Page 15 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron (Blindsided #2)

B yron

He watched from behind the fence, hidden by the overgrown hedge.

Ana was laughing, her shining hair swinging as her dad pulled a lock and said something that made her mum scold him. She was radiant, alive in a way he hadn't seen in days.

The candescence of her beloved voice burned more than he expected.

It hit him all at once-how final it was. She was leaving, and he wasn't part of it.

A pain like no other roared through his chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

She was gone before he could work up the courage to say goodbye.

Gray had insisted on driving him to Newcastle. Byron tried to protest, but Gray had just said, "Don't be a stupid git. Get in. "

As he was loading up his bags, Ana's dad had come down the drive. He handed Byron a pair of new rugby boots. Byron couldn't look him in the eye.

"Ana had been saving up to buy that for ya. She says you go through them like they were a packet of crisps. Me and her mum," he said quietly, "We'll keep an eye on Sylvia and your dad."

Byron had only nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Sylvia had refused to come. "Someone has to take care of Dad," she'd said with resignation in her voice. The day before, she had broken up with her boyfriend and she was beginning to look like the old Sylvia again.

Byron didn't argue. There was no choice but to go. He just gave her a silent hug.

The drive to Newcastle was quiet. Gray wasn't much for words, and Byron didn't ask for any.

He moved into halls near the Newcastle College campus, where he'd enrolled in the BSc (Hons) Applied Physical Education and Sports Coaching. It was hands-on, physical, and intense. Just how he needed it so he wouldn't have a moment to dwell.

He trained like a demon. He was always the first to arrive at practice and the last to leave. He studied hard, too. Threw himself into lectures, seminars, and exams. No alcohol, no smoking, no drugs, no girls. He owed it to Ana.

But every so often, news reached him.

From Gray.

From social media.

From mutual friends.

Ana was doing well.

She was writing for The Cherwell, Oxford's student paper. Opinion pieces, campus stories, and the occasional satirical jab at university politics. Byron read every one. Twice. It was almost like he could feel her through the words on the page.

He did his best not to ask. But he always did.

Whenever Gray rang, he'd slip it in as casually as possible.

"How's Oxford?"

"You spoke to Ana?"

"She alright?"

Gray was not one to talk much. But he said enough to keep Byron breathing.

***

Once, Ana's dad visited Newcastle for a training conference. He'd dropped by to check in on Byron and brought him home-baked lasagne wrapped in foil like he was still the boy who hung around their kitchen after school, looking like he hadn’t eaten a hot meal in days.

They didn't talk much. Just sat on the bleachers while Byron tied his boots.

But before leaving, he clapped Byron's shoulder and said, "She's finding her feet. That girl's tougher than all of us put together."

Byron had nodded. Was he selfish to wish that she was as miserable as he was?

He hoarded those scraps like treasure.

Held them close like a dragon guarding gold.

It hurt, but it was all he had. He almost dialed her number a hundred times. Almost.

Sylvia was cagier now. Whenever he called, she'd tease or sigh or pretend to be distracted, but sometimes, in flashes, she'd drop things.

"Ana got featured on the student blog this week."

"I heard she dyed her hair. Her mum showed me a photo. Looks good. I'm not saying that to piss you off."

"Apparently, she's been going running with some guy from her department. "

Then came the news he had been dreading after the term break.

Gray sounded distracted. Exams were kicking his arse.

"Cadi said she's seeing someone. Some bloke called Harvey. "

Byron said nothing. He just mumbled something about practice and hung up. Then he put his head between his knees and tried to breathe in and out slowly to stave off the panic attack.

And later, when the lights were off and the walls were quiet, he lay awake, fists clenched in his sheets, and imagined Harvey's hands on Ana's skin.

He didn't drink that night like he wanted to. He ran.

Five miles until his knees buckled and his chest burned.

He crawled into bed with the taste of blood in his mouth.

***

Months later, Gray sat on the bench, elbows on his knees. He had driven down for a break.

"They are official," he said, looking out at the field .

Byron didn't look up. "Who?"

"You know who."

He did.

That night, Byron broke his own rule.

Twelve months sober. Gone.

It started with a bottle someone handed him at the post-game party. He didn't ask what was in it. Didn't care. The music was too loud, the lights too bright, and his thoughts too full of her. Someone pressed another shot into his hand. They were pouring another one within seconds.

Then another.

Then her.

He didn't even catch her name, just had a vague impression of blonde hair, aggressive hands and the taste of tequila.

Everything blurred .

He woke up in a strange room.

The blinds were open. Too much light filtered through. The headache kicked off first, then his stomach churned.

He stumbled out of bed and made it to the toilet just in time.

When he came back after paying his dues to the porcelain god, she was awake.

"Hey," she said with a sensual half-smile. "I'm-"

"Don't wanna know," he said, not looking at her.

She blinked. "You passed out after I gave you head. Wanna return the favour?"

"Nope."

She pulled her bra on slowly, unbothered. "Dickhead. The door is that way."

He made his way back to his room and swallowed two ibuprofens.

Then he sat on the floor of the bathroom, bare feet on cold tile, elbows on knees, head in hands.

He couldn't remember her name or her face.

He couldn't stop seeing Ana in everything. He couldn't do this anymore.

He started showing up earlier to practice. Stayed even later.

Coach praised his focus.

He didn't see the way his hands sometimes shook before a match. Or how he stared too long at his phone, rereading old messages she'd sent a lifetime ago. He had a friend restore his backup. He still had that picture of Ana. No way was he deleting it.

He went out sometimes. Hooked up a couple more times. Never the same girl twice.

He made sure they knew the rules.

No strings. No repeats.

No alcohol. No drugs.

When Ana gave him a chance, he had to be ready.

***