Page 49 of Try Hard

Eve

O f all the ways I’d imagined a ‘meet the parents’ situation over the years, I’d never envisioned it going quite like this. Of course, Ophelia and I knew each other’s parents, we’d met, but sitting down to dinner together with our families still felt monumental.

Soph had texted while Ophelia and I were standing in her parents’ kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, with the news that she’d, unsurprisingly, made enough mac and cheese to feed a village.

Given that I figured we could all use a little comfort food, I’d asked Ophelia if she wanted to join us for dinner, and in that way that truly demonstrated just how safe she felt with me and our families, Ophelia floated the idea of us all having dinner together.

In the midst of the chaos I’d never wanted to bring into her world, it was the most beautiful spark of hope and joy.

Now, she was sitting beside me at her parents’ dining table—one of those that could stretch out to accommodate more people—and, while she looked happier than earlier, I could see every bit of tension she was holding in her body.

I hated being responsible for any of it, and I wanted to wipe all of it away.

I laughed at a joke my dad made, not sure my brain was fully comprehending his words.

Mum and Dad had long since gotten over the slight oddness of being in the same room as each other, gathering frequently to celebrate or look after me and Soph.

However, this time, it felt like they were here for Ophelia.

They were probably here for me and the invasion of my privacy, the fact that I was going to be the one putting out a statement, but also for Ophelia.

She was new to this circus. All I cared about was her making it out unscathed.

The fact that my parents had shown up for me felt secondary to them showing up for her.

My mind ran over and over the statement I’d been forming.

My suggestions ranged from the furious to the intellectual; the adoring Ophelia to the denial of our budding relationship.

I knew I had to ask her what she wanted me to say, but I was scared that asking would make it all so much more real.

She hadn’t been annoyed with me, more distracted by her fucking boss who’d thought it acceptable to call her to cash in on her newfound fame—as if she had any interest in fame.

Even back in school, she’d cared little for popularity.

People had liked her more than she realised, and I knew she’d been aware of the popularity my sporting prowess had granted me, but she hadn’t coveted it.

None of our interactions had been her wanting that connection. I’d always liked that about her.

When you stepped back from the limelight, you thought all that stuff would go away, that people would stop feeling entitled to your life when your job wasn’t to be in the public eye. But, apparently not.

I’d never really dated publicly. And it wasn’t like I didn’t understand the fascination with Ophelia—I could barely keep my mind off her—but she deserved better than this whole mess.

She deserved better than being torn apart by people I’d never met but who somehow felt entitled to my affections.

Ophelia was the one who’d carried them for over twenty years now.

She was the one who always would. I couldn’t wrap my head around strangers thinking they… possessed me.

Fame was really fucking weird.

I watched Ophelia in my peripheral vision as she set down her cutlery and slid her hands under the table.

She’d barely said anything throughout the meal.

That wasn’t entirely uncommon for her, but I could see the way it derived from her mind spinning a mile a minute, stressing, as opposed to her simply being reserved.

Every part of me wanted to reach under the table and hold her hand, but I had no idea if she’d want that. Would she find it comforting? Would it be too much at a table with our whole family around it?

As if she could hear my thoughts, she glanced away from Soph to shoot me a ghost of a smile.

I was part way through returning it when her hand found mine.

Soft and small and warm and perfect. She laced her fingers through mine like they were made to be there, and settled our hands on my thigh.

I could practically feel the way my heart calmed instantly, my pulse slowing down at her touch.

“So,” Alistair said, looking sympathetically at his daughter before switching his gaze to me, “do we need to worry about finding the press at the door?”

Ophelia’s small intake of breath sounded sharp as her fingers clenched mine tighter.

I ran my thumb soothingly over her hand as I looked at him. “I don’t think so. I’m not that kind of famous.”

He laughed generously. “We’d understand if you were.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Same,” Soph shot, smirking in my direction. She didn’t mean it. She was just teasing to take the sting out of the entire situation. It was a valiant effort.

I laughed. “My agent thinks it will blow over quickly, but, if the press do show up, maybe just call Soph over and have her lecture them on how I’m a loser they shouldn’t care about.”

Soph performed an elaborate bow as best she could while sitting. “Happy to be of service.”

Alistair smiled but kept his eyes on me. “And you’re sure you want to put out a statement, not just let it blow over on its own?”

“I’m sure.” My voice was resolute. “I’ve put up with a lot of people overstepping boundaries over the years, but, it turns out, them going after Ophelia is where I hit my limit.”

The entire table reacted to my statement. Our parents all looked proud and impressed, while Soph faux gagged and muttered something about me being a sap—as if she wouldn’t do the same.

Ophelia, meanwhile, pulled our hands from my lap to hers. Her free hand wrapped around the back of mine, encasing me in her warmth.

I looked at her, trying with every ounce of me to convey just how much I would always look after her best interests above all else.

I hoped she got it.

“Well,” Dad said, sounding a little more emotional than I’d expected, “no matter what happens, you’ve got all of us in your corner.”

I laughed. “So, if I start dropkicking everyone making comments in the street…?”

“Perhaps a little extreme, but I’m sure we’d understand.” He smiled proudly. “We do what we have to for the people we care about. No matter where the chips may fall—or how many battles that brings us.”

Emotion swelled in my chest, cut off prematurely by the way Ophelia shot out of her seat muttering an, “Excuse me.”

She headed towards the stairs, seemingly heading for the bathroom, but I knew her better than that.

Nobody seemed to notice anything off, but I couldn’t not follow her.

“I’ll be right back,” I told the table, ignoring the look Soph sent my way as everyone else dropped into conversation without me, and followed after Ophelia.

It felt like chasing the sun on a frigid day.

Maybe I’d been chasing her sun for the last twenty years, and I wasn’t willing to let it go, to let her dim herself for one second now that I got to bask in her glory.

I took the stairs two at a time, catching her up with ease. She didn’t look surprised as she leaned on the frame of her bedroom door, eyeing me knowingly.

“You didn’t have to follow, Archer,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Pendrick.” I approached her, stopping far closer than you would with a friend, practically pinning her to the doorframe.

“What if I jumped off a cliff?” Her voice was soft but sad, and it made my heart ache.

“Then we’d go down together.”

“I don’t want to do that to you.”

My brow furrowed as I watched her. “What?”

“Drag you down. I don’t want to. You deserve so much more than that.”

“Ophelia,” I breathed, reaching to caress her cheeks, “you have never, not for one second, dragged me down. Every single moment around you is better than I could have ever imagined—and, believe me, I’ve imagined it a lot.”

She laughed, but the sound was marred by the tears filling her eyes as she looked at me.

“I feel like a weight dragging you down and messing up your whole life. And you’re being so lovely—you’re sharing your whole family with me, bringing food, worrying about me when you’re the one people are going to get angry at if you put out a statement.

Because of me. And for what? What does it matter if people I’ve never met say mean, disgusting things about me online?

You know Simon’s take on it—all press is good press. ”

My heart felt like it was splintering into a million pieces.

Ophelia had done such a good job reclaiming herself and her life, but, when push came to shove, she still expected her partner to drop her, to ridicule her, to put up with others making disparaging comments because they thought them too.

That was what she’d been trained to believe she deserved.

I was never going to do that to her.

I held her face and moved to press featherlight kisses against her forehead, her temples, her cheeks, and her nose.

Then, I pulled back to hold her gaze as a couple of rogue tears escaped her eyes.

“You matter more to me than any of those people. You always have and you always will. I will not stand by and allow people to bully the woman I love.”

“Eve,” she gasped, her tears coming more readily. “I’m not worth—”

“Yes. You are. I would give up all of it to be with you. I love rugby and I don’t regret playing, I am not ungrateful to it or the fans for the life they’ve given me, but I’m not that person anymore, and, even if I was, that would not give people the right to treat me like their property, like they know me from a few snippets in interviews or on TV.

It would not give them the right to claim me or to decide what I want.

And it absolutely would not give them the right to insult you and think they can get away with it. ”

“I didn’t mean to mess up your whole life.”

“You didn’t. My whole life has just been waiting for you. I’m so much better with you. My life is infinitely brighter for having you in it. It’s the life I want.”

She let out a tearful laugh. “You’ve got terrible taste in women.”

“Excuse you. I have superb taste in women—have since the day I met you and you awakened something in me that has never gone away.”

She looked up at me, her hands snaking between my arms to hold my neck. Her touch was so light, so brilliant. I would never get enough.

She cleared her throat. “I love you too.”

I’d received good news before but all of it paled in comparison to Ophelia Pendrick telling me she loved me.

I scooped her up as I kissed her. Even in the midst of crying, kissing her was the best thing ever. I wasn’t entirely sure that all of the tears belonged to her.

I had never loved anyone like I loved her. Hearing her say it after years of hoping and wishing was beyond my capabilities to have imagined. She was the sun. She was gravity. She was life and meaning and every good thing my existence had ever been or ever would be.

When we broke apart, I kept holding her, our faces level. Nobody had ever been more beautiful than her. It simply wasn’t possible.

I brushed the tip of my nose against hers. “You are so heartbreakingly lovely,” I whispered, feeling the way her muscles were melting into me and loving every second of it. “And I have loved you for so much longer than I should admit.”

She let out the tiniest, prettiest laugh. “So are you. There is no world in which I should get to be with you.”

“There absolutely is. In every world that you and I exist in together, I was always going to fall in love with you. And, in this one, I’ll be right here by your side as you figure out that you deserve to be loved like this.”

She sucked in a breath, visibly pushing against more tears. “You really don’t have to put out a statement—”

“For both of us, I absolutely do. My priority is your happiness, your safety, and our privacy. And I will do whatever it takes to ensure that.”

“Your fans—”

“The real ones will get it. The rest are not people I want to be around. I love you with my whole heart, and nothing and nobody is changing that.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” I said, knowing desperately how much she needed to hear it. Love had been so coached, so punishing in her past relationships. She needed to know she could be happy in it. “Just being you is enough. It always has been.”

“The first day I met you,” she murmured against my lips, “back when your hair was longer, you had it tied in a bun, but you’d been playing rugby, I imagine, so half of it was sleek and perfectly presented. The other half was wild and unkempt and beautiful.”

“Yours had been braided down your back. Art class. And, even then, you were more beautiful than any of the pieces we studied.” It was close to a physical compliment, I realised as I said it, ready to apologise if I made her uncomfortable, but Ophelia simply closed the distance between us, her lips finding me like they’d been searching for me since that very first moment.

“So were you,” she said into the kiss, and maybe they had been doing exactly that.