Blindsided

by Amy Daws

  “Not this season,” he replies sadly, shaking his head. “You’ve changed this season, Macky.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my heart sinking at the tone of his words. Words that I don’t want him to have on his mind during his last days here on earth. Doesn’t he know that I’ve done my best to make him proud? To live up to everything he taught me since I was a wee lad? He must know.

  “You don’t love playing here in Glasgow. Ever since you transferred, you haven’t been yourself. It pains me to see you like this.”

  My head jerks back. “I’m happy to be here. I mean, aye, I’ve had a rough go of it this season with the team, but I’ll turn things around. You know I will.” My words are a half-truth because what I’m not telling him is how this has been the hardest transition I’ve ever experienced in all my years of playing football, and I’m killing myself to get my focus back.

  He swallows slowly, wincing as he attempts to sit up. “I just hate how unhappy you are here when I know you wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Grandad,” I state, releasing his hand so he can sit more comfortably. “I’m here because I want to be. You’re important to me. You have to know that,” my voice cracks and my eyes begin to burn with unshed tears as I force out the next words. “I would do anything for you. You’re my hero.”

  Grandad’s eyes go red around the edges as moisture pools in his eyes. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose before placing his hand on top of mine. “But I’m not what’s most important in your life anymore. And neither is football, for that matter. I know I said I had no regrets in my life, Macky, but that was a lie.”

  The pained look on his face guts me because I know that it’s not physical pain he’s feeling, but emotional. “What are you talking about?” I ask, feeling my brows furrow in confusion.

  He heaves a heavy sigh and stares up at the ceiling, blinking several times slowly before replying, “Ever since your gran died, I haven’t stopped thinking about all the things I should have done with her. I should have bought her more flowers. Showered her with wee presents, shown her my love more. Hell, I should have sat my arse on that sofa and watched her favourite programs on the telly instead of watching football all the damn time.”

  Suddenly, memories of Freya’s face when I bought her those carnations flash through my mind. The wee smile she gave me when she opened her kitty coffee mug. The unexpected way she cried when we delivered those rescue kittens. My heart begins to pound in my chest when I recall the hours upon hours we spent on her sofa talking about nothing and watching that ridiculous show, Heartland.

  I glance down to see my hands are now clenched into fists, my palms slick with sweat as I uncurl my fingers and dry them off on my jeans, my mind reeling over everything I walked away from.

  Grandad’s shaky exhale pulls my attention to him as he rubs the pads of his fingers along his forehead. “When I look back on my time with your gran, I wish I would have done a lot more of nothing with her. I wish I would have been content to be fat and happy with her.” He lowers his hand and looks at me seriously. “It’s a very special thing when you can find a lass that you can be fat and happy with.”

  His colourful words make me smile. “But you made Gran happy. Anyone could see that.”

  “Aye, I know. But as my time comes to an end, I can tell you with absolute certainty that football is the last thing on my mind.” He looks at me, his eyes wide and pleading as tears form in the depths of them. “I’ve steered you wrong there, Macky. Since you were wee, I’ve been telling you to stay away from a woman because she could be a distraction. But I never meant for you to stay away from the woman.”

  My mind spins as it tries to play catch up with everything he said. Is he talking about Freya? Shaking my head in disbelief, I swallow, trying to wet my very dry tongue when I ask, “What do you mean the woman?”

  He tries to turn slightly so he can see me better, and the movement looks like it hurts him. He reaches out to squeeze my wrist as he replies, “The woman who makes you want to give it all up. Like when your dad met your mum.”

  I sit back in my chair, gripping the back of my neck as I process what he’s saying. “You always told me that Dad threw his career away when he met Mum. You said he walked away from a major opportunity.”

  Grandad blinks slowly, his lips pursed in disappointment. “Aye, he did, but do you think he regrets it for a second?” he asks, his eyes flaring with mischief.

  I huff out a small laugh. “I should hope not, considering I’m the reason he quit.”

  Grandad smiles beneath his mustache. “Exactly. He met his lassie at eighteen. And you’ve met yours now…in Red.”

  I blink rapidly at the words that just came out of his mouth and reply, “Grandad, Freya and I aren’t together. We’re not even speaking anymore. I’m…I’m not in love with her.”

  “Are you truly this thick-headed?” He shakes his head, his hand closing into a fist as he gently taps the side of the bedrail. “Macky, I love you, boy. God, do I love you. But it amazes me that you are so great at seeing the big picture on the pitch, but you cannot see it when it comes to your own life.” He pauses, his eyes taking on a tender look of sympathy before he whispers, “You’re heartbroken, lad.”

  Suddenly, he begins retching, and I stand to help sit him up, propping an extra pillow beneath him before handing him a drink of his water. He takes a small sip and several deep breaths for a moment before grabbing my arm and refusing to let me sit back down. “I saw the way you looked at her at the Highland Games and when she showed up at your match. You’re in love with that girl if ever I’ve seen love.”

  My face bends at his words. “You can’t know that, Grandad. I’ve never even been in love.”

  “Of course you’re in love with her, you wee idiot!” he fires back, his voice gruff and unapologetic. “You’ve been playing like shite here in Glasgow, not because you’re at a new club or because I’m dying. You’re miserable because you don’t have that bonnie freckle-faced lass in your life to keep your head on straight. I’ve seen the loss of her in your eyes these last couple of months, and it guts me to the bones.”

  He reaches out and presses his cool palm to my hot cheek. “I knew you loved her the moment you introduced me to her, and every moment after, when you would find ways to bring her name up in conversation. I thought you’d been happy your whole life out on that football pitch. But I was wrong. I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re looking at her. I’m mighty grateful I lived long enough to see that.”

  A painful knot forms in my throat over the tender look in his teary eyes. I’ve lived my whole life to make my grandad happy, but this is the first time I’ve realised he’s lived his whole life to make me happy. What a pair we make.

  And is he right? Could I really be in love with Freya? I know I miss her, but is that love? My voice is resigned when I whisper, “I’ve hurt her, Grandad. I’ve hurt her badly. Said things I can’t take back.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he says, slapping my cheek with a fond smile before grabbing my shoulder. “You’re a stubborn Scot, just like me.” His face grows serious again. “But it’s not words that matter in the end. It’s actions. She’s your big picture, Macky. Don’t let her out of your sight, or I promise, you’ll live to regret it.”

  “Can you help me take a full-body photo of myself?” I ask Allie the minute she walks upstairs into the loft area of my office at Kindred Spirits. This space once housed men’s and women’s clothing at various stages in the alteration process and is now chock-full of dog and cat clothing samples.

  “The samples are in from China?” Allie squeals, rushing over to the sewing table and picking up a little plus-sized, cat-shaped highlander kilt. “Shut up! This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I bite my lip as I glance at the tartan longingly. I almost didn’t pattern that design because it hurt too much. But I had scraps from Mac’s fabric, and before I knew it, I was cutting the plaid
and dying to see Hercules in it.

  Ignoring the ache in my chest, I walk over and sift through the pieces with her. “The factory didn’t do too bad with my patterns, did they?” I pick up a green tutu dress sample made for a large dog and add, “There are a few that I couldn’t fit on Hercules last night, so I have to go through those few and figure out where we went wrong.”

  Allie’s wide blue eyes turn to me. “Did you get some videos, I hope?”

  I smile and nod. “Yes, Hercules just laid there like a corpse. It was darling.”

  Allie claps her hands excitedly. “Great. Hold onto those until we have purchase links.”

  “I know, I know,” I reply and then drop the dog outfit onto the table. I grab Allie’s arm to direct her focus back to me. “As I was saying, I need you to take a full-body shot of me. We can go out back and take it in the alley behind the shop.”

  “Why do you need a full-body photo of yourself?” Allie asks, her eyes narrowing.

  “Because I made the mistake of just doing a headshot the last time I tried Internet dating back in Manchester, and it turned out horribly.” I turn and mindlessly play with the tutu fabric on one of the puppy outfits. “I actually had a bloke meet me at a pub, take one look at me and say, ‘There’s curvy, and there’s fat. You, my dear, are fat.’ That was before he called me Piggy and stormed out.”

  Allie gasps, her hand reaching out to touch my arm. “What the hell?”

  I cross my arms and turn to face her. “So it’s no wonder why it’s taken me this long to try it again.”

  Allie shakes her head and then her brows furrow. “So, why are you suddenly so ready to try online dating again?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” I state, turning and resting my arse on the sewing table. “Maybe because I’ve lost a few pounds and gained a bit of confidence? Maybe because I’m going to be thirty in three weeks, and I want to get my photos in while I can still say I’m a hot twenty-something?”

  Allie mirrors my position and nudges me with her shoulder. “Or maybe it’s because you’re going through one of the most painful breakups of all time, and you think if you survived that asshole, you can survive another?”

  I level her with a glare. “Mac and I would have had to have been a couple for us to break up, Allie. We were never a couple. End of story.”

  I hold out my phone to her, and she shakes her head. “Don’t you think you’re rushing into this? It’s not even been two months since you went to Mac’s game. I still think he’ll come around.”

  I huff out an incredulous laugh. “Allie, I’m done waiting around for things to happen to me. Mac said a lot of horrible things to me in his car that day, but there was a shred of truth to some of them.” I replay the scene in my mind for the millionth time, and it still stings because we were clearly on two completely different pages. “I would have probably dropped everything and gone with Mac to Glasgow if only he’d have asked. I would have done long distance with him, or maybe even taken a break and waited to see how the year apart went. I would have made a lot of sacrifices to be with him, but I never said any of that because I was too terrified to ask for what I want.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “I want to be happy!” I exclaim, that familiar ache in my throat returning every time I think of Mac. “When all this with us started, it was supposed to be casual. I just wanted not to be a virgin before my thirtieth birthday. And I just wanted a date for your wedding. But then things changed between us. You all saw it in Scotland. We weren’t just friends anymore. We were more. And now that I’ve had a taste of what true intimacy is, I want it. I want it with someone who knows me and challenges me and desires me. I want it more than just a great job and a great pet. I want it all now; rejection be damned.”

  Allie smiles affectionately. “You deserve it all, Freya.”

  I nod, my mind drifting through blips of everything I experienced with Mac and wondering what it would be like to have that with someone else. I can’t even imagine it yet. My memories with Mac are still so strong, so bright, so overpowering.

  I sigh heavily and add, “I’m also ready to stop being the perfect bridesmaid just because I’m single.”

  Allie juts out her jaw defensively. “Your singleness had nothing to do with you being in my wedding.”

  I lift the corner of my mouth into a smile. “I know, but if I had a boyfriend or a husband or a family, you and I might not have had time to become friends.”

  “Well, if that’s true, I’m glad your love life is shit because I can’t imagine not having you as a friend,” Allie says as she shoves me playfully.

  I turn and wink at her. “I’m glad you had a scandalous sex tape released of you and Roan, so you and I had the opportunity to connect on such a deeply personal level.”

  Allie’s jaw drops. “Too soon for sex tape burns!”

  I lift my hand to cover my mouth. “But you’re married now!”

  “It doesn’t matter!” she shoots back, joining in my laughter. “It will always be too soon for sex tape jokes, okay?”

  “Okay,” I smile fondly at her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Now, will you please get on with taking a full-body photo of me while I’m holding a book for scale so men can really grasp the actual circumference of my arse?”

  “With pleasure.”

  Funerals.

  Fuck them.

  Fuck the lot of them.

  They can go to fucking hell.

  Fuck cancer.

  Fuck old age.

  Fuck sympathetic looks.

  And fuck football while I’m at it because on top of the stellar few months I’ve had, I’m currently nothing but a substitute, riding the bench most games and playing the worst season of my life.

  It’s yet another rainy day in Scotland as my sister, parents, and I stand beneath black umbrellas alongside the gravesite of my grandad, Fergus Mackenzie Logan. A piper bellows “Amazing Grace” as the coffin is lowered into the ground alongside my gran. The two of them will be resting in eternal peace together now, I expect.

  I think that’s where my grandad has wanted to be since he lost her over three years ago.

  There was a lot I learnt about Fergus Logan at the end. He was in that hospice cottage for two full weeks, and the closer he got to death’s door, the more he shared about Gran. He shared stories about their time together at the bed and breakfast. He told me about the holidays they would go on together and the football matches she would let him drag her to. He told me how happy they were to become grandparents and how fond they were of Tilly and me from the moments we were born.

  Everything he shared reaffirmed all that he said to me from the hospice bed the week prior. All my life, I’ve always thought my grandad worshipped football above God and Gran. But sitting with him as he lay in bed, struggling to breathe, and calling out to Gran in his final minutes on earth, made me realise how wrong I was all these years.

  He was a man in love with his wife.

  We ride in a black car to my parents’ house in Dundonald, where the funeral reception is taking place. My sister is weepy the entire ride while I have yet to shed a tear for the man I loved as much as my own father. It’s a strange thing because I’m not a lad who holds his tears back. In fact, I like a proper cry when the moment calls for it. Grandad always told me it was better to get that salt out of your eyes than have it festering in your belly.

  Grief is a strange, wicked creature.

  The house is brimming with locals who all want to talk about football with me. Considering I’ve been demoted to a non-starting player, I can’t stand there and bear it without ample tumblers of whisky.

  Eventually, I grab a bottle of whisky and head upstairs to hide out in my childhood bedroom, draping myself over the small twin bed as I look at all the football memorabilia stuck to my walls. Christ, has my life ever been about anything other than football? Freya’s words from my car echo in my ear about how I could have joined the circus, and my grandad would have be
en equally as proud.

  At the time, I couldn’t believe her.

  Now, I know that she was right.

  What a surprise, Freya Cook is smarter than me once again.

  A knock at my door has me sitting up, throwing my legs off the side of the bed. “Come in.”

  Tilly appears, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “Hiding?”

  I nod.

  She comes inside, closes the door, and sits down beside me. “If I have to hear one more question about who I’m dating these days, I’m going to scream.”

  I huff out a small laugh, but don’t bother even trying to smile. “If I have to hear one more tip on how I can get my starting position back, I’m going to kick a hole in the wall.”

  Tilly tilts her head and rests it on my shoulder. “Why do people presume to know what we care about most in life?”

  Her question draws my eyebrows together. “Are you telling me your life’s dream isn’t to have a boyfriend?”

  She elbows me in the ribs. “Are you telling me your life’s dream isn’t to be a football star?”

  My voice is flat when I reply, “I thought I already was a football star.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not your dream, Macky.”

  My brow tightens further, and I look down at her. “What is my dream then, wise wee sister?”

  She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks over at me. “You just want to be content and happy.”

  My brows lift. “Is that so?”

  She nods. “You’ve spent your whole life people-pleasing because you’re so worried about making someone unhappy. Now that grandad is gone, it’s time to make yourself happy.”

  I internalize that reply, feeling an ache in my belly because the one person whose happiness I didn’t take care of is the one person I care most about in this world. Tilly stands up and walks back over to the door. “Also, Freya is downstairs.”