Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance

by Norinne, Rebecca

  Sophie,

  I’m sorry. For everything. But I need you to be sorry too. I never cheated on you and I don’t know how to get past the fact that you didn’t believe me.

  I don’t know how it happened, but somewhere along the way I fell for you. Hard. All my thoughts and emotions were overwhelming and they made my head spin and before I knew it, I was dizzy and couldn’t see straight where you were concerned. So when I said all those things about wishing I never knew you, I didn’t mean them. I was just reacting to not being in control. I just wanted some control again.

  I didn’t know how to handle your rejection. I didn’t know how to handle how you made me feel. I’m still not sure I do, but I know I can’t run away from them—away from you—and I don’t want to.

  I want to be with you and I want *you* to want to be with me.

  I know the reason you believed Maggie’s lies was because they weren’t too far off your biggest fears about me. Even as I fell for you, I always knew you held yourself back. I wanted you to trust me, and I thought maybe I was making headway, but I guess I hadn’t.

  The thing is, while the old me would probably have fucked Maggie while we were together, the new me wouldn’t have. At least I hope not. And that’s the scary thing for you, isn’t it? I get that now. I want to be the type of man you deserve but I don’t know if I’m capable. I didn’t cheat on you with Maggie, and I’d like to say I’d never cheat on you with anyone, but the problem is you know I can’t make a promise like that. BECAUSE I JUST DON’T KNOW.

  I don’t know anything, really, except that I feel like half a person without you.

  Despite everything I just said, I’m begging you not to throw away what we have. What we had. I know you’re scared, but I’m scared too.

  I’m sitting here in bed, a bottle of whiskey beside me, and all I can think is it would be so much better if it were you. You don’t even have to be here with me. I just want to hear your voice before I fall asleep. That’ll make everything better. Maybe then I can sleep. I forget what sleep is like.

  Aoife was right. I’m a mess. I’m lost without you.

  I read the message. Then read it again. I probably read it ten more times, in fact. And then, I closed out of my email, leaving all my thoughts unsaid.

  I couldn’t be sure, but there was probably a herd of elephants tromping all over my house. Whatever it was, the pounding in my skull was going to tear me apart.

  “Wake up big brother,” a sing-song voice trilled next to my ear.

  Pushing the annoying sprite away, I clenched my pillow and shoved it down over my head only to be met with an assault at my feet. The covers flew off the bed and a large, hulking brute hefted me up and into a standing position.

  “Fuuuuuuuck,” I roared when my skull threatened to cleave in two as they marched me into the bathroom.

  “I got it from here,” Aidan told Aoife as he closed the door and shoved me under the spray of scalding hot water.

  After a few seconds, I felt my stomach lurch and then I puked all over my shower. When my body was empty, I leaned my forehead against the tiled wall and let the water wash my bile and shame away. A few seconds later, the glass door slid open. I cracked an eyelid and watched while Aidan grabbed the nozzle to hose down the other side of the stall.

  “Thanks man,” I croaked.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he answered. “Aoife’s still out there and she’s in a mood.

  I groaned. Dealing with my sister when she wasn’t in a mood was trying enough. But having the placate her when she was, while also suffering through an epic hangover? Yeah, I could think of better ways to spend my afternoon.

  “Why’d you let her in?”

  “Listen man. It was either her or your mom. I chose the lesser of two evils for your intervention.”

  I could see his point. Wait, what? “My intervention?”

  “Dude, you’re a fucking mess.”

  “I’m fine,” I argued and he scoffed.

  “Sure you are. That’s why I’m hosing puke off your shower walls at two in the afternoon.” Putting the nozzle back on its handle, he took a step back and dried his hands and arms. Leveling a glare at me, he said, “You missed practice today Dec and you’re drunk all the time. And Mick told me what happened at The Dodder the other night. You’re not fine.”

  I hung my head and closed my eyes. He was right. I was so far past fine it wasn’t even funny. I couldn’t remember what fine looked like it was so far in my rearview mirror. The truth was, I was a fucking mess.

  “You’re right,” I admitted with a defeated sigh. “I’m not fine.”

  “Sophie?” he asked.

  Turning off the water, I reached for my towel. “Yeah, Sophie.”

  “What the fuck happened there? One minute things are right as fucking rain and you’re deliriously in love with the bird, and the next you’re storming out of my party bellowing for her at the top of your lungs.”

  “Maggie happened.”

  “Maggie?” He looked confused for a second. Then, “Ugh, you didn’t.”

  I clenched my jaw. “No, I didn’t, and I really wish people would give me some fucking credit.”

  “Come on Dec, you’ve gone there before. You can’t act all self-righteous when people wonder if you tapped that again.”

  “When have I ever gone back for seconds?” I shot out angrily.

  “Um, with Maggie,” he pointed out with a smirk.

  “Fuck,” I muttered. “Yeah. Fucking Maggie.”

  “So what happened?” he asked, taking a seat on the closed toilet seat while I brushed my teeth.

  Spitting out my toothpaste, I said, “When I went on that beer run for you, Maggie approached Sophie.”

  “I thought Sophie knew you were a whore before she came along and was okay with it? Which, by the way, well done. You’ll have to teach me how you managed that one.”

  I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Yes, Sophie knew all about my past. And despite the fact that I’d put those days behind me, it was one of the things that stood between us. But not enough that she would have broken things off with me just by meeting Maggie.”

  “I have a feeling this story doesn’t end well.”

  “Look at me man,” I barked, pointing at my face. Deep, dark circles rimmed my red, irritated eyes and my skin was sallow, my face ragged. “Nothing about this story ends well.”

  Ignoring my appearance, he asked, “So why did Sophie flip out?”

  I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Opening my medicine cabinet, I pulled out a bottle of pain relievers and popped two.

  “Maggie told Sophie I slept with her three days after I first slept with Sophie. As in, last month. As in, I cheated on Sophie with that slag.”

  “Ah,” he intoned. “Wait, why didn’t you just tell Sophie you didn’t?”

  “I tried to,” I told him. “She wouldn’t take my calls or see me. The only way I could reach her was by text. I didn’t realize it at the time, but something got lost in translation when I tried to explain what happened and she thought I admitted to it.”

  “How the hell did that happen?” he asked, handing me my deodorant.

  “She asked me point blank if I’d slept with Maggie and I told the truth. But I also said it had been a long time ago.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I think our texts crossed paths or something because if you read the exchange, it sounds an awful like I back-peddled and went from denying it happened to saying it didn’t mean anything to me.”

  “Ah, fuck,” he muttered.

  “Yup, that about sums it up.”

  “And she still won’t talk to you? Let you explain?”

  “Uhmmmmm,” I ran my hands through my wet hair. I was in desperate need of a haircut. “I might have told her I never wanted to see her again. That I wish we’d never met.”

  “Why would you do something like that?” he asked, tossing me my pomade.

  “You know I have a tempe
r,” I said in my defense even though I knew it wasn’t much of one. “When she wouldn’t take my calls or see me I got pissed. I hadn’t done anything wrong but I was being punished. So I basically told her to fuck off.”

  “And you’ve been miserable ever since.”

  I nodded and parroted him. “And I’ve been miserable ever since.”

  “Shit man,” he said, reaching for the door knob. “You either gotta make this right or you need to move on.”

  I leveled my gaze at him. “I know.”

  He dropped his hand on my shoulder. “The next time you feel like drinking yourself to death, don’t. Give me a call. We’ll go for a run or something. I love you like a brother and I don’t like seeing you do this to yourself. I also don’t like losing, so if you can’t get over her, you need to find a way to lock that shit up when you step on the field.”

  I shook my head somberly. “Yeah, I know.”

  When Aidan opened the door, Aoife was standing there with a mug of steaming black coffee in her hand. Tilting her head, she eyed me curiously. “You good?” she asked.

  “I’m not good, but I’m trying to be,” I answered honestly. Aidan was right. I needed to put things right with Sophie or move on.

  “Okay then,” she replied, standing on her tiptoes and planting a light kiss on my cheek. “Here, this is for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking a drink and wincing as the hot liquid scalded my tongue.

  “Put on some clothes and meet me downstairs,” she ordered without preamble. “You need to hear some things.”

  By the time they left an hour later, I didn’t know what to think but one thing kept running through my head: if Aoife thought I could get Sophie back, I had to try.

  But first I had some shit I had to work through.

  Chapter Forty

  Aoife: I have proof Declan didn’t cheat on you.

  Sophie: What? How?

  Aoife: Eoin.

  Sophie: What do you mean?

  Aoife: Remember me asking you if Eoin had been in the photo Fucking Maggie showed you?

  Sophie: Yes. And I told you I couldn’t remember.

  Aoife: Which is why I asked him.

  Aoife: I *knew* my brother wouldn’t cheat on you. He’s mad for you Sophie. But I also knew you needed proof so I grilled Eoin until he begged me to leave him alone and he *swears* the last time Maggie was at the bar with them was over six months ago.

  Sophie: How can he be sure? And how do I know he wouldn’t lie for Declan? He’s your friend and your brother’s teammate.

  Aoife: A funny thing about Eoin: he’s obsessed with Instagram. I think he posts more selfies than those Kardashian twats. So fecking vain.

  Sophie: I’m not following.

  Aoife: The other interesting thing about Eoin is that he backs up all the photos on his phone to iCloud. Every. Single. One. He has three years’ worth of pictures floating around in the ether.

  Aoife: Hold onto your hat Sophie, because I think I’m about to blow your mind.

  Aoife: …

  After waiting a handful of seconds while little eclipses danced on my screen, a picture popped up. The same picture Annie had shown me at Aidan’s party. I sucked in a breath and felt my temples throb.

  Sophie: When was this taken?

  Aoife: I told you, a little over six months ago.

  Sophie: Are you sure? There’s no date.

  Aoife: No, there’s not. Which is why I knew you’d need to see this one too.

  Aoife: …

  The next photo that hit my screen was a screen cap from Eoin’s Instagram account. Like Aoife had said, Eoin loved him some selfies. But that’s not why this was the best picture in the history of Instagram pictures. It was dated from June and to the right of Eoin’s blue steel was a grinning Maggie perched on a disinterested-looking Declan’s lap. And they were all wearing the same clothes from the picture that had caused all of this.

  Sophie: OMG. I think I love you Aoife.

  Aoife: I *know* he loves you. The question is, what are you going to do about it?

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? The problem was, I didn’t have an answer.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Declan

  I was out the door and in my car, the heat turned way up to combat the icy December cold snap, when my phone rang, the screen showing Liam dressed in full drag on Halloween.

  “What?” I barked, sending the call through my car’s Bluetooth speakers.

  “Jaysus, that’s no way to greet the man who’s about to save your ass,” he shot back.

  “Sorry,” I replied automatically. “Look, I’m in the car. And what do you mean you’re about to save my ass?”

  “I really fucking hope you’re on your way to the stadium,” he answered, “because if not, we’re both in deep shit.”

  My eyes darted to the digital clock above the rearview mirror to find it was later than I thought, but not so late that I couldn’t drive out to Ballycurra, grovel at Sophie’s feet, and be back in Dublin in time for the match.

  And that was the exact moment I remembered a pre-match dog and pony show for some sponsors and their guests. When we’d been told our attendance was mandatory, a few of us had pushed for it to happen after a weekday training session but the team’s management chain decided the experience would be better if it was tied to the excitement of an actual match. In other words, the sponsors would be more invested in opening up their pocketbooks the next time someone hit them up for cash if they got to see us on an all-important game day.

  I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  “I take it that’s a no,” Liam groaned.

  Before I could tell him where I was, he was already working through how to buy me time to backtrack to the city. “Look, you’ve got an hour before the luncheon starts. Can you be here in thirty minutes? That’ll give you time to park, get in here, and get into your suit.”

  “I can try, but it’ll be close.” I scanned the road for oncoming traffic and then flipped a U-turn before gunning the six-cylinder engine in hopes of making up some time.

  Twenty-seven minutes later I slammed my car door and jogged through the player entrance to find Liam pacing.

  “That was quicker than I thought it’d be,” was all he said as he turned to walk down the corridor toward the changing room.

  For the first time in a couple of weeks I actually smiled. “I’m pretty sure I gave some old guy out walking a bunch of tiny dogs a heart attack when I zoomed past him doing a hundred and forty.”

  My unaffected smile must have taken Liam by surprise because now he was looking at me curiously.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You sober?” he probed, deflating the momentary slice of happiness I’d achieved.

  “Fuck you, Liam.”

  He stopped and rested his hands on his hips. “Look Declan, you’ve shown up to the last few practices either hungover or still drunk. The lads have covered for you as best we could, but people are getting suspicious and I don’t want your bullshit blowing back on me. So if you’re drunk, you need to tell me now so we can figure out a way to get you out of this thing.”

  I stared at him, unblinking, for a few seconds. Enunciating every word, I asked, “Do I sound drunk to you?”

  His eyes flicked over my face and lingered on my pupils. “No, you don’t.”

  “Good, because I’m not.”

  “Good.” He nodded, case closed. “Let’s go then.”

  Falling in line next to him, we walked a few steps before he turned his head to me and with a snicker, said, “Nice beard by the way, but you’re gonna get so much shit about the hair.”

  I ran my fingers through my overgrown locks, long enough to pull back into a man bun. A small man bun, but a bun nonetheless. Feigning ignorance, I asked, “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Only the fact that you’re not perfectly primped and coifed.”

  “When are you going to give
it a rest?” I asked, not at all chuffed by his teasing.

  It was a jab I’d heard for years, ever since some fans had made a big deal about how the state of my hair directly impacted our team’s win-loss record. Apparently, when I had a good hair day we won, and when my hair sucked, so did we. I once shaved my head mid-season to prove there was nothing to their superstition, but then we’d lost three games in a row and all hell broke loose. The lads begged me never to do something so foolish again.

  “What does Sophie think about the new look?”

  I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  I needed to thank Aidan for not airing my dirty laundry with the team. Not that I didn’t trust him, but given the way everything had happened, I thought for sure they’d all know by now.

  “Wait, is that what all this has been about?” he asked, opening the door and motioning for me to step through. “I just figured the pressure had gotten to you and you were having a little meltdown.”

  Under normal circumstances, his words would have sent a spike of anger through me but I couldn’t think about them now. Because I had much more important things I needed to be doing than explaining my recent foibles to Liam. Like correcting them.

  I held up my finger. “Can you give me a minute? I have to make a call.”

  He stared at me skeptically before finally answering, “One minute, that’s all.”

  “Cross my heart.” I gestured over my chest as I walked backward down the hall.

  Stopping a few meters from the press room, I searched the lower levels of the stadium for a quiet place where I could call Sophie, but with the meet and greet starting in a few minutes there were more people than usual milling about. I tried the handle of every door I came across, finding most locked. Finally, nearly back at the building’s entrance, I located an empty broom closet and stepped inside.

  My hands shook as I scrolled through my contact list. After almost dropping the phone twice and then hitting the wrong number, I set my phone down on a nearby shelf and clenched and unclenched my fingers. While it was my feet that had first made me famous—specifically, the one I kicked with—I also had some of the steadiest hands in Irish rugby. I grimaced, wondering what people would think if they could see me now, someone who could barely keep his phone from falling to the ground.