Breaking the Jock

A new Beginning

Victor's POV

By seven the next morning, I was standing in the entrance hall with three suitcases, one carry-on, and absolutely no desire to speak to anyone.

Apparently, leaving home was supposed to be emotional.

Mine mostly felt like an inconvenience.

The house was unusually quiet.

No Chris yelling from upstairs.

No Jake complaining about the noise.

No Ace disappearing into some corner of the house where nobody could find him.

Even Mum had been suspiciously quiet.

I adjusted the cuff of my shirt and looked at the grandfather clock beside the staircase.

Seven-oh-three.

Oliver was late.

Naturally.

I checked my phone.

**Oliver:** five minutes away

I stared at the message.

Oliver's definition of five minutes had always been questionable.

I typed back.

**Me:** You said that fifteen minutes ago.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

**Oliver:** traffic

**Me:** You live twelve minutes away.

**Oliver:** exactly. traffic.

I put my phone away.

"You're going to miss your flight."

I looked up.

Mum stood at the bottom of the staircase, holding a cup of coffee.

"You say that as though I'm the one who was supposed to leave half an hour ago."

She smiled.

"You've been ready since yesterday."

"I like being prepared."

"I know."

Her eyes moved towards the front door.

"You nervous?"

"No."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not."

"Victor."

I sighed.

"Maybe a little."

That seemed to satisfy her.

She walked towards me and reached up to fix the collar of my jacket.

Again.

I'd spent twenty years being subjected to that particular habit.

"You're going to be fine."

"I know."

"You'll call?"

"Yes."

"Every week?"

"Probably."

"Victor."

I looked at her.

"Fine. Every week."

She smiled.

"Good."

I looked away before she could notice the uncomfortable feeling building in my chest.

I wasn't good at goodbyes.

I'd never been good at them.

Maybe because saying goodbye meant admitting that something was changing.

And change had never been something I particularly enjoyed.

A car horn sounded outside.

I glanced towards the window.

Finally.

A black Mercedes pulled up in front of the house.

The passenger door opened.

Oliver stepped out.

He looked completely unbothered by the fact that he'd nearly made us late.

He wore sunglasses despite the fact that the sun hadn't properly risen yet, a dark jacket, expensive trainers, and the expression of someone who believed the world would simply wait for him.

Behind him, Zain climbed out of the driver's seat.

Zain looked considerably less pleased.

I watched Oliver walk towards the house.

Then I looked at Mum.

"See?"

She laughed.

"Your friends are here."

"Unfortunately."

The front door opened before Oliver could knock.

He walked inside with a grin.

"Victor!"

I stared at him.

"You're late."

"Good morning to you too."

"You're late."

"Traffic."

"You live twelve minutes away."

"You're obsessed with that."

"Because it's true."

Oliver removed his sunglasses.

"You're going to miss me when we're in Italy."

"I doubt it."

He placed a hand over his chest.

"That hurt."

"You'll survive."

Zain walked in behind him, carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder.

Unlike Oliver, Zain looked like he'd actually prepared for the trip.

He glanced at me.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Oliver looked between us.

"That's it?"

Zain shrugged.

"What do you want him to say?"

"I don't know. Something emotional."

"You're the emotional one."

"I am not."

Zain gave him a look.

Oliver smiled.

"Fine. Maybe a little."

I shook my head.

Some things never changed.

Mum walked over and hugged Oliver first.

"Look after him."

Oliver pulled back and pointed at himself.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Why am I responsible for Victor?"

"Because you're the one who talks him into things."

"I do not."

Zain coughed.

"Last summer."

Oliver frowned.

"That was one time."

"The jet ski?"

"An accident."

"The hotel?"

"Also an accident."

"The police?"

"That was barely my fault."

I looked at Mum.

"He's making my case for me."

She laughed.

Then she hugged Zain.

"Look after each other."

Zain nodded.

"We will."

I stood there quietly.

For a moment, nobody said anything.

Then Mum turned towards me.

And I knew.

This was the part I didn't want.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.

I stiffened for half a second before relaxing into the hug.

"Call me when you land."

"I will."

"Eat properly."

"I do."

"Don't live on coffee."

"I don't."

She pulled away and looked at me.

"You do."

I smiled faintly.

"Fine."

"And Victor?"

"Yes?"

"Try to enjoy yourself."

I looked at her.

"I'll try."

She kissed my cheek.

I resisted the urge to wipe it away.

Oliver made a choking sound.

"That was adorable."

I looked at him.

"Say one more word."

He immediately raised both hands.

"Silence."

Zain picked up one of my suitcases.

"I'll take this."

"I've got it."

"I know."

He lifted it anyway.

Oliver grabbed another.

I took the last one.

As we walked towards the door, I looked back.

Mum was standing in the entrance hall.

She smiled.

I gave her a small nod.

Then I stepped outside.

The door closed behind me.

And for the first time, it felt real.

I was actually leaving.

Italy.

University.

A completely different life.

No Dad.

No expectations.

No family dinners where every conversation somehow became a discussion about my future.

No Chris invading my room.

No Jake quietly judging everyone.

No Ace sitting silently in the corner.

No Mum reminding me to eat.

Just me.

Well.

Me, Oliver, and Zain.

Which wasn't exactly solitude.

But it was close enough.

---

The drive to the airport was louder than I expected.

Mostly because Oliver couldn't sit quietly for more than thirty seconds.

"So," he said from the back seat, "what's the first thing we're doing when we get there?"

"Sleeping," Zain said.

"Boring."

"Necessary."

"Exploring."

I looked out the window.

"Neither."

Oliver leaned forward between the seats.

"You haven't even arrived and you're already ruining the trip."

"I'm planning to study."

There was silence.

Then Oliver laughed.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"Victor."

"What?"

"We are moving to Italy."

"I know."

"To attend university."

"I know."

"And your first thought is studying?"

"Yes."

Zain looked at him through the rear-view mirror.

"He's serious."

"I hate both of you."

I looked back at Oliver.

"You'll survive."

He grinned.

"You're going to make so many friends."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Girls."

"No."

"Guys."

"No."

"Rich Europeans."

I paused.

"Maybe."

Oliver laughed.

"There he is."

I turned back towards the window.

Outside, London passed in a blur.

Buildings.

Cars.

People.

Everything familiar.

I wondered how long it would take before Italy stopped feeling like somewhere I'd simply travelled to.

How long before it became home?

If it ever did.

---

At the airport, everything became unnecessarily complicated.

Oliver had somehow managed to lose his passport.

Zain threatened to leave him behind.

I considered helping.

Then decided against it.

"I have it!"

Oliver held the passport above