Saoirse’s POV

  Growing up with Cian meant that I always had someone by my side—whether I wanted it or not. He was the golden boy, the one everyone adored, and I was just as well-known, though for different reasons. If Cian was the popular soccer star, I was the school’s track queen. We were different in so many ways, yet somehow, we fit.

  "Oi, Flanagan! You better not trip this time," Cian teased one afternoon as we stood on the track field, waiting for my event to start.

  I rolled my eyes. "And you better not miss a goal this time, Byrne, or I'll never let you hear the end of it."

  That was us—constant banter, constant competition, but always looking out for each other.

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  It wasn’t just friendly teasing, though. Cian had this infuriating habit of stepping in whenever someone so much as looked at me the wrong way. Once, when a senior boy tried to corner me by my locker, Cian appeared out of nowhere, towering over him like a protective guard dog.

  "She’s not interested. Move along," he had said, his voice cold and firm.

  The boy muttered something under his breath and left, but not before shooting me a glare. I had crossed my arms and scowled at Cian. "I can handle myself, you know."

  "Maybe," he had shrugged. "But why should you have to?"

  I hated that he made sense.

  Of course, I had my own moments of protectiveness too. Cian, for all his confidence, had a habit of trusting the wrong people. Like the time a girl faked an interest in him just to get close to his teammates. When I found out, I had ‘accidentally’ spilled my drink on her at lunch and made sure she got the message.

  "You're the devil, Flanagan," Cian had laughed when I told him.

  "And you're an idiot, Byrne," I had shot back.

  Despite everything, neither of us ever crossed the line. He was my best friend, my constant, and I was his. At least, that’s what I thought back then.