Blindsided

by Amy Daws

  My grandad didn’t know any of it was happening until I showed up at his flat in my Ranger kit and turned around to show him the Logan name embroidered on the back. The old man wept in my arms that day, and I knew without a doubt that I made the right decision. Not only will my grandad get to see me play for his team, but I’ve been able to spend as much time with him as I can between matches and trainings. I lost all of last year with him, so I won’t lose what wee bit of time I have left.

  My new teammates are good. Several of them look at me like I’m mental because they know what I left behind, and most of them wish they could have just traded places with me instead of play alongside me for this club. But I know in my bones that I’ll never regret this extra time I’ve got to spend with my grandad.

  Every night after training, I drop by for tea and talk football with him. He has a hospice nurse that’s with him during the day now, but despite his body growing weaker and weaker every day, I can see that twinkle in his eye again. Nothing lights this man up more than football, and for that, I’m glad I came.

  But practices could be better for me here. I’m struggling to find a rhythm with the team, and Coach keeps saying that it’s just the transition, and it’ll come.

  After showering, I make my way out to the players’ parking lot and do a double take when I see Roan standing next to my car.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” I ask, looking at the security gate.

  Roan’s brows lift. “I told them I was your brother, and they bought it because we clearly look so much alike.”

  I laugh and shake my head, dropping my bag on the ground to stand in front of my friend, whom I haven’t seen since his wedding day—a day that I’m sure he remembers fondly, but one I’d rather forget.

  Roan holds his hands up to stop me from hugging him hello. “Can you tell me what day it is? What year? How old are you? What’s your last name?”

  “What are you going on about?” I ask, cutting him off and propping my hands on my hips.

  Roan smiles. “I just wanted to make sure you had your wits about you before I launch into you about how truly fucked up it was for me to get back from my two-week honeymoon to find out that my best fucking friend, roommate, and teammate for the past three years is now playing for another team.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but Roan lifts his hand to cut me off. “So, of course, I assumed there had been some sort of sabotage. An evil plot against you that’s riddled with false information. So I broke down the door to Vaughn’s office and screamed at him. ‘You get rid of Logan, you get rid of me! I don’t care that I just married your niece. I’ll quit this fucking sport before I play for someone that could trade our best midfielder.’”

  “Fuck,” I growl, running a hand through my hair.

  “Yeah, fuck,” Roan repeats. “Fuck me because then, Vaughn, who can make or break my career had to tell me that my fucking best friend, whom I just offered up my life for, left the team by choice without telling me a damn thing about it!”

  I drop my head, unable to look him in the eyes. “I was going to call you when you got back.”

  “Oh, how kind of you, Mac. Thanks for throwing the dog a bone.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your honeymoon.”

  “No, just ruin my football season. Ruin our team’s season. The only reason the Harris Brothers aren’t up here dragging you home is because they were convinced you were in the middle of a mental breakdown. Because only a fucking idiot would leave a team that’s in their prime like we are right now.”

  “You don’t know the full story,” I state through clenched teeth.

  “Then tell me. Why Mac? Why would you leave now? We’ve got everything we ever wanted with Bethnal Green. Everything we’ve ever dreamt of and worked our whole fucking lives for. You’ve put football first your entire life, so why the hell are you making moves like this that don’t make any sense without talking to me about it?”

  “My grandad is dying, Roan,” I say, my shoulders slumped in defeat. “I found out that weekend we were all in Scotland.”

  Roan blinks at me in shock.

  “I’ve been visiting him every day between trainings. He’s bad, Roan. Worse than when you met him. At this rate—” my voice cracks as emotions overwhelm me. “At this rate, I don’t even know if he’ll make it to the season opener, which was the whole reason I went through all of this.”

  “Ag man,” Roan says, grabbing me around the arms and pulling me into a hug.

  And with that one touch of tender human compassion, I crumple into his arms and weep like a wee fucking babe.

  I can’t help it. I’ve been holding it all in these last two weeks…with my grandad, with my parents, my sister. I’ve been trying to be strong and make them all believe that I’m happy about this decision to come back to Glasgow. That it was an easy choice. But none of this move has been easy. I miss my friends. I miss my teammates, my coaches, my manager.

  I miss Freya.

  Fuck, I miss her so damned much, my guts are in knots every fucking day. For years I was a football player that bounced from one team to the next without a care in the world. I was the guy that could fit in everywhere. I was the man who knew how to roll with the punches. Losing Freya isn’t a punch I’ve ever experienced. Losing her has knocked me the fuck out.

  “I’m truly sorry, Mac,” Roan says, holding my shaking body against his like I’m his child, even though I have several inches on him. “I wish I’d known. I wish you would have told me.”

  “You would have talked me out of it,” I say, pulling back and aggressively swiping at my tears. “Everybody would have, and my mind was made up. I didn’t want to have to defend myself.”

  Roan nods thoughtfully. “I respect you for it, and I’m sorry to hear about your grandad. He’s a good man.”

  I nod, and a painful knot forms in my throat. “The world won’t be the same without that grumpy old git.”

  “I’m glad you’re getting some time with him. That’s important.” Roan grips my shoulder, and we share a moment of silence before he asks, “How’s your new team?”

  I glance back at the training grounds. “They all think I’m mental.”

  “Well, it sounds like they have a good read on you.”

  I shake my head and give him a shove. “How are things back at home?”

  “The team is good, finished their preseason camp already, and I’m playing catch up. But I’ll be joining in on the friendlies in a couple of weeks as a substitute now, and be back as a starter soon, they expect.”

  I nod, my jaw ticking with anxiety as I add, “And everyone else?”

  Roan’s brows pinch together. “Are you talking about Freya?”

  I nod stiffly. “She won’t return any of my calls.”

  Roan leans back onto my car and crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know much because Freya won’t open up to Allie either. Allie says she’s never seen Freya so closed off. You two are maybe more alike than you realise.”

  My brows lift curiously. “I just wish she’d answer my fucking calls. I thought our friendship was stronger than that.” I move to lean on the car next to Roan. “I can’t believe she let me moving to Scotland ruin our friendship. It’s not like I moved overseas.”

  Roan turns his head to stare at me like I’m speaking another language. “I told you sleeping with friends when feelings get involved is dangerous.”

  “Aye, you did,” I sigh, wishing for the millionth time that I could just talk to her. “And my game is suffering because of it. You’d think I was a rookie, not a seasoned vet.”

  Roan crosses his arms and ponders this for a moment. “So is it like when you and Cami split, then?”

  I shrug, wishing I had an answer to that question. His memory is right, I played like shite after Cami and I called it off. But that felt more like a me thing than a Cami thing. Once I realised it was for the best and we were better off as friends, my game improved.

  Fucking hell, this is why G
randad always said to stay away from women during football.

  “I just keep hoping Freya will come around.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Roan replies and pushes himself off the car. “Now, take me somewhere for a pint. I only have a couple of hours before I have to catch a flight back to London, and we need to sit down and figure out what the fuck you’re doing wrong on that pitch.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Just what I wanted to do this fine afternoon. Talk more football.”

  “Stop sniffing his pillow, Hercules. He’s not coming back,” I snap and then leap up off the bed as if the sheets could burn me. “It’s been over two weeks. It’s time.”

  Hercules watches me like I’m deranged as I pull the sheets off the bed and yank the pillowcases free. Ignoring his judgment, I march them straight into the kitchen and throw them in the wash, starting the load without hesitation.

  Once the wash is underway, I head into my living room and drop down onto my sofa to pull up the latest episode of Heartland. It’s time to get back to my life. Who needs a man to watch a wholesome Canadian family drama with, anyway? Certainly not me.

  My life’s not that bad really. Why bother with real-life romance when you have Netflix? And the fact that I’m turning thirty in a couple of months just means that I have disposable income for the high definition Netflix. And I can watch it in multiple locations. There are people in third world countries who don’t get to experience any of the luxuries I get to enjoy. So there. I have a leg up on the underprivileged.

  Oh, crap. That sounds terrible. I make a mental note to donate to a soup kitchen in the morning. Also, second mental note…why do even my charitable acts centre around food?

  When I can’t bring myself to watch an episode of my beloved Heartland, I walk back into my bedroom and slowly lift the pillow that was Mac’s to my nose.

  “God, I can’t get rid of him!” I walk over to the window, pull it open, and throw the damn thing out. A familiar voice shouts down below, and my eyes go wide as I rush over to see if I’ve hurt someone.

  Roan DeWalt is standing on the ground, bending over to pick up the pillow I just flung out like a psychopath. He looks up at me and asks, “Did you drop something?”

  “It wasn’t me,” I state stupidly because I’m an embarrassing idiot.

  He laughs and then tosses it into the bin beside him. “Can I come up?”

  I nod my agreement, wondering what on earth would bring Roan over here by himself. Honestly, I didn’t even realise Roan knew where I lived.

  I buzz him in and make us both a cup of tea before sitting down on the sofa beside him. It’s odd to see another man on my purple velvet couch. Roan’s sitting there holding a kitty coffee mug, and I hate the fact that all I can think about is that he doesn’t look half as good as Mac did when he sat there.

  “Everything okay with Allie?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

  Roan nods. “Ag, of course. She’s great. We had a lovely holiday.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I reply and sip my tea nervously.

  “I’m here to talk to you about Mac.”

  I nearly break the kitten mug in my hand. “I’d rather not.”

  “He’s a mess, Freya,” Roan states in a rush. “I went up to Glasgow to see him after we got back. We went to a pub before I had to catch a flight home and he’s not okay. Says he’s struggling with the team, and he’s worried if he doesn’t perform well at his friendly match tomorrow, they’re probably going to bench him.”

  “Bench him? How could they? Mac is a brilliant player, isn’t he?”

  “Normally, yes,” Roan says, setting his mug down on the coffee table and leaning towards me. “But his mind is not in it right now.”

  “I understand,” I nod knowingly. “He loves his grandfather very much. I’m sure his illness is taking its toll.”

  Roan gets an uncomfortable look on his face. “I don’t think it’s just his grandad; that’s the problem. I think he misses you.”

  “Me?” I reply with a laugh. “He’s not missing me, Roan. He’s missing me no more than he’s missing you.”

  “You’re wrong, Freya,” Roan says, his brows furrowed in sympathy. “I’ve never seen him like this. He may have gone through something similar after Cami and he broke it off, but it wasn’t this bad. What’s happening to him now is intense.”

  The mention of Cami’s name makes my teeth clench so hard that I swear I hear them crack. I don’t even want to begin to compare me to Cami. I know Mac was with her for a long time, but I have to believe that what we had was different. And hearing that our split is affecting Mac makes me feel strangely vindicated.

  Roan continues, blatantly unaware of the tailspin my emotions are going through. “You know you’re more than a friend to him even if that bull-headed Scot won’t admit it out loud yet.”

  My chin trembles at his words because bleddy hell, there goes that voice of hope again, and it’s a lying cunt. I shake my head and look out the window. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “He needs you, Freya,” Roan says in a rush. “You’re his voice of reason. His person. And he’s yours…Even though you’re both too stubborn to admit it.”

  I bark out an incredulous laugh. “So what shall I do? Fly to Glasgow and surprise him so he’ll play a good football game at the expense of my own damn heart?”

  Roan’s eyes soften. “I can’t tell you to do that. I can only tell you that your best friend is in a bad place and could use a friend.”

  Roan stands up to leave, and the tears that I thought had dried up at last return all over again.

  “My name is Freya Cook. There’s supposed to be a ticket for me?” I say into the round circle of the box office at Ibrox Stadium in Glasgow.

  The woman searches in a little box and then comes out with my ticket. My lonely single ticket. “You know it’s halftime already, right?”

  “I couldn’t get here any sooner,” I say as I take my ticket and rush through the crowds milling about for their halftime snacks.

  This is the second football game I’ve ever attended, and I’m in a city I don’t know, navigating around a stadium I’ve never been to, and I’m late on top of it. And now I’m looking for people who probably don’t even remember what I look like. Thanks a lot for the suggestion yesterday, Roan.

  “Freya!” a female voice calls out, and I look around to see Tilly’s tall model-like body striding towards me.

  “Oh good, she remembers me,” I cringe and exhale heavily, steeling myself to be friendly.

  “You got your ticket, I see,” she says with a warm smile.

  I nod timidly. “Thanks for securing it for me. It was lucky Roan had your number, or I might have been standing out there holding one of those signs asking for a ticket.” I look around nervously. “Sorry, I’m late. Stupid flight delay. I still have no idea what I’m doing here exactly.”

  She wraps her arm around me and squeezes me into her side. “You’re here to cheer on my brother and the best football team in the world.”

  I nod and let her lead me to the section where her parents and grandfather are. Mac’s mother hugs me while his dad gives me a soft smile. At the end of the aisle, my eyes land on Fergus, and my heart sinks at the sight of him. It’s only been weeks since I was here last, but he’s visibly lost weight and is so pale, it almost hurts to look at him.

  “Hiya, Red!” Fergus bellows with a big smile for me. “I saved you a seat right next to me.”

  I move past Tilly and sit down next to Mac’s grandfather, who now only faintly resembles my beloved Jack Bartlett from Heartland. “Fergus, you look like you need a whisky.”

  He barks out a laugh and then begins to cough. When he stops, he turns to me and says, “Thanks for stating the obvious, lass. It’s better than what most people do.”

  I sigh and look back at him. “What do most do?”

  His lips purse together beneath his thick white mustache. “Pretend I’m not dying before their ver
y eyes.”

  My eyes sting with tears because his candor is unexpected. I lean over and kiss his cheek. “In that case, let me be the one to tell you this fucking sucks, Fergus.”

  His chest shakes with a silent huff of laughter. “Aye, it does.” He turns to look out at the pitch just as the players come running back out after the half break. “But this…this doesn’t suck, Red. In fact, this moment here is a dream come true for me, even if he had a shite first half of the game.”

  “He didn’t play well?” I ask nervously, Roan’s fearful words obviously coming true.

  “Played like shite!” Fergus harrumphs. “His head isn’t in it. His focus is piss-poor. He doesn’t even look comfortable out on that pitch.”

  I frown nervously at the pitch, searching the players for Mac as I ask, “Doesn’t sound much like a dream come true to me.”

  Fergus turns and looks at me accusingly. “My grandson could ride that bench, and I’d still be just as proud of him as I am when he plays well. We’re not fair-weather Ranger fans, and we’re not fair-weather Macky fans. Got it, Red?”

  I smile and nod. “Got it, Fergus.”

  I turn to look back at the field, and it’s as if our eyes are pulled together like magnets when I see Mac standing on the grass looking right up at me sitting next to his grandad.

  He lifts his arms in silent question.

  I shrug and thrust my fist up into the air like I’m cheering.

  He laughs, and Fergus nudges me with his elbow. “That’s the first time I’ve seen him not look miserable down there. Maybe you’ll be his good luck charm. Do you have any luck of the Irish in you?”

  I smile and shake my head. “Not that I’m aware of. Are they as fertile as Scots?”

  Fergus’s nose wrinkles. “Not if they’re Celtic fans. Celtic fans aren’t bright enough to find the right hole.”