Tristan glanced back at Rowan. “No.”
“That’s it then?”
“Yeah,” he said before he turned and headed off the pitch.
Rowan followed. It was difficult to reconcile his overwhelming happiness of their win and the crushing disappointment of Ele’s departure. Made sense. Tomorrow, the team had interviews and TV appearances. They would head home the following day. There was no time and zero opportunity for a final meeting. He’d known it when they said their private good-bye the night before. He’d given it a passing thought this morning, but then he’d had the most important game of his career to prepare for, and he’d shoved the thought of her away. He knew she couldn’t risk an encounter with him in an uncontrolled space. So, yeah, that was it then.
Fuck!
He kept walking to the tunnel. It seemed the party had moved inside. There were cameras and people everywhere. He maneuvered his way through, Rowan on his heels. They reached the media room, and Rowan ducked inside. Tristan lingered in the hall for a few minutes. It felt like the second he entered the changing room, the night would be over, the victory just another to tally in his career. He wasn’t quite ready for that. The clicking of cameras drifted from the interviews, and he listened with half an ear as questions were lobbed in Rowan’s direction. He leaned against the wall just as the door across from him opened. He glanced up and almost jumped in surprise as Robert’s large frame filled the space.
“Took you long enough.”
Tristan pushed away from the wall and darted through the open door with a quickness that would have done his manager proud. Ele was seated in a rickety folding chair. She jumped up as he appeared, and the chair clattered to the floor. Tristan wasted no time in scooping her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her forehead against his. His hands moved up and down her back, pulling her closer against him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She leaned away from him, and he felt the loss immediately.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying a proper good-bye.”
“E,” he groaned, looking around the room at Millie and Michael and Robert. “We can’t really have a proper good-bye here.”
She laughed, and he smiled at her. He knew they were surrounded by her people, but he couldn’t resist. His lips met hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. When he came up for air, Ele stepped away from him. A wicked glint appeared in her eyes. The look held a confidence he hadn’t seen from her unless she was in tiara mode.
“Clear the room,” she said. Her eyes didn’t veer from Tristan’s even as her command flew from her mouth.
Tristan didn’t see anyone leave, didn’t detect any movement, because he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. But suddenly, the door clicked shut, and they were alone. He reached out, his hand cupping her jaw. His hold was possessive as he stepped toward her.
“Thank you,” he said. He left space, but his other hand gripped her hip.
Her gaze softened. “For what?”
“For this.”
He’d locked it all away. But with her standing here, he couldn’t hide from it anymore. His feelings for her ran deep. His disappointment in the end of their affair was immense. He would miss her forever. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, and his eyes cataloged her features. He loved his final in-person image of Ele, including her in a football jersey.
“I hated leaving you the other night, knowing it was the end.”
Her hand flew to his mouth, and her fingers landed on his lips, stifling any other words. “None of that,” she whispered. “You have given me so much.”
He cocked a brow at her.
“You have. You’ll never know what these four weeks have meant to me, what your presence in my life has meant. And I’ll never be able to put words to it. But I need you to know, I’ll never forget you or the time we were together.”
She leaned forward, and her fingers left his lips, so her mouth could settle there. One, two gentle touches. Tristan’s hands tightened, nudging her forward until she was flush against him. Then, her kiss changed, becoming frantic, desperate. Tristan gave in to it, pouring all of his latent sorrow into their exchange. If she was trying to communicate to him the importance of their time, he was trying to express his disappointment at their ending. As if every word and feeling had been shared, they began to retreat. When they pulled apart, Tristan dropped his forehead to hers. His hands remained on her jaw, on her hip, reluctant to release their hold.
Then, she pulled away. She walked to the door, opened it, and left.
Tristan remained where he was, his hands dangling, empty.
Just like his heart.
26
4 August
Welston House