signed up to this event to be the bad guy, because I know all you wanna see is a good old fight between Owen and me, but actually I’m kinda sick of it.

I don’t like it, and honestly, it hurts my feelings. ”

The fact that he didn’t stumble over his words, or hesitate, pulls at something deep in my gut. The stands are quiet; they’ve been stunned into silence. Beside me one of Mathias’s fan club members says, “Naw, bless him.”

“And if you’re still gonna boo me . . . well, you can go sit over there in the big babies’ corner.” The crowd laughs and Mathias looks off to the left. “Alright, Roger? Going okay over there?”

They laugh again.

“He’s just called me a very rude word I can’t say on the telly,” Mathias says.

Daisy’s faint voice chimes in with, “It’s YouTube, not the BBC. You can swear if you like.”

“In that case, he’s just called me a wanker.” Mathias looks at his watch. “Right, kick-off is in about twenty-five minutes. There’s still time to get a glitter tattoo or grab a hotdog or a lovely pint of Hooker’s Dribble before we start.

“I want to say a really big thank you to everyone who bought tickets, and those who purchased streaming passes and are at home watching online right now. And also a massive thank you to the folk who helped organise this event. Special thanks to Daisy and Molly Bosley, Orlando Oakham-Goodwin, Tomas Bianchi and Bryn Morgan, Vivian Hillier, and all the Bath Centurions boys.”

The crowd cheers at the mention of their beloved team.

Mathias smiles, licks his lips, rearranges his features.

“Okay, so . . . some of you may have seen the photos of Owen and me circulating on TikTok and Instagram, and I expect by now pretty much everywhere else. If you haven’t, you can look at them later, but I want to put the rumours to rest, and tell you .

. . that actually . . . yeah, we are dating. ”

I hear the gasp of the crowd.

“And really . . .” His voice wobbles. His breath hitches. He’s nervous. “I think it’s a lot more than just dating.”

My pulse spikes, palms sweating.

“Oh my god,” says the red-headed woman behind me. “He’s going to confess his lov—”

Her friend shushes her.

Mathias looks dead at the camera. “Owen, I don’t know where you’ve gone to, but I hope you can hear me now, and that you get back in time for kick-off .

. .” He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to say this face to face, but I’ll have to settle for saying it live on TV and hope you can see me.

I love you. Fucking loads, actually. I’ve never felt this way about another person before.

And I hope it’s okay for me to tell the world like this, but I dunno, this . . . us . . . it feels right.”

The crowd cheers. Viv cheers. The women behind me are whooping and grabbing my arms and shoulders, congratulating me.

Mathias waits for the bleachers full of people to calm.

“I’ve never been anyone’s boyfriend before, and .

. .” More cheering, this time a few wolf whistles are thrown in.

“And I was kinda wondering if I could be yours?” He has to wait for another lull to continue.

“I want to stay here in Mudford with you in your dinky little cottage. I’m going to sign with the Cents again next year and—”

At this, the crowd blow the non-existent roof off, but Mathias is frowning now, glancing around the grounds. Once more, looking for me.

“Viv, water,” I say.

“Where are you, Owen?” Mathias’s voice wavers on my name.

“I’m coming!” I yell .

I ignore the awws from the group of women. Viv places a pint glass of tap water in front of me. I down it in one, and I’m already jumping over the styles to be with him.