Page 24

Chapter 24

Charlie

T he Langley House School auditorium is packed with restless noise. Parents crammed into squeaky seats, fanning themselves with crumpled programmes and checking their watches like this is some monumental sacrifice. Velvet curtains ripple at the sides of the stage, garlands dripping down from the balcony railings. A Christmas tree squats near the foyer doors, twinkling like it’s making up for the rest of the grim mid-December drizzle in London.

It’s a private school, posh as hell, with excellent SEN support and a performing arts program that could rival some of the city’s fancy academies. I fought tooth and nail to get Hannah in here.

Worth it a hundred times over.

My sister wants to be a singer and an actress? My sister will be a singer and an actress.

I wrench a breath free, fighting the surge rising beneath my sternum. Hannah’s bouncing beside me, her tulle skirt swishing with every move. She’s always had a great, eclectic sense of style. Only one of the things I admire about her. I smooth a stray hair off her forehead, resisting the full-body pull to scoop her into a bear hug. God, she’s buzzing like she’s had five espressos.

‘Charlie. Charlie! Miss Lorna says I’m third. Third! After the Year 13s do the boring carols. But what if my mic stops? Or I forget the words?’

‘Batteries are fresh. You’ll remember the words. There’s a monitor as well. And if you don’t, make up better ones and dazzle everyone with your moves.’

Her nose wrinkles. ‘But you’ll laugh.’

‘I’ll laugh either way. Because I’m happy, and you’re brilliant.’

She grins, her cheeks dimpling like always. It’s a little lopsided.

I shouldn’t feel this raw. I should be laser-focused on her. But there’s this gnawing in my stomach, this restless feeling like the ground’s about to crumble under me.

A huddle of girls in elf costumes shuffle past, giggling over a TikTok.

Hannah’s teaching assistant, Priya, shoots me a nod of encouragement. ‘We’ve got this, Charlie.’

I know. But my shoulders stay knotted. Because Dad’s somewhere in the crowd. I saw his shiny head glinting. I haven’t seen or talked to him in months and would like it to stay that way.

But nothing could’ve kept me from watching my sister shine on stage. Not even him.

‘Did you see my tights? They’ve got little stars on them!’ Hannah lifts her skirt, just about to flash the whole room. I yank it back down, laughing.

‘They’re cute. And you’re gonna knock ’em dead out there.’ I lean down to kiss Hannah’s cheek.

She giggles and hugs me. Then she bites her lip. ‘Priya, I need to pee again. Guess I’m nervous!’

‘Let’s nip to the bathroom before we line up, just in case.’ Priya gives me a reassuring look. ‘We’ll be right back.’

I watch until they’re out of sight, a low charge running through me. Mum’s somewhere near the back, probably in line for the canteen snacks or charming the ushers into better seats.

The crowd hums with chatter. I shove my hands into my coat pockets and breathe. The Christmas tree by the entrance twinkles far too cheerfully.

Last week, at the Christmas party, Brodie looked like a man sewn together by tension and heartache. Devastating in that suit, collar straining against his throat like it couldn’t contain him. He stood rigid, one wrong move away from breaking. Eyes dark and hollow, every bit of pain he was holding back had carved itself into his face.

It messed me up.

Each nerve under my skin flared up and burned all at once. I felt I’d been kicked in the stomach and couldn’t catch my breath. My body just wanted to close the distance and hold on to him until the hurt stopped.

Still does.

God, I need to keep it together. This is Hannah’s moment, and I’m not letting my bleeding heart ruin it.

But I can smile through the tears. No problem.

The houselights dim. Someone clears their throat behind me. I stare at the stage, trying to swallow the ache.

Another throat clear. Closer this time, the air behind me tightens. Someone’s crowding my space without warning. A looming presence, too big and far too close.

I whip around, already lashing out, ‘Excuse me?’

My heart fucking stops.

My mind stumbles, trying to make sense of what my eyes see.

Brodie’s standing there.

Brodie.

Here.

Coat half unzipped, hair a mess, stripped of all armour – as though walking into this moment had cost him everything except resolve. He’s holding the pink sparkly cowboy hat, and it’s so absurdly out of place in his hands that I almost laugh. Except I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just stand there. My brain’s gone offline, and I’m waiting for a reboot.

He doesn’t move and watches me with all his hesitation laid bare, as if he’s terrified of doing this wrong.

‘What are you doing here?’ I sound almost steady. Almost.

He glances at the hat, then back at me. ‘Brought something for Hannah. Figured she might need this.’

I’m fighting the tremor in my hands. ‘You…came all the way from Scotland to London to give her that?’

‘Wouldn’t be right for her to go on stage without it.’ His voice is low and unwavering. As if he’s made peace with whatever this costs him.

My breath stalls mid-lung, and whatever’s holding me together starts to fray. I can’t look at him without coming apart. ‘You should be playing today. It’s the Dragons and—’

‘Some things matter more. Wallace gave me leave. Said I should rest. My back. My…head. Whatever.’

The weight of that crashes into me, splintering through every rib.

He missed a game.

For Hannah.

For me.

The man who bleeds rugby put it on hold. To make sure my little sister has a sparkly hat and the confidence to wear it.

I hate him for doing this to me.

I love him for it, too.

It’s unfair, and it’s perfect, and I can’t get any air in because it hurts so fucking much.

He holds the hat out to me, every inch of him braced. ‘You can give it to her. Or…I can?’

I’m shaking, and I can’t tell if I want to hit him or throw myself into his arms and never let go.

Bit of both?

‘Why…’ My voice breaks. ‘Why did you—’

He squares his shoulders, but he doesn’t back down. ‘Because I couldn’t…not. Couldn’t let you go on believing I wouldn’t show up when it mattered. And to say that I’m sorry.’

Before I can think of a single damn thing to say, a familiar voice threads through the noise.

‘Charlie! Priya put glitter on my eyelids!’

I turn around, and there’s Hannah, beaming like she won the lottery, her hair a little less tidy than when she left, a streak of glitter already smudged on her cheek. Priya’s right behind her, giving me a thumbs-up.

‘You are extremely glittery,’ I croak out.

And then Hannah spots Brodie. Her features glitch mid-blink, and for a split second, I see her brain catch up to what she’s seeing – a giant, ruffled rugby player holding the sparkliest pink cowboy hat known to man.

‘Hannah, this is Brodie,’ I manage to say. ‘He’s…a client and…a friend. He plays rugby.’

‘Oh my God,’ she half-says, half-gasps, staring at Brodie like he’s some fairy tale prince. ‘Is that…for me?’

Brodie’s mouth tilts up in a soft smile. He leans down a bit, hat still in his grip. ‘Aye. Thought you might need it for your show. Can’t be a proper cowgirl superstar without a hat like this.’

Her hands cover her mouth. ‘You brought it for me? Why?’

‘Course I did. You’re Charlie’s sister – and you’re on in a few minutes, right? Do you want to try it on?’

She nods, and he reaches out, gently placing the hat on her head and adjusting it so it doesn’t mess up her hair.

‘Perfect fit,’ he says.

Hannah’s dimples dent as she grins up at him, then at me. ‘Charlie, your friend brought me a hat! That’s really nice. Check it out!’

‘I see that,’ I say, barely making it come out normal.

Brodie watches her with a kind of awe that undoes me – like he’s seeing her spark for what it is – and I can’t stand how much that moves me.

‘You know,’ he says with a conspiratorial tone, ‘I heard you’re gonna sing something good tonight.’

Hannah’s cheeks light up like traffic lights. ‘I’m singing Texas Hold ’Em . I practised a lot. A lot!’

Brodie’s jaw ticks. Then he nods. ‘ Texas Hold ’Em , eh? Can’t seem to get away from that one. Good tune, though. Bet Beyoncé herself would be jealous.’

I brace for something. Tension, bitterness. But it doesn’t come. Only a faint smirk. Like he’s daring the universe to throw more poker jokes at him.

And I didn’t think I could be any prouder of him.

But I am.

Hannah suddenly lunges forward and hugs him, arms flung around his neck as if she’s known him forever. Brodie goes still, only for a second, then he lifts his hands to hug her back, careful and gentle.

‘You give very good hugs, Hannah.’

‘I know!’

I’m not crying. I swear I’m not.

Hannah’s never shy with people who feel safe. She turns to me and grins from ear to ear. ‘You’ve got little love-hearts in your eyes, Charlie.’

My face goes up in flames. ‘Jesus, Button! Boundaries.’ I throw her a warning look, but she just lifts her chin, smug as hell.

She’s a Harrington, all right.

Brodie’s full-on grinning now, too, like he’s won something without even trying.

Hannah pulls back, beaming like he granted her three wishes. ‘Thank you. You’re tall.’

‘Aye. I know.’ He chuckles.

‘And scruffy,’ Hannah declares. ‘You should comb your hair.’

Brodie shrugs. ‘That’s accurate, too.’

Priya’s watching the whole thing with a smile. She checks her watch. ‘Oh, shoot. Time to get her backstage.’

I give her a quick smile. ‘Alright, superstar. Let’s go.’

Hannah grabs my hand. ‘You’re coming with me.’

‘Of course, Button.’ I glance at Brodie. ‘You’ll…find a seat?’

He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

I make myself turn away, guiding Hannah through the bustle of kids and costumes, trying not to stumble under the tilt of it all. I risk a glance back once, one second, and he’s still standing there. Looking.

I barely remember the performance. It’s a blur of stage lights and harmonies. Hannah did it. She nailed most of the notes, remembered nearly every word, and owned that stage with her sparkling cowboy hat, radiating joy. She gave it everything, added a little shoulder shimmy during the chorus, pointed straight at the crowd. A little pop star in full command. She worked so hard for this. And the audience went mad. Cheering, clapping. I believe I heard Brodie’s voice above the rest. But that might have been my imagination.

Now I’m waiting in the foyer, feet aching from standing, still thrumming with nerves and awe. Priya took Hannah to grab a snack from the canteen before they headed home and I back to my Airbnb – because I’m neither ready nor willing to sleep under the same roof as my father. So I’m left here with my thoughts.

And thoughts are a dangerous thing.

I keep replaying it in my head. Brodie showing up, his face when he handed Hannah the hat. He skipped a game and came to London. Not to win me back. Not to prove a point. Just… because he loves me.

He loves me.

Air staggers in slow and ragged. It’s too much. But it’s not shock anymore. It’s something heavier. The start of a decision I’m not sure I’m ready to make.

I sense him before I see him. His presence fills the space and wraps around me. I turn, and there he is.

‘Charlie. Can we talk?’

I don’t know if I’m ready to hear this. But of course, I say, ‘Okay.’

‘This is…tough.’

‘I know,’ I whisper. ‘It really is.’

‘Listen, Charlie…’ He drags a hand over his face, like he’s trying to scrape the truth out of his own skin. ‘I’ve spent my entire life thinking love was something you earned. It wasn’t like that with you.’ He lets out a dry laugh. ‘I fucking hated you at first. Couldn’t stand how you looked at me. Like all that shite about me was true. But that wasn’t you. That was me. I looked at myself like that. You…you fought for me, regardless. You brought me back. Not because it was your job. You fucking believed in me.’

My heart’s a frenzied mess, hurling itself against my breastbone.

His gaze stays pinned to mine. ‘And I was too caught up in myself to see it. Thought I had to keep proving myself. Showing them I was more than a fuck-up. I was too proud to just…let you in. You deserved me fighting for you. And I didn’t. I let you down. That’s on me.’

My lungs are too tight, as if I’m drowning on dry land. I hate how much I want to believe him.

‘I didn’t gamble, Charlie. I swear on Nonna’s grave, I didn’t. I thought you should believe me without question. Like I’d earned that. But you didn’t owe me that trust. You’ve been hurt before. And I should’ve—’

‘You didn’t have to earn anything,’ I say. ‘I loved you because you were worth it. Because you made me feel safe and happy. But when I saw you in that room… I just—’ The words wobble out. ‘I panicked. I thought I’d been foolish to trust again. Like it was my fault for hoping too much. And then you…let me go.’

His face crumbles. ‘ Loved , Charlie?’

I try to say something, but he barrels on.

‘ Loved ? Fuck that. Cause I’m not done loving you. I’ll never be done loving you for as long as I live. Do you fucking understand that?’

He’s in pain. So much pain.

I am, too.

‘You’re my girl. You’ll always be my girl. Even if you end up on a couch next to some other lucky bastard at seventy, in your heart, you’ll know it. You’re mine. You don’t walk away from a love like that, Charlie. Even if you leave it behind, it stays with you until the day you die.’

My legs nearly give out, and I’m crying. I believe he’s crying, too. But I can’t see straight, so I don’t know for sure.

‘You don’t only own my arse, Harrington. You own my heart. Think long and hard about what you’re gonna do with it.’

His chest heaves, every word torn straight out of him. I’m about to speak, about to say something, anything. But then—

‘Charlotte.’ My father’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.

Seriously? Now?

‘Dad.’ I haven’t seen him in nine months. Have I been avoiding him harder than Brodie? Yes. Do I have good reasons for it? Also yes. Does it make me feel like crap? Hell, yes.

Brodie stiffens, each muscle ready to pounce.

‘Glad you could make it,’ my father says nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t let me down cold when I needed him most. ‘Hannah’s been excited for tonight.’

‘I know. I speak to her every day. Do you?’

He bristles, then deflects. His usual M.O.

‘Brodie MacRae, didn’t know you were interested in Christmas talent shows. Not unless there’s poker involved.’ My dad lets out a sonorous laugh at the sentence. It sounds straight-up mean.

Can’t believe we share fifty per cent of our genes.

Brodie’s coiled up like he’s about to detonate.

And I’m right in the middle.

Oh God.

Brodie’s face darkens. ‘So you’re the posh dick who treats his daughters like crap.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ My father seems consternated.

My father never seems consternated.

Something like joy sprouts up in a dark corner of my soul.

Brodie leans in, enough to make his presence loom. ‘You’ve got two daughters and don’t deserve either of them. You act like Hannah’s a problem to solve. She’s her own person.’

Dad’s face goes pale, then red.

But Brodie doesn’t stop. ‘And when that cheating cunt broke Charlie’s heart, you didn’t have her back. Told her to suck it up and stay with him. And you kept working with him like nothing happened. You didn’t only let her down. You made her feel like she wasn’t worth anything. That’s fucking unforgivable .’

I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve never seen anyone speak to him like that.

Brodie steels himself, eyes burning. ‘But you know what? In spite of all that, you being such a disgusting cunt is the best thing that ever happened to me. Because it means I got to meet Charlie. And I’ll be eternally grateful for that.’

His whole face softens, reverent and open. There’s nothing defensive in him now. Just love. He takes my hand and squeezes it gently. ‘Ball’s on your side of the pitch, Harrington.’

Then he turns around and leaves.