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CHAPTER ONE

Devon

Being in love with your straight best friend was a hell known only to a certain number of people. And it was a group I really wished I wasn’t a part of.

But apparently, I was a fool who didn’t know how to let go. I might as well have one of those ridiculous, colourful jester hats with bells on.

“I got you some eggs,” Jonny said as he slid an enormous omelette filled with peppers, red onion, mushrooms, chilli, and chorizo onto the cafeteria table in front of me as I finished dunking a chunk of croissant into the small mug of hot chocolate I’d treated myself to. Living in France for over eight years had given me a new appreciation for breakfast foods, and professional athlete or not, I was always going to try and squeeze croissants and hot chocolate into my diet.

“Since when is an omelette eggs? Eggs usually means scrambled eggs. Or fried. Maybe poached if you’re pushing it,” I said teasingly as I took the plate from him, watching as Jonny slid into the seat opposite me with his own enormous omelette. The canteen around us was still fairly quiet and the two of us were in a little bubble at our table near the window. It was the one we always chose, so it had become ours by default, and now my feet carried me here every morning.

“Omelette is made with eggs, therefore eggs,” he said with a fond roll of his eyes as he picked up his fork and pointed it at me. “Next time I won’t get you anything if you’re going to complain.”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just making a point.”

“It’s too early on a Tuesday for this.”

I grinned and nudged him gently under the table with my foot, ignoring the aching feeling in my chest. It was the same way I always felt whenever I looked at my best friend, and fourteen years of pining hadn’t made it any better. I’d hoped that moving to the south of France and playing for Marseille for eight years would put enough time and distance between us to extinguish my crush, expecting our friendship to naturally fizzle out as our lives got busier and our careers took off. Except Jonny—gorgeous, sweet, na?ve man that he was—had insisted on keeping in touch with me, and my unrequited pining had grown from a single tree to a whole fucking forest.

Once upon a time, I’d dreamed that Jonny would suddenly realise he wasn’t straight and declare his undying love for me, which even at seventeen had seemed a little far-fetched. Now it just felt ridiculous to be carrying a torch for someone who was incapable of loving me in the same way I loved him.

But that didn’t stop my heart from guarding that torch with its life, no matter how much cold water I’d tried to pour onto it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Let me start again. Thanks, Jonny, you’re the best.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a casual shrug like it wasn’t a big deal. Except it was, but I couldn’t say why. “I got them to add extra chilli to it. I know you like it spicy.”

“That’s because your spice tolerance goes as high as black pepper.”

“Hey, Ryan’s been adding more spice to the stuff he makes for me and Mason and I love that!” He swiped a bit of chorizo off my plate as if to make a point.

“That’s probably because it’s got great flavours, not just heat,” I said. It was an educated guess based on what I knew about Jonny’s non-rugby-playing roommate and his style of cooking. Jonny kept saying he’d bring me some leftovers, but none ever appeared because he and Mason polished everything off before it even had a chance to make it to the fridge. But both of them were forwards with hollow legs and bottomless appetites, so it didn’t surprise me.

I glanced around the training ground canteen again, seeing who’d arrived for breakfast and who was still missing. Our rugby union club, the Lincoln Knights, offered breakfast before training every morning as well as snacks and lunch throughout the day and even the occasional dinner on days when we had evening sessions. Cooking for myself always seemed pointless when this was available, so I was here at half seven every morning like clockwork. “Where is Mason this morning anyway?”

Jonny sighed as he tucked into his omelette, his shoulders sagging wearily. “He and Ryan were fucking again, so I left without him. I didn’t want to make it awkward by disturbing them. They seem to think I can’t hear them but our walls are really fucking thin. It’s like West and Rory all over again.” He shook his head and frowned. “No, it’s worse because at least Rory didn’t live with us.”

I winced. Mason and Ryan had been hooking up since the summer and had finally gotten their feelings out in the open a couple of weeks ago. From what Jonny said, it sounded like they were very enthusiastically enjoying that new relationship flush. “That bad?”

“It’s not bad—they’re just loud. And there are things I know about Mason now that I never wanted to know.”

“Do you think they’ll move out like West did?” I asked as I cut a chunk of my omelette, the smell wrapping itself around my senses and making my mouth water.

“Maybe? I almost don’t want them to, though. I mean, being an accidental third wheel to their sex life is a bit much, but I don’t really want to live by myself. I think I’d get bored. I’ll just have to dig my earplugs out again.”

“You should get a siren or something,” I said. “Like one of those air horns. Then you can sound it when they’re fucking at unsociable hours.”

He chuckled. “Don’t think they’d take too kindly to me walking past their room and blasting it.”

“That’s the point. Or you could just start playing music really loudly every time and see how long it takes to get the point across.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” He smiled at me before turning back to his breakfast, and I couldn’t stop myself from letting my gaze linger a little longer on the way his broad shoulders filled out his dark blue Knights hoodie and the stubble on his jaw that was threatening to grow into a full beard. He’d cut his dark hair recently, but it was still longer on top and every so often he ran his hand through it, making it stick up slightly.

From the first moment we’d met at thirteen, I’d thought Jonny was cute, but filling out and growing up had suited him. He’d long lost the teenage roundness to his face but despite his imposing height and build, there was still a softness to him that reminded me of a marshmallow. There was a gentle sweetness to Jonny few people seemed to notice, and sometimes I wondered if it was only me who could see it.

That was wishful thinking, though, because I wasn’t that special. Even if I wanted to be.

We ate in comfortable silence for a moment as I watched various members of the team arrive, the sun slowly rising outside the large windows that ran alongside us and filled one wall of the canteen, illuminating the frost-covered training pitches. It made me glad we were starting in the gym today because the idea of throwing myself onto a frozen pitch made me shiver.

I was used to mild, wet winters, not frozen ones with bitter winds that came straight off the North Sea. Jonny had already teased me about the number of blankets piled up on my sofa, but I’d be the one laughing when the cold sank its teeth into us and I could snuggle up in my blanket fortress.

The British weather was one thing I’d forgotten while living in France, and it was the only thing that made me doubt my decision to move back—the lack of air con in August had been one thing, but the miserable winters were another altogether.

If we didn’t have so many matches to play over Christmas, I’d have been trying to find a midwinter escape to soak up some sunshine.

For someone who hated the cold, wet, and dark, I really was playing the wrong sport.

“Do you still fancy a movie on Friday night?” Jonny asked as he scooped up the last of his omelette, chasing some escaped chunks of pepper across the plate.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, noting the way his eyes lingered on my plate. I put my fork into the last bit of my eggs, claiming it. If he wanted another, he could go and get one. “Do you want to come to mine or do you want to see what’s on at the Odeon?”

“Let’s stay in. I don’t want to be up late, especially not since we’ve gotta go all the way to bloody Devon on Saturday morning.”

“It won’t be that bad. You can sleep on the bus,” I said, shooting him a smile across the table. “I’ll make sure Danny doesn’t sing.”

“Even you can’t work that miracle.”

I snorted. Danny was one of the Knights wingers and had a reputation for being fast, mouthy, and nosy. Mason had said Danny had the worst case of foot-in-mouth he’d ever met, and I had to agree. In the short time I’d played for the Knights, he’d asked me if I really spoke French, asked Mason if being bisexual was really a thing—Mason had nearly punched him—and why didn’t some women take dating him seriously even if he wasn’t taking dating them seriously.

The last one had resulted in at least three members of the team, who were all happily married to some incredible women, taking him aside and making him explain himself until Danny had dug such a hole for himself one of them had offered him a shovel.

I didn’t think Danny meant what he said maliciously; he simply didn’t think things through and had a habit of winding people up.

He also liked singing, but like his questions, nothing that came out of his mouth was good.

But if Jonny was tired and hungry like he was today, then it wasn’t going to end well. Jonny might be sweeter than sugar half the time, but even he had his limits.

“Sorry,” he said with a half smile before pursing his lips. “I know I’m being a grumpy bastard this morning.”

“You’re fine.”

“Don’t do that. You shouldn’t put up with my shit.”

“Trust me, if you were being an arsehole, I’d tell you.”

“Would you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile spreading and turning devilish. “I don’t believe you.”

“You should.” I had no other defence or way to prove it to him, especially not with that smile. It was ridiculous, but there were so many things that smile could make me do.

In a split second, Jonny reached for the edge of my plate, his fork lunging for the last bit of my omelette, which still had my fork in. For the briefest of moments, I was stunned as he stabbed my food, but then I grabbed the plate back. “Fuck off, you wanker,” I said, grinning as I put my elbow around the cheap crockery. “Get another one if you’re still hungry.”

“But I don’t want another one! I just want a little bit.”

“Tough fucking luck! It’s mine.” I laughed as he tried to go over my elbow but I blocked with my fork, the metal utensils clanging loudly against each other.

“But I want it,” he said in a wheedling tone, clearly trying not to laugh. “Devon, give it to me.”

“You’re being a dick! I’m not giving you my breakfast!”

“You haven’t finished it, though.”

“Yeah, because not all of us inhale our food at the speed of light.”

“Fine,” he said, putting his fork down. A bright smile lit up his face and if I hadn’t been sitting down, it would have dropped me to my knees. “Maybe you would tell me.”

“I told you,” I said with a swallow, sitting back in my seat and trying to get myself back on an even keel. Jonny nodded and stole another piece of chorizo off my plate.

I didn’t even have the strength to tell him no.

It’d been fourteen years and no amount of distance, hook-ups, and other boyfriends had ever managed to burn down the forest of feelings inside my heart. I doubted anything ever would.

All I could do was keep hoping.

Or resign myself to never having the one thing I’d always wanted.