by Cd Brennan
“Come on, you pussy, what are you waiting for? You’re just tryin’ to delay the inevitable. Your defeat and my victory.” Mitch was still crouched ready to spring. Most of the lads had already headed into the locker room, ready to get on with their evening. There were a few stragglers, but none interested in what they were doing on the far side of the pitch. No Gillian, who must have already headed out for her big weekend plans. Jealousy consumed him for a fleeting moment, which he tucked away to burn later. What was she going to do? And more importantly, who was she going to be with?
“You want to put a little wager on it?” Padraig delayed again.
Padraig knew Mitch didn’t have much money. He worked in a minimum wage job at a sports store so he could have the flexible hours to pursue the rugby, practices, home games that took up most of the day, away games that took up most of the weekend. He didn’t know how the team did it, some with families and holding down full-time jobs, only to rush over to practice at night and spend the rugby season away from their kids. Understanding wives for one. And passion, the other. Selflessness. A trait rarely recognized in high-level professional athletes, Padraig included. A fact made more apparent next to the men he played with now. The American rugby players reminded him of Gaelic Football back in Ireland. You’d not meet more passionate men and followers.
“Twenty bucks,” Mitch suggested.
Padraig was an old man next to him. “Why don’t we make it fifty?”
Mitch hesitated, most likely wondering if he could afford it. It would probably take him hours to earn the amount at his low-paying job. While fifty euros back home barely got Padraig a round of drinks with his mates.
With a bravado that wasn’t convincing, Mitch answered, “It’s your money to lose.” But then the kid smiled, and Padraig clapped him on the back.
Mitch danced his feet back and forth like a boxer in a ring.
“You going to call it?” Padraig asked.
“Ready, set, go!”
A head shorter than Padraig, Mitch took two to every one of Padraig’s strides. When Mitch pumped his arms like a train, Padraig had a fleeting thought he should show Mitch how to run before the little shite pulled ahead of him. Padraig wasn’t out of breath, or tired, getting into the rhythm after half the pitch had blurred away, but he could hear large gasps and pulls of air coming from next to him. Mitch was on his last wind.
At the twenty-two meter line, Padraig accelerated with a burst of speed to nose in front of the kid, which resulted in louder gasps, flailing of arms and legs as he dug into his last reserves.
And then, as they were about to cross the line, Padraig let up, slowing imperceptibly. Mitch threw out his chest and stumbled over the line.
Padraig walked over to the lad, still heaving where he lay, and patted him on the back. “Good craic, mate. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Mitch rolled onto his back and punched a fist into the sky, letting out an obnoxious whoop!
Bending at the waist, Padraig tried to gain his breath, pulling at the hem of his shorts like all men did to give their crotch some space. They both stilled, only the sound of their loud panting filling the void. Then Padraig reached out his hand to help Mitch up, who accepted it with a clap against his own.
Arms around each other, they headed off the pitch toward the locker room.
“You got that fifty on you?”
Padraig snorted. “Of course. I don’t lay a bet without having the funds on me.”
He glanced at Mitch at the same moment the lad raised his brows and grimaced. Obviously, the kid didn’t play the same way. Which made Padraig laugh, and then Mitch caught on, and so they were both still chuckling when they swung into the locker room.
Padraig took a minute to wish each player a good weekend as they left, one after another. No reason to hurry. Nothing to go to. God, a long weekend in Ireland would have meant travel to Europe for a quick trip to Paris or Barcelona, or some big nights out at the bars or clubs in Cork.
He had waved Del and Rory off as soon as he’d finished with the race with Mitch. Both had been loitering around his locker, itching to get on the road. They were driving through the night in hopes of getting to Del’s mate before the bars closed. Del had offered his car to Padraig for the weekend at least, tossing him the keys before they blasted out the door singing, “Fuck You, I’m Drunk.”
The room was empty by the time he dried off after his shower. He could hear Coach’s keys clunk as he locked his office door. Footsteps approached, so he threw on some shorts.
Coach addressed him as Padraig yanked a T-shirt over his head. “You were good with the boys out there today.”
“They were good with me.”
“Aye, they were. They would have been sooner…”
Padraig swung his locker door back and forth, back and forth, a creak of the metal at each pass, until he had the strength to meet Coach’s gaze. “I know.”
“I meant to ask you how your pain management is going with Gillian?”
“Fine.” Which was a lie on so many levels.
“Yeah? Are you still on the oxycodone?”
“Almost done, like.” Which was the truth. One pill left.
“Gillian believes you are a good man, and that’s enough for me. I wondered for a while, but glad you came around.” When Padraig didn’t say anything, he continued, “I’ve got to get going. Wife has plans for us to leave early tomorrow to go down-state and I have to pack the car tonight. I’ll set the alarm now. When you leave, make sure the door is secured behind you. Should be all right.”
Padraig nodded. “No worries.”
Scotch turned to leave.
“Oh, and Coach, thanks for the opportunity here. I know I haven’t said.”
Surprise dusted Coach’s features briefly. “Nae bother.”
“Have a good weekend.” Wow, he sounded so…American.
Coach waved without looking back. “You, too, Irish.”
The door clunked behind him and then silence. Padraig had never been lonely in his life. From growing up in a large Irish family where there was someone always around to be with, to the camaraderie of his teammates since he was young, he had never lived away from Ireland and never known solitude. Even now, he was unsure if that was what he was feeling.
Eager to keep his mind off it, he busied himself packing his gear bag with dirty training clothes from the past week. Something else he could do that weekend. Laundry. The joys. As he stuffed a clean pair of rugby socks into a zip pocket, the pill container fell out the side, landing with a click and rattle.
Fetching it from the floor, Padraig then placed it on the top shelf of his locker. At eye level, he swiveled the bottle until the label was at the front, his name clearly written on the prescription. Padraig O’Neale. Take for pain as needed.
Coach had switched off all the lights on his way out except for Padraig’s row. Without the usual noise and smells, the place had become peaceful. Only the one halogen light above buzzed, spotlighting Padraig in a glow of decent light. Having spent half of his life in a locker room, he considered it a second home after the pitch. Even more so than his apartment near Cork City centre.
He debated whether to leave the last pill where it sat in his locker. Then considered throwing it in the rubbish bin. He breathed deep, summoning the strength that was there—somewhere.
The ticking of the clock became apparent as he stood there, warring with himself. In the end, he grabbed the bottle, loudly yelling, “Fuck!” then threw it in the bag, zipped it up, and bashed his way to the door, ricocheting off the locker benches with his gear bag.
Turning off the last light, he pushed open the door with anger and frustration boiling in his veins. When he turned the corner to the parking lot, he stopped abruptly. There was Gillian in a sundress, sunglasses, and bare feet, sitting on the hood of a green Ford Mustang.
Chapter 22
Gillian had just been wondering if she should grab her Converse to drive in when the crunch of feet
on gravel jolted her upright. It had to be Padraig. He was the only one left. Player after player had come out and cooed over the car, even Coach. Gillian had appreciated the rise of status in their eyes, some even flirting with her a bit. Dick had wanted to take it for a drive, but no way.
“Took your sweet time, didn’t you?” she asked as he approached.
Padraig stopped a few feet away from her. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me.”
“It was a surprise.”
“Is this yours?” He dropped his bag from his shoulder and circled the car, brushing his hand along the side.
She smiled and hopped off the hood. “Yep, all mine.”
“She’s a beauty. What year?”
“1969.”
He chuckled. “The best year.” Then paused. “You never said…”
“We never got around to it.”
Padraig nodded his head, casting his eyes away from her and back to the Mustang. “Yeah, I suppose we didn’t.”
“Will you come for a drive?”
“In this baby? Feck, yeah.”
“Good, because it’s important.”
His brows raised in surprise. “Really? What do you have planned?”
“You’ll have to come with me to see.”
Neither moved toward the other. It was the dance of the awkward and distant lovers, not yet reconciled, any joking shelved for the moment as each walked eggshells to determine the heart of the other.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Okay, but I’ve got to get Del’s car back to the house.”
“Leave it here.”
“At least let me move it under a street light. It’s a piece of junk, but Del will kill me if it gets stolen.”
“No one is going to take it. Trust me. And if someone did, he’d be happy for it. He could upgrade.” She laughed, but it was weak. Her courage was seeping out as fast as a bad oil leak.
“Seriously, Del has all this music from New Zealand in his glove box, and if the car goes, so does his precious music. I have to at least take that with me.”
“Fair enough. I’m glad to see you’re looking out for Del.”
He pinched his lips together and nodded.
Now, she’d done it, but he’d have to take it like a man. “I like your shirt.” She pulled at his sleeve, a soft tug, a tentative gesture. She couldn’t be cruel-to-be-kind for long.
He glanced down. It was his Munster rugby T-shirt with their logo of a blue and gold rugby ball with three crowns. A buck deer juxtaposed across the form of the ball.
“Oh right, thanks.”
“You’ll fit in perfectly where I’m taking you.” She was excited, but wondered how Padraig would take it all. Especially for what she had in mind.
“Now you have me wondering.”
“In a good or bad way?”
“Anything with you is in a good way.”
It was like a dart to the bull’s-eye of her heart, but she playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Aw shucks, you’re such a charmer.”
He laughed. “Not really.” He opened the side door and stooped to retrieve the CDs. Handing a bunch to Gillian to carry, he finished, “At least not anymore. I used to be.”
She rubbed his arm, the first skin contact they’d had in a week, and the impression of his warmth on her hand remained long after she had pulled it away. “You’ll get it back.”
Wisps of her hair blew across her face, but since her hands were full with music, she had no way of tucking it behind her ear as she normally did. Padraig balanced all that he had in one hand and did it for her. Instead of letting go, he cupped her neck and held on. He pulled at her gently, moving at the same time in her direction where he placed a soft kiss on her lips. It was an apology and a request at the same time—she understood.
She stepped closer and stood on her tippy toes to kiss him back, searching his mouth for the same questions she hoped he held for her. Do you care for me? Do you want me back?
She broke the kiss abruptly, just as his hardness had reached her belly through his shorts. Not nice to leave him hanging, but she wanted to get on the road. “C’mon, let’s go.”
She laughed when Padraig jogged to the trunk of the Mustang where he shifted from foot to foot, like a little boy that had to pee, or one so excited he couldn’t sit still. When she opened the trunk, he dumped his gear bag and Del’s CDs, the plastic making an almighty clatter. She already had a small duffel and yoga mat packed, along with a large cooler and box of necessities.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can I drive?”
How adorable, but… “No way.” Gillian laughed when he gave her a puppy-dog look. That had never worked on her, Andrew having tried numerous times to get her to help with his homework. And as sexy as Padraig was, she wasn’t going to give in now. Plus, this was her baby, and the first road trip should be all her pleasure. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you drive on the way back.”
“I’ll be good.” The way he said it implied lots of things, but nothing was more important than breaking his addiction.
She bit her lip in a smile. “I’m sure you will. Now get in.”
When he buckled up, she said, “Make yourself comfortable. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
When they were out on the road, Padraig asked, “Are you still mad at me, like?”
“What’s with all the likes?”
“That’s how we talk from Cork.
She grabbed his hand from his lap. “I’m not angry anymore.”
He gave her a look as if he didn’t believe it, but squeezed her hand in response. “Grand so.” He reached below the seat to pull the lever to push the chair back as far as it would go. When it got stuck and he yanked hard, she scolded, “Hey, easy there, she’s no young chicken.”
When the seat finally clicked into place, he folded his arms over his abdomen and let out a long, “Aaahhh.”
“Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, I will.”
“See, why can’t everyone else see this side of you? It’s like there are two Padraigs.”
“There is. I’m like Father Ted and Dougal.”
“Father Ted?”
“Yeah, fucking brilliant Irish comedy. I’ll have my mum send over some DVDs for you to see. It’s hilarious.”
That was the most he’d ever offered her, but she tried hard not to let the thrill show. Still uncertain of his feelings, she needed to keep it light, but she’d hedge for some answers later. Sometimes, men needed a bit of a boost. “I’d love that.”
They were quickly out of the city limits heading north, rays of the sun flashing in and out of the car windows as they wove their way up Highway 31 to Charlevoix. Padraig seemed happy enough to watch the scenery pass by, and for the first time in forever, she felt like singing along to the music. She couldn’t resist and put on her old 80s Greatest Hits.
“Let’s start with something upbeat.” She forwarded the CD until the Proclaimers came on. “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles).”
“Ah Jaysus, no.”
“You’re Irish. I thought you’d like this stuff. You got all into it when we were at the cabin.”
“I was drunk, and we’re swamped with that shite at home. Anyhoo, The Proclaimers are Scottish.”
“I knew that.” She didn’t. “Okay, how about this one?”
Madonna’s “Borderline” burst from the back speakers.
“Next!”
“But she’s so class. You steer while I pick.” She pulled the CD case from between the seats. “Go on then, grab the wheel.”
“Will you slow down at least?”
She didn’t. “You should be used to driving on that side of the car.”
“Ha-ha.”
“What about Bryan Adams?”
“Feck, no.”
“Why don’t men like Bryan Adams, one of the best songwriters of the 80s?”
“Too lovey-dovey.”
“Pfft. I’m sure you have a romantic side.”
&nbs
p; He ran his hand through his hair, then gave his head a good scratch. “Maybe. You ready to take the wheel?”
The car wobbled as he tried to control it around a long curve. “Gillian, take the damn wheel or this beautiful car will be smashed on the side of the road with us in it.”
There was no way they were going to die. Karma didn’t work that way. Or the logarithm of life, whatever someone wanted to call it. “We haven’t picked yet.”
“Give me the case.”
“Jeesh, a bit grumpy again today?”
He snatched it out of her hand. “Now drive.”
She did, along the coast toward Charlevoix, the landscape spotted here and there with orchards. Padraig asked what type, and she told him either cherries or apples. Traverse City was the Cherry Capital, after all.
After passing through the small coastal town, they had continued northeast toward Petoskey when Padraig spoke up again. “There are some beautiful towns in Michigan.”
His comment gave her hope, even though it may have not been warranted, but it meant a lot to her that he found the same beauty in her home that she did.
They’d decided on random play, the only song that Padraig absolutely refused to listen to was Lionel Richie, and he had forwarded to the next song. “You gonna tell me where we’re going?”
Leaning over, she squeezed just above his knee. “Don’t worry, it’ll be grand, like you say.”
“Are we spending the night somewhere?”
Uh-oh, maybe this wasn’t the great idea she had daydreamed about. Maybe he didn’t think what Gillian thought he thought. Oh, fuck it, anyway. “We are.”
“Aren’t you working this weekend at all?”
What? Okay, they had their wires seriously crossed. “Nope, have the whole weekend off.”
He ran his hands roughly over his cheeks, then around his neck and pulled at his shoulder muscles.
Uncertainty and embarrassment warred for top spot in Gillian’s heart. “I didn’t think you had any other plans this weekend…. I should have asked….” Shit, what had she been thinking? That he had no other life than her? That because he was from Ireland, he wouldn’t have made any other plans on such a big weekend? “I’m sorry. I can turn around and take us back if you want. Did you have other plans?” She thumped the steering wheel. “This was stupid of me. You might be meeting up with others. I didn’t even think….”