HAYDEN

I’m not cut out to be a heartbreaker.

Plenty of soccer coaches told me the same after I got scouted. I was big for my age—intimidating—and they said I should use that physical presence, not waste it, because nice guys got benched instead of selected. Got dropped from the squad, and fast, because a goalkeeper with potential wouldn’t risk his one shot by worrying about other people. He’d make saves and he wouldn’t think twice about doing that with dangerous slide tackles that could break bones and end an opponent’s career. He wouldn’t care about his own fractures or dislocations, either. Not as long as they led to trophies. 

I played through my own pain plenty. 

Be the cause of someone else’s? 

Ten years later, I still have the same too-soft flaw of hesitating before hurting people, which means the last thing I want to do is break a heart on my last day of working at Glynn Harber school, and yet that’s what I do.

I break a heart and leave it shattered.

Not during a game of footy—I’m not a coach or teacher in this school’s sports department. I haven’t played a match in a decade and I have no intention of ever touching another football. These days, my skill sets involve working on farms or wielding chainsaws rather than defending goalmouths. I manage wild landscapes, like my dad did, or I drive tractors—all short-term gigs—but today I open my arms to someone who mistook me as a long-term proposition. 

This was never meant to last beyond the summer. 

It’s still hard to sound anything other than gruff about our time almost being over.

“Listen, mate.” I clear my throat while he burrows against me, clinging. “I wasn’t ever going to be at Glynn Harber for long.” I rub his back with one hand, using the other to point a shaking finger at where he found me working this morning. “I was only ever here to clear all of the school pathways.” That task, along with removing storm-damaged branches before the new school year started, is what the headmaster included in our contract. “I’ve already been here longer than planned.” And I’ve done more in this woodland than that contract stated. 

Much more. 

There is evidence of that all around us. What used to be a huge and tangled patch of brambles is now a clearing full of natural potential that I’m gutted to leave before I get to see the seasons change it. 

I got carried away—learned to love these woods the same way it seems that someone else got carried away with learning to love me. Now he buries his face against my chest as I tell him the truth about being no one’s long-term prospect. 

“I never stay in one place because I have to go where the work is. It’s nothing personal. It’s seasonal, that’s all.” 

I’m only telling the truth. Harvest waits for no man, and I’ve already accepted more work than usual from farmers across the county. There’s only one footpath left to clear here, and one tree with storm damage to cut down. It’s a day’s work at the most. I can’t stretch it out any longer, so I keep this simple.

“You see, I need to help my friends on their farm next week.” Nothing would make Marc and Stefan happier than me putting down roots, but if they were here, they’d understand why I keep breaking a heart by saying, “And the headmaster is still hiring. A new teacher will need to move into my rooms in the school stables.” I point next at the tool I’ve used here the most often. “And my chainsaw is so noisy, it would disturb lessons if I stayed for longer. The sound really travels.”

That’s what I learned from sharing rooms with a housemate who is a noisy fucker. Not that I mind Rowan’s perpetual happy humming or his non-stop tapping. Even his singing in the shower is hard to hate when he has the voice of an actual angel. But when he goes all out on his drum kit, showing off for his boyfriend? I’m pretty sure all of Cornwall hears Glynn Harber’s trainee music teacher. 

“Sound echoes in this valley. That’s why I’m here on a Saturday, working while no one else is around. To get finished without interrupting any learning.” I wince before adding, “Then I’ll leave. I’m sorry you didn’t understand that, Adam.”

And I am sorry when I get to see his baby-blue eyes welling.  

Shit. He really is upset.

So am I, if I’m honest. It doesn’t matter that I’ve brought a gift to soften the blow of us parting ways before he’s ready. Adam realises I’m offering him a leaving present, and those tears spill over. 

Fuck.

I’m so out of practice at wrangling toddlers.

Thank fuck his dad isn’t.
 
He springs into action, abandoning a pram holding sleeping babies, and strides across the clearing, a man on a mission the moment I call out a strangled, “Charles?”

“I’ve got this, Hayden.” 

He has, thank fuck. Charles prises his son from me, gets down on Adam’s level, and puts a positive spin on a final playdate that I’m not happy about either. 

“I know you adore Hayden, sweetheart. You’ve been his little shadow all summer long while he’s tidied our school grounds. He’s shown you so many hidden treasures, and taught you the names of all the trees in English and in Polish, but look what he’s brought you!” 

Adam doesn’t want the miniature version of my workman’s tool belt that I kneel to give him. Thank fuck the axe hanging from it isn’t a real one like mine. He throws it straight at his dad’s head before collapsing onto the floor of this woodland clearing that I can’t help thinking is my best work, chock full of chances for little kids to learn about my true love. 

Not soccer. 

I loved nature before I ever saved my first goal, and making this space with Adam toddling beside me all summer has been a good reminder. It has also been proof that I haven’t been part of a real team in forever. And that I missed it. Half of the chances I’ll leave behind here for kids to learn from are better after suggestions from Charles—no surprise when he’s a preschool teacher—but I have been surprised at how well we’ve worked together. Almost as surprised as how much I haven’t hated sharing the stables with a musician almost as noisy as Adam.

Who isn’t done yet with his meltdown. 

He kicks and screams like I put that toy axe through his heart, and I don’t know why his dad smiles at that, but like all of Glynn Harber’s teachers, Charles is a professional at helping kids through trauma. 

As for me? 

I’m not an actual heartbreaker, but I do have three little sisters of my own who have me wrapped around their fingers, so Adam’s tears stab me straight through the chest, and Charles must notice. 

“Honestly, you don’t need to worry,” he murmurs. “This is marvellous, Hayden.” He addresses Adam next, who shows no sign of stopping his kicking or screaming, and again, Charles is delighted. “Oh, you really are letting yourself feel everything.”

He meets my eyes, and yeah, he’s truly happy about his son pitching a fit. He even copies it by flopping to the ground and doing some kicking and screaming all of his own.

“I don’t want Hayden to leave either!” 

That rings out through the clearing, clear and strident.

What follows is even louder. 

“Not after he made such a beautiful Forest School classroom for us.” He bangs curled fists on the ground, disturbing leaf matter that I’ve spread to soften Adam’s frequent trips and stumbles. Now Charles bellows, “He should stay here forever to run all of our nature sessions for us.”

Man, that doesn’t only echo. It lands like a punch, but here’s the real kicker—there is no way this school’s headmaster would create that job role for me. 

Not with my track record. 

Nope.

I’ve already scored one too many own goals. Besides, I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy through the end of this summer and well into autumn, even if none of those harvesting jobs will ever make the fortune my first career was meant to net me. 

I don’t get to tell Charles any of that. 

He hasn’t finished yelling. 

“And I don’t only want Hayden to stay at Glynn Harber with us. I want Adam to tell me why he’s really screaming, only he can’t, can he?” 

He glances his son’s way. Adam’s chest hitches but he’s definitely quieter, and so is the next question Charles asks him. 

“You don’t have the vocabulary for how you’re feeling yet, do you, darling? The words. That’s why you’re so upset. Not with your lovely friend, Hayden. I wonder if all of this upset is about people leaving you. Because it started when the new foster babies arrived, didn’t it?”

Adam’s glance to the pram at the edge of the clearing is as good as a confession. So is his lower lip trembling as much as my hands do all too often lately, which I guess means yes. I can blame my trembles on chainsaw vibration. Charles guesses Adam’s reason, then mirrors an array of strong and painful feelings. 

“You’re sad, and angry, and frustrated, but most of all, you’re frightened. I’m not surprised. Those pesky babies turned up with no warning and now both of your daddies have their hands full. That must feel like losing us, and you’ve lost people before, sweetheart, haven’t you? I bet losing Hayden too is a reminder. Right up here.” He taps his temple. “You missed people before who didn’t come back. You don’t want to miss him too like you already miss having your daddies all to yourself. And missing people is—”

“Really hard.” 

“Yes,” Charles says gently. To me. “Missing people is hard, Hayden. It gets easier if you share those feelings.” He watches Adam while speaking. “And that takes practice, which is why I was delighted when he attached so strongly to you. You’re such a good role model.”

I don’t know about that, but Charles isn’t done yet. 

“A man who is physical and gentle? Who works hard and finds time to share his vocation? I knew you’d be kind about saying goodbye. You didn’t just disappear. You explained and helped him through it. Showed him that he was worth taking care of. He’ll tuck that memory away forever. Maybe model it one day himself. What a gift.”

Adam gets up from the leaf-strewn floor but stumbles, and maybe my first career wasn’t wasted. Even while kneeling, I’ve still got a goalkeeper’s long reach and quick-fire instincts. I catch him before he can fall, and Adam’s narrow chest still hitches against mine, but now he strokes my beard for comfort, like my sisters used to, and fuck my life, I could have a little weep myself instead of drying his tears with my shirtsleeve. 

I get my shit together while Charles lowers his voice. “Adam, not wanting to share or lose people is natural. I promise sharing will get easier, and you aren’t losing anything by the twins being here. Your father and I have more than enough love for all three of you. It will be fun!” He meets my eye and winks. “And I know that is possible because before I met your father, I was often a third and I always had a great time.” He refocuses on Adam’s issue. “But it’s also wonderful that you’re letting out all of those big feelings. That’s so much better than keeping them locked inside.”

He looks over to that pram, his smile slipping.  

“Those babies won’t be with us forever. Just while their mummy is poorly.” He swallows, his voice thicker, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t him playacting. “I might cry like you just did when the twins do go home. That’s what I did each time I had to give you back before we got to keep you forever. I let my sad feelings out to leave space for how much I love you. For how much I still love you even when you’re a maggot.” 

Adam lets go of my beard then and staggers to his daddy, who hugs him, and that stabs me right in the chest too. I’ll miss this father and son—who might not be blood relations but who couldn’t be any closer than they are now. 

Charles gets up to show Adam my real leaving present. “Look at this lovely storytelling chair Hayden has made for us out of logs. It’s as big as a throne! Big enough for me, and for you, and for both of the babies.” He taps his lips as if thinking. “Shall we try sharing it with them tomorrow?” He casts a quieter comment my way. “If you had some time to add a circle of tree stumps or logs, even more children could sit and listen to whoever ends up running the nature sessions here.” 

I nod. “I’ll chainsaw some stumps for you before I finish.”

Someone else speaks, sounding clipped and in a hurry. 

“Leave that until Monday, will you, Hayden?” 

The school headmaster has joined us, and I can’t lie, Luke Lawson is a man of many frown lines, which I guess is what happens when you try to renovate a whole boarding school in a summer. Today, those lines are deeper than ever, another sign he must be under pressure if he’s forgotten it’s my last day here. He’s particularly harried, and he isn’t alone.

The man with him is cheerier, and familiar, although I can’t quite place him.

“What’s all this?” he booms. 

I do place him after he booms again. 

“Come and see this, Justin.”

A frailer man shuffles out from behind him, and of course I know him—he came to every match I played before I was scouted. Now he looks up at this big guy, who tells him, “Look at all these amazing changes, Justin. Handrails,” he says under his breath, “leading right into the wilder areas. Brilliant.” Our eyes meet, and he continues. “Makes the woods so much more accessible for shaky people. Happens a lot after brain injuries like Justin’s. Any chance you can add some higher rails for adults?” He points in the direction of the care home on the other side of these woods. “I usually run nature sessions for my residents. I’d love to bring them down here if you don’t mind sharing.” 

This isn’t my classroom to share with him. I look to Luke Lawson, who says, “Sorry, I don’t have time to discuss it right now. I’m needed at the chapel. Got to meet some guests, but I’m sure that would be fine.”

Charles nods like he agrees, so I say, “Sure. I’ll add higher handrails after chainsawing some stumps. I do need to take down some branches first, then I’ll get right on it.”

Luke pays more attention. “Don’t do that today.”

I know weekend work wasn’t in our contract, but at some point this summer, doing this has felt more like a gift than a chore. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Charles doesn’t agree. “It’s everything!” He points out what I’ve added to engage children’s senses. And that might also engage the senses of brain-injured adults, I notice, as that frailer guy runs tentative fingers over each addition. “Look,” Charles orders. “A ready-made Forest School, Luke. All we need is a teacher who knows all about nature.” He nudges me so hard that I almost do what Adam has twice already. 

I stop myself from stumbling, but I don’t get to take a shot at asking for what would actually suit me down to the ground. Not because Luke Lawson leaves the clearing to go meet his guests. I’m silenced by that care home resident pointing directly at me and saying why my first career ended. 

“Almost made the Premier League.”

He’s right. I got so close, but I also—

“Failed a pre-match test.”

How the hell he knows that, I have no clue. It was a long time ago and hushed up. All I know is that I blurt, “I really need to get to those branches,” then I crouch for a quick toddler hug before striding away, and so what if I winch myself up to the top of the highest oak in Glynn Harber with my chainsaw just to avoid questions.

There’s no point explaining what kind of test I failed, not when I’ll be gone by tomorrow.

 
                                                                      ***

A half hour later, I still haven’t fired up my chainsaw. I still swing in my treetop harness forty metres up while annoyed wood pigeons stage a dirty protest. That’s okay. I’ll shower off that bird shit later. For now, I soak up this view along the valley, doing my best not to dwell on the past. 

What’s done is done. 

Yes, it fucked up my future. It cost my family much more, and if that means working morning, noon, and night to make it up to them, I’ll do it. 

My thoughts swing like I do.

It would be good to stay in one place for a while though. 

Maybe meet someone and have more to offer than…

My gaze lands on my battered old Land Rover in the car park for a moment before sliding to the school building. The workmen started early this morning, like me, to get this school ready for Monday morning. Now there’s no sign of any of them. I do glimpse Charles taking the long way round the woods to his home, and that’s a good reminder for me to get busy. 

The most direct path for him still needs clearing. 

I’ll take these branches down and get to it next.

That’s what I intend to do, only I catch sight of Luke Lawson outside the school chapel. He’s joined by my noisy housemate’s boyfriend. I see the bright yellow of his construction hard hat for a moment between leaves. Maybe they’re discussing a contract issue about working on the weekend, and that’s why all the workers have downed tools when there aren’t many hours left.
 
I don’t have the same time to waste, so I get busy with my chainsaw, roaring and sawing, but maybe Luke Lawson should have added an extra clause to my own contract about something I’ve done once already today. 

I broke a toddler’s heart first. 

Now I break a bride’s by ruining her wedding.

At least that’s what I assume when a bride runs below me. I glimpse a white veil streaming out behind someone in a hurry and instantly guess why.

Fuck. Luke said he was meeting guests at the chapel. 

Did he mean at an actual wedding?

My chainsaw drops on its rope, plummeting like my heart does.
 
I chainsawed through her ceremony?

No one warned me.

Times like this, I wish I wasn’t locked into a perpetual team of one. If I worked shoulder-to-shoulder with my friends, I’d ask them if brides running away like this is normal. Stefan and Marc would know after hosting weddings on their farmland. That pretty headland of theirs with its sea view has seen a lot of happy-couple action. 

As for me? 

I’ve no clue about matrimony. Not that I’m a ball-and-chain avoider. Lately, I've had different priorities. Besides, meeting anyone for more than a one-nighter is a challenge because here’s the problem with having to make hay while the sun shines. When I do have free time in winter, Cornwall turns into a dating Marie Celeste. A hot-guy Bermuda Triangle. Plus, there’s only so much rejection one person can take. Not that I blame Marc for choosing that handsome bastard Stefan. Or Stefan for locking Marc down before I got the chance to. I’m the fool who helped them get together, so yeah, they’re the romance experts, not me. 

I still can’t help following my own heart by lowering myself down to the ground to head after someone whose veil billows like the meringues Stefan’s mum makes for all of those pretty headland weddings. I also yell, “Hey! Are you okay?”

That runaway bride doesn’t answer, or slow down, which is a problem as she heads down the one path I haven’t cleared yet. It’s a snarly jungle full of briars, sticky burrs, and brambles. She’ll get scratched to hell if she keeps going, so I yell even louder.

“Stop!”

She doesn’t. 

I run, but my tool belt is fully loaded and heavy. I can’t catch her, not after she puts on a spurt of speed, but I guess I’d break land speed records as well if a shouting stranger armed with blades was chasing me. 

I grind to a halt then.

A big axe does hang from my belt. A bramble cutter too. Would I want my sisters to stop and chat in the same situation? 

No, I fucking wouldn’t.

My chest heaves while I think. I’ve already ruined her big day by being noisy. Making it worse by chasing her can’t be an option. My only reason for unsheathing that wicked-sharp bramble cutter is to hack my way towards a glimpse of floaty whiteness.

She lost her veil. 

It’s well and truly snagged, and freeing that gauzy fabric is near impossible when my hands shake, and I’m exactly as bad at saving this veil as I was at saving shots on goal when I was in too much pain to play through it. I still try to rescue part of this day all the while wishing I had caught up with her.

To say sorry. 

Because here’s the thing—sound does carry a long way in this valley. In contrast, this silence is awful. Even the wood pigeons who shat on me shut up while I scan the woods for someone who should stand out like a beacon if her dress is as white as this veil. 

I do catch a glimpse of different brightness, and it’s wild that the one and only other person I ever let slip through my fingers approaches.

Marc.

One of my two best friends in Cornwall pushes through the undergrowth, heading straight towards me. Or at least that’s what my eyes tell me when I see a flash of auburn, only this man wearing a smart suit isn’t an actual redhead. He’s only burnished by light filtered through copper beech leaves, and that warm glow haloes a complete stranger—a wedding guest, given that suit perhaps, whose dark eyes widen as soon as I call out, “She ran that way.”

“Who ran what way?”

Huh.

Even though I can see this isn’t Marc, I hear his London accent. He also shares another Marc characteristic—his eyes dance with silent laughter the same way Marc’s do whenever Stefan shares a joke meant only for his husband.

I’m suddenly self-conscious. 

Ducking my head like I used to when I was the last player left on the bench doesn’t help—the shiny blade of my bramble cutter reflects a reason for this guy’s amusement. 

There isn’t only bird shit in my hair and on my shoulders. There are sticky burrs in my beard that will be the devil to get out later. I’m scruffy and look stupid. Maybe that’s why I focus on the snagged veil instead of on him. “You’re here for a wedding, right?” I ask gruffly.

“Well…” 

I don’t know how it’s possible to hear humour in a single word or to see more of that laughter when I glance at him again. 

All I know is that he is laughing even while silent. I see it in his head tilt and in the way he looks me up and down. Hear it too when he says, “I’m not against whirlwind romances, but I can’t say I was planning on tying the knot today. Ask me again when we know each other better.”

“Ask you again… What?” I’m flustered. “No. I just meant that if you’re here for the wedding, your bride ran that way.”

“My bride? Nah, mate.” He doesn’t laugh exactly, but that’s what I hear again when his voice lowers and he gets busy doing what my thick and shaking fingers can’t manage. He makes short work of untangling the veil from brambles, and even shorter work of joking after he folds that fabric and gives it to me. “But if I was in the marriage market, I’m more likely to be interested in someone with—” 

He glances at my tool belt, and yeah, he can smile even without his mouth moving. His eyes rise, amusement clear, before dropping to my belt again, and this time my gaze drops with his.

It lands on my axe, and my brain ends that sentence for him.

With a great big chopper.

I’m almost surprised into laughing. 

That urge dies the moment he asks, “So what’s the plan with the veil?” He reaches an equally fast conclusion. One I already came to. “Probably not a good idea to run after her to give it back.” He eyes my axe again, that dark gaze rising. It lands on my bramble cutter, and now he’s devoid of humour. “Wait. You didn’t already chase her, did you?”

“I. No. Well, yes, but only because—” 

He isn’t as tall as me. 

He doesn’t have my goalkeeper’s wingspan or my huge hands either. 

His own still curl, and I take a step back as he advances, and yeah, visually he’s nothing like Marc from this close up, but he’s the only other person I know who gets this protective. Marc gets that way about his little brother, Noah. This stranger mentions a different sibling. 

“If you tried chasing my sister through these woods, I’d—” His gaze drops to my bramble cutter again, and I have zero trouble translating his abrupt slicing motion across his throat.

I nod quickly. “Me too. Got a sister. Sisters, I mean.” Three of them, all younger, all relying on me to fund their fast fashion and pop concert habits, and all three of them my reason for hauling myself upright after football crushed me. “Listen, all I saw was a bride running.”

I wince, because I can’t avoid that my chainsaw is probably the reason. Its roar more than likely shattered a wedding ceremony, and my hold on that veil tightens, crumpling it between fingers that can hardly feel the lace between them. “I’ll take this back to the chapel.” The thought of doing that leaves me even gruffer. “Let her family know which way she was headed.” 

That raises another question, my turn to step forward and for him to step back like we’re dancing. “Wait, if you aren’t here for the wedding, why are you in these woods?” Here’s what being a big brother also makes instinctive. I’m instantly suspicious, a hand dropping to my belt. “Only people with special clearance around kids are allowed here.” Yeah, most of the boarding students aren’t back yet, but some of the live-in staff have kids. I picture little Adam, and this anger is instant. “If you aren’t invited to the wedding, you need to leave. Now. I’ll show you the way out.”

“Oh, I’ve got clearance, and I’m invited,” he insists before backing off, those dark eyes dancing again. “Only not to a wedding, which is a shame.”

He’s gone, swallowed up by these woods like that bride was.

Or almost. 

“A growly guy like you with a big chopper?”

His voice drifts back laced with laughter. 

“I’d ask you to be my plus-one in a heartbeat.”