“Figure what out?”
“What you’re going to do about Declan.”
“I didn’t know there was anything for me to do,” I responded.
“Well, you know he wants you. And I assume from all the huffing and stomping you’re doing you figured out what your grandda has been up to.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I don’t want to talk about that.”
I stalked back to my side of the bar but my attention was captured by what was happening on the TV. I couldn’t help but stare at the image on the screen, not paying the least bit of attention to what Cian was saying.
Declan’s jersey was so fitted I could make out the defined lines of his six pack, and those tiny white shorts left very little to the imagination. While he lunged and stretched I watched with rapt attention as his quads rippled and flexed.
“Well, that answers that well enough.”
“What?” I shot back. “He’s hot. I’m not ashamed to say it. Besides, you’re hot too.”
“Except in my case you’re able to control yourself,” Cian countered, envy seeping into his words. “Him though? You want to climb him like a tree.”
“I do not!” I felt my face flush and my cheeks turn crimson.
“Right,” he nodded, walking away to continue filling pints.
Half an hour later, the pub was in a frenzy. Customers yelled at the referee nearly as often as they yelled at the players, both words of praise and criticism. I tried my damnedest to avoid what was happening, but Declan was having a good game and my eyes were continuously pulled to the screen.
A cheer erupted and I glanced up in time to see a young kid barrel through a wall of oversized brutes with necks the size of my thigh before he sprinted down the field as an angry horde chased him down. He dove head first into the grass, bringing everyone to their feet.
“He scored a touchdown?” I asked Siobhan as she ran behind the bar to grab a bottle of champagne my grandma had set to chill.
“What?” she tossed over her shoulder as she ran into the crowd, bottle aloft.
I watched as, heedless of its carbonation, she plonked it down in the middle of the table where an older gentleman was being pounded on the back.
“What’s going on?” I asked the guy sitting closest to me at the bar.
“Shh,” he admonished with a frantic wave of his hand.
The rest of the pub went eerily silent. I looked up, expecting to see an injury on the field. The cameraman zoomed in on Declan settling the ball in position before he picked a few blades of grass and tossed them in the air. For a few quiet moments Declan stared at the tee, then the posts. And then in two strides his foot connected with the ball and it sailed through the uprights and the pub erupted in cheer.
Just then Cian emerged from the kitchen carrying a heavy box of tonic water to replace the bottles we’d gone through already. Tired of feeling like an ignorant fool about a sport that was obviously important to everyone in town—including the man I may or may not want to climb like a tree—I asked him for a crash course in rugby.
“I don’t understand anything that’s happening,” I told him, pointing at the television.
He sighed and ran his hand through his thick mane of hair. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, why did Siobhan break out the champagne when that kid scored a touchdown.”
He groaned and rolled his eyes. “That was not a touchdown.”
I shrugged. “That’s what it looked like to me.”
“Rugby was played for fifty years or more before American football was invented,” he said with no small amount of disdain. “Not to mention those pussies wear pads and helmets and couldn’t take a fucking hit if their lives depended on it.”
“Fine,” I conceded, having no personal stake here. “I only called it a touchdown because that’s the terminology I’m familiar with.”
When I didn’t argue, Cian’s shoulders relaxed and the hard lines of his mouth softened. “Okay, well first off, it’s called a try, and they’re celebrating because the lad who scored grew up here. This is his first start so it’s a pretty big deal.”
“Oh, well. Good for him then.”
“Yeah, he’s a good kid,” Cian answered, but I got the sense he wasn’t really paying attention to me. “They’re already talking about him becoming one of our country’s next greats.”
I didn’t want to read too much into it, but there was a bitterness to his words that had been absent when he was simply relating the mechanics of the game.
“But they say that about a lot of us who burn out before we can reach our full potential.”
He shoved his hands deep into in his pockets and walked away, heedless of my supposed lesson.
So much for that, I thought.
“Don’t mind Cian,” Siobhan said, rounding the corner. “Match days are hard for him and he can be a bit of a dick.”
“Declan said he was good.”
“He was,” she confirmed, sadness in her eyes. Before she could say anything more, Cian came back and she clammed up. “Here he comes. By the way, he hates to be talked about so pretend I was never here.”
As I watched Cian circle the room with a frown, I came to a realization about him. From all outward appearances, he was in the physical prime of his life. But his mind and body had been honed for one thing, and it’d been ripped from him well before it should have. Now he faced a life he hadn’t planned on, while the person he’d been closest with had gone on to stardom, something he should be experiencing as well. Cian had had it all in the palm of his hands … and then suddenly he hadn’t. Everything Cian wanted, Declan had. Uncomfortably, I realized the role I played in here as well. He wanted me while I wanted Declan. Looking at it like that, I could almost understand why he’d been so crazy and judgmental.
I called Siobhan behind the bar and asked her to man my station while I went to find him. Remembering him pulling out his cigarettes that night out in the rain, I peeked my head out the door. Spying him against the wall, a bottle of beer in his hand, I stepped outside.
“Can I join you?”
He flinched when he heard my voice.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to harass you about leaving me on my own in there.”
I hadn’t thought to grab my coat and now I was freezing. Rubbing my hands up and down the exposed skin of my arm, my teeth chattered.
Watched me out of the side of his eye, Cian said, “I’d offer to keep you warm but I know you don’t want that.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Give it a rest, will you?” Then, more gently, I added, “I want to be your friend if you’ll let me.”
“Friends,” he said, testing the word. “And Declan?” he asked, taking another drink.
“To be honest—and I mean this in the nicest way possible—Declan doesn’t factor in to my friendship with you.”
He twisted the bottle in his large hands. “Fair enough,” he answered after a short while. “Since we’re friends and all, I really have to ask … and please think about your answer. Are you sure you want to go down that road with him?”
Taking a chance, I spoke my suspicions aloud.
“What is it that bothers you more? That you don’t get to sleep with me or that Declan will? I actually don’t think this is about me. I think it’s about the things Declan that you think should be yours.”
I hated referring to myself as a thing, but when needs must, you went with what you had.
Cian started at my accusation. “Now, wait a minute—”
“No, you wait a minute,” I answered, poking him in the chest. “If this jealousy is honestly about me, then I’m sorry for it. But it’s not, is it?”
When he refused to meet my eyes, I continued.
“I’m sorry you had plans for your life that were cut short, but that’s not my fault any more than it is Declan’s, and if you’re going to treat me like shit because of some misplaced feelings of jealousy, maybe you’re not the man I ho
ped you were.”
I thought he’d argue, tell me how wrong I was, or that I didn’t have the first clue what I was talking about, so I was surprised when his shoulders slumped and he whispered, “Fuck, you’re right.”
Cian set the bottle on the ground between us.
“You’re right,” he declared, more emphatically. “And the worst of it is I know it’s no one’s fault, but there’s nothing I can do about any of it. I feel so helpless sometimes. None of this is where I ever thought I’d be on match night. I should be on the field, sharing these moments with him.”
The anguish in his eyes tugged at my heart and I blinked back tears. I couldn’t empathize with him because the life I’d set out for myself when I’d been 18 was going swimmingly—or it had been until I’d received that call from my mother—but I could sympathize with him, imagine how angry and bitter I’d have been if my life had been dictated by something so out of my control.
“Fuck,” he spat before gripping his head. “I’m a mess,” he admitted on a harsh laugh, dropping his hands to this sides. “But you’re right. This situation and how I’ve been acting has more to do with my own fucked up jealousy than anything else.”
I put my hand on his arm in a show of compassion and was gearing up to tell him it was okay, when he abruptly switched topics.
“But this thing with Declan,” he said. “Regardless of my issues with the rugby stuff, I know him Sophie and he’s a player. He’s never had a relationship. He never sleeps with the same girl twice. He has his fun and then he discards them. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“It’s alright, I believe you. My grandpa said pretty much the same thing,” I admitted. “And besides, I’ve known my fair share of professional athletes so you’re not telling me something I don’t already know about the type of man Declan is.”
He looked down at me with disgust and I realized he’d misinterpreted my statement.
“No, not like that,” I sighed exasperatedly. “I don’t date athletes but my family … well, my other family owns a professional basketball team so I’ve been around athletes and their women my whole life. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t seen with my own two eyes.”
Cian relaxed against the wall and said, “Listen, Sophie. I like you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m a big girl and I have no intention of getting hurt. Not by Declan or anyone else.”
“He’s my best friend, and I love him like a brother—” I snorted “—no, I really do, but he isn’t a guy you want to get involved with. The things I could tell you …”
He trailed off and a part of me wondered what he would reveal while another part never wanted to know what dirty secrets they shared.
“He’ll use you, Sophie. It’s what we do.”
“Maybe,” I said on a shrug. “Or maybe I’ll use him.”
“Right,” he answered, rolling his eyes and pulling out a cigarette. “You’re not like that.”
“Maybe I am,” I answered, even as I wondered why I had.
I was the furthest thing from that type of person.
“Anyway,” I said, changing the subject, “are you going to come teach me about rugby or what?”
He blew out a trail of smoke, stubbed out his cigarette, and bent to pick up his beer bottle. Tossing it in the bin, he said, “Yeah, you may as well learn from the best. Lead the way.”
Chapter Sixteen
Declan
“Okay, this is it lads,” I called out
“We got this!” our right wing, Eoin McGrath, hollered back as we took our positions and the rest of the team lined up for the scrum.
Tonight was his first start and he was amped up and ready to go every single play no matter where we were on the field. I remembered having that same sort of wide-eyed enthusiasm and hoped it stayed with him for a long, long time.
I stared down the field and located the clock. Two minutes to go and we were only up by two points. If we caused a penalty, the Falcons would take control of the ball and force us to defend. We needed to play perfect rugby for the next 120 seconds. No penalties, no turnovers. But if we managed to move the ball another 10 meters I’d be in scoring range.
“Crouch,” the ref directed, and one by one our props, hooker, flankers, and finally our number eight man took their positions.
“Bind!” Arms firmly secured around each other, the men created a tunnel for Aidan Quark, our scrum half, to put the ball in play.
“Set,” came the ref’s final instruction.
And go.
Steam swirled around the heaving, grunting bodies as my teammates fought to push our opponents back while our hooker, Liam Donnelly, maneuvered the ball down the pack with his feet for Aiden to get his hands on it so we could drive it down the pitch.
Three rucks later, with only half a minute left on the clock, the goal line was in reach. Aidan scooped up the ball and with two hands moving across the front of his body, flung a bullet-like spiral back to me. Catching it, I scanned the field in one quick view. Eoin was closed off, but there, just ahead was the gap I needed. I faked a tricky one-handed pass to our inside center, tucked the ball in tight against me, side-stepped to the left, and broke through a wall of defenders. I felt their hands grab at me, try to hold onto the back of my jersey and bring me down, but I dug in deep, pumped my legs for all I was worth … and ten strides later dove across the goal line.
TRY!
The crowd was on its feet, the roar of our fans deafening as their shouts reverberated through the stadium, the stomping, cheering, and chanting music to my ears.
But I wasn’t done yet. I placed the ball in its position on the blue tee as the noise from the crowd dimmed to near silence. In the distance, I heard a siren wail as it whizzed past the stadium while the wind and rain whipped at my face. I drowned it all out until the only thing in my head was the steady beating of my heart. I knelt down, picked a few blades of grass, and tossed them in the air to check the direction and velocity of the wind. Taking a deep breath, I set my position, took two strides, and my foot connected with the ball, sending it sailing up and over the crossbar as the clock showed eighty minutes.
Match over!
The team engulfed me in a mass of sweaty, hard bodies as hands slapped my back and the top of my head. We’d won. Thank Christ.
“You coming out, Dec?” Aidan asked when his head popped out the top of his shirt.
I set my foot on the bench and leaned down to tie my shoe, wincing when I felt a tight pinch in my ribs, the result of a deadly tackle I’d taken just before halftime. When I’d realized there was no reasonable path through the defense, nor a clear toss to my teammates, I’d done a quick chip kick to send the ball flying over their heads, juked around them, and chased it down before they’d had a chance to recalibrate their defensive positioning. Getting there before anyone else, I’d picked it up and ran a few meters until I was crushed between two Welsh players and brought down with a grunt and a hard thud. It’d taken me a couple of seconds longer than normal to catch my breath, get back on my feet, and rejoin the play as it continued down field.
I probed the spot that hurt the worst and felt a warning tenderness all over my right side. When I’d gone into the showers, the skin around my ribs had been red and mottled, but then again, so was the rest of my body. Hell, so were all of our bodies after a punishing match like the one we’d just played.
“Nah, I’m gonna head on home. I took a beating.”
“Come on man, you could find some bird to make you feel better.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
I was sure I could, and I wouldn’t even have to work for it tonight, wouldn’t need to care if she came or not. While I could stand to ease some of my tension, the idea of sex with someone who only wanted to fuck me so she could brag to all her friends left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Yeah, I’m gonna leave that up to you. I’m not sure I’d be much use to anyone tonight,” I said, po
inting at my side.
Eoin sauntered in from the showers with a towel draped loosely around his hips. He dropped it in front of his locker and strutted my way, completely naked and unashamed. Putting his hand on my shoulder he said, “That’s okay old man. More for me.” With his other hand he grabbed his crotch, laughed like a maniac, and strolled away.
At 21, Eoin was a cocky little shit but he had the goods to back it up, both on and off the field. He’d played a tremendous game tonight, his first start in a senior match, and he’d been unstoppable. His star was on the rise and he knew it.
Like rugby, he’d taken to the women that came with it like a fish to water. Sometimes I worried he liked the perks of being a famous rugger a little too much, but so far he’d been able to balance his appetite for sex with his commitment to our sport so who was I to judge? It’s not like I hadn’t gone overboard myself a time or two when I’d been his age.
Shit. I sounded like the old man Eoin accused me of being.
The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m., completely restless and filled with nervous energy, which was weird since normally I slept like the dead following a match. I had my routine down: wake up around half-nine, shower, and then meet up with the lads for brunch.
But now, in the pre-dawn house, I was jumping out of my skin. To be honest, I’d been that way for the past week. But this was the first time I’d woken up feeling like a set of live wires were where my veins should be, filling my body with a steady thrum of electricity.
I groaned as I climbed out of bed and looked down at my battered body. Shit. I poked and prodded, testing the area to see if I was merely sore or if I’d need a visit to the team doctor. One area hurt worse than the rest but I didn’t think the pain was anything the doc would be able to fix. He’d just bind me up and send me on my way with advice not to overdo it for a couple of days.
Without conscious thought, I packed an overnight bag, jumped in my car, and hit the road to Ballycurra. The further away from the city I drove the more my mood improved. About five minutes outside the turnoff to my house, my left leg stopped bouncing and my grip on the steering wheel relaxed.
Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance Page 14