Page 12 of Mob Saint

I don’t think I snapped at him, but he not only leans away from me, he frowns and nods.

“Why do you call me that? It’s the second time.”

“I shouldn’t have. I apologize.”

He looks toward his team’s bench and where his stuff is. I see a water bottle beside his bag. I don’t know what possesses me, but I put my hand on his forearm.

“I accept the apology, but it isn’t what I wanted. And it doesn’t answer why.”

“We have a thing about shortening names in my family. I guess I did it out of habit.”

Another lie.

“You should get a drink while there’s time.” I hold up my bottle. “Thanks again.”

He’s relieved I gave him an out. I watch him walk away. The muscles in his legs flex with each step. He’s definitely not a man who skipped leg day. His shirt pulls tight around his biceps when he lifts the bottle to squirt water into his mouth, then on his face. He checks his laces before walking over to where most of his team’s gathered. There’s a knockout brunette who just stepped next to him. They know each other well. I can tell from here. I see his smile. It’s a gut punch.

I force myself over to my team to join the huddle. I’m only half listening. Who was the woman? Maybe I’ve misread every cue I thought he gave. Maybe he really is just that nice outside of work. I aim for subtlety as I watch them walk to the field together. She nudges him with her elbow, and he shakes his head while grinning. She bumps her shoulder against his, and he’s still shaking his head. Then they split, so she can walk to the goal and her position by it. His smile’s more subdued when we’re facing each other.

Then I’m in my happy place. I skirt around him as I move to my position parallel the center and right forwards. Our opponents have noticed the plays that’ll give me the ball, so I’ve got at least two people on me at a time. I get it after a sprint to beat one of their defenders. Hours upon hours upon hours upon hours of drills mean I move with the ball without thinking about each step. My feet move independently from the rest of me. I flick up the ball, sending it behind and around my left heel until I can kick up higher enough to lift it with my knee then send it where I want with a header.

That’s not banned, just like slide tackles aren’t—but are highly discouraged and frowned upon. But plenty of leagues do. Kids aren’t supposed to use the move at all in most leagues, but I’ve already done whatever damage is going to happen after twenty-seven years of playing.

I started when I was four, and I’m thirty-one now. The soccer field is the only time my mind isn’t worrying about something, anxious about something, planning something. It’s blank besides the plays. I don’t know what I would do if I had to give it up. I’ve watched Seamus, and I think he’s the same. He asked if I talk to myself while I play. I do. He knows because he does it too.

We finish the game one-zero. I shot the only goal. Seamus’s team clearly learned after we hosed them. I heard some of them talking as I walked by at halftime. They said we tricked them by having a fatty as a ringer. They didn’t expect the star player would be an overweight woman in her thirties. It stung, but Gareth’s said way worse, and I know his friends have not so subtly done it too. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. I’m used to his cruelty.

“You coming out for drinks, Tiernan?” Suze grins at me, and I can’t help but smile in return. We’re not super close, but we’re friends who hang out beyond soccer practice and games. The trial’s over, so I planned to drive down to Trenton in the morning. I have to deal with the O’Briens, so I’d rather get it over with. I wanted to set off early, but I don’t want to go back to my apartment with nothing to do while I know others are having fun. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but tonight, the thought bothers me.

“Yeah. Let me grab my stuff. I’m going to wash my face too. I feel sticky. Where are we going?”

“McGinty’s. It’s an Irish pub. It’s?—”

“I know where it is.”

“Have you been? It’s the best Irish place in the city.”

“No, but I’ve heard about it.”

I’ve heard about it because Seamus’s cousin Finn owns it. It’s the last place anyone affiliated with the O’Briens should go right now. I need out of this. I’ll text her when I get to my car and say something came up. I can’t back out now. Fucking hell.

As I approach the restroom, I have to pass Seamus and his teammates. He’s speaking to that woman again. I force myself not to bottleneck like it’s a crash on the GW Bridge. But she leaves his side to speak to two other women, who do nothing to lower their voices as I walk past. They don’t care who hears them, and I don’t think they even notice me.

“Who knew someone that obese could be so fast?”

Okay. I’m heavy enough to be obese, even if I’ve only gone up three clothes sizes in the last few years. It’s not like I’m being featured on My 600-lb Life.

“I say good for her. She’s trying to get healthy.”

I suck in a breath as I walk past the women who don’t see me. I keep looking straight ahead. Besides the weight gain, I am healthy. My resting heart rate is as low as it was in college when I trained four hours a day. My blood pressure is low enough nurses often ask if I’m okay. And I could eat fast food for three weeks straight, and I’d still get a near-perfect cholesterol count. Fuck her.

“I know a guy on the Trenton fire department. I was telling him about her after the last game since I heard about her testifying at Seamus’s case. He said her husband left her after a year for her friend after she got fat.”

That stops me in my tracks.

“Stella!”

I turn to see Seamus barreling toward the last woman who spoke. The one he was just buddy-buddy with. He’s pissed. He doesn’t raise his voice again, but we can all hear him.

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