Page 22 of Kick Out of It

“Your studs, ma’am.” She sets three boxes on the counter. “Mr. O’Leary said you wore a US size ten, so I pulled options for you.” My mouth agape, Ronan only smirks. I don’t have a chance to answer when she asks Leo, “What size shoe do you wear Mr. Knightly.”

Leo checks in with me, eyes a swirl of hope and confusion. I offer an assuring smile and he replies, “I need a six and a half, depending on the socks.”

“Perfect.” She pulls out two boxes from under her desk. “Try these on. This brand runs a little small, so you’ll probably want to go with the larger size.”

Julie gestures to a small bench area for Leo and I to try them on. Leo takes a seat, staring at the box in awe. “Mom, these are…” These boots easily cost a couple hundred euros. Being a singlemum barely making thirty-thousand pounds a year at my new job, I could never afford them.

“It’s okay, peanut. Remember when we went bowling back home? We had to borrow shoes there. This is no different.”

“Borrow?” Ronan asks with furrowed brows.

“Yes, borrow.”

Ronan’s expression softens as he barks out a laugh. “Nor, these aren’t being loaned to you.” He walks over to Julie who hands him two small duffle bags. When he returns, he drops them to the floor and kneels in front of Leo. “These are yours, mate.” He opens a duffle to pull out socks and shin guards. “Well get these on as soon as you get changed.” He places them back in the bag and hands it to Leo, then passes me the other one. “You, too, Nor.”

I sceptically open my bag, finding athletic shorts, socks, shin guards, and a Cork FC tee with Ronan’s number. “What is this?”

Ronan ignores my question and Leo’s smile splits his face ear to ear. He’s happier than I’ve seen him in years and I wouldn’t dare take this away from him, even if Ronan doting on us makes me uncomfortable.

“There are private changing rooms down to the left.” Ronan gestures down the hall. He stands and tilts his head in the same direction. There’s a sign that says ‘No Boots. Except on the Pitch.’ “Come on, we can try on the studs once you’re dressed.”

The three of us change, leaving on our regular shoes until we’re on the pitch. Ronan guides us to it, greeting several men and women we pass. He knows all of them by name, and introducesus to a few. When we reach the double doors, two Cork players are waiting outside, lighting up when they spot Ronan.

“We were beginning to think you weren’t coming!” Harris laughs. He’s a centre-forward for Cork and played brilliantly yesterday. “You must be Nora and Leo. I’m Bradley, but everyone just calls me Harris. You probably already knew that though.” He laughs nervously. “So… can we preface this whole thing as ‘off the record’ starting right now?”

Tanner Berg, a midfielder, smacks Harris with the back of his hand. “Don’t be a cu—rude. Don’t be rude.”

Palms up in defence, I laugh, “Of course.”

“I hope you don’t mind me inviting them.” Ronan rubs the back of his neck and winces. “Harris’ son is on Leo’s team, and they insisted they come along. And we’d need a sixth to keep it interesting, so I asked Berg to come, too.”

“A sixth?”

Harris opens one of the doors to the artificial grass pitch, and there’s a young boy about Leo’s age sitting on one of the benches, tying his boots. We walk in and join him to put ours on.

“Declan, are you ready?” Harris asks, then introduces us. “This is Leo, he’s your new forward. Leo, this is my son Declan, your goalie. How do we want to do this?”

“Do what, exactly?” I ask, still unsure what’s happening here.

“I’ll take Leo and Declan,” Ronan chimes in.

“Sounds good,” Tanner agrees, then asks Harris and me, “Who wants to be in my goalie?”

“Oh, I’m not playing,” I laugh.

“Please, Mom?”

“She’s wearing your number, mate,” Harris laughs. “So, I get Declan and Berg.”

“Grand.” Ronan claps his hand once and finishes lacing up his football boots.

They don’t expect me to play, right?

When he’s finished, he crouches in front of Leo and checks the toes. “These are a little tight. Let’s try the other pair.” Ronan takes out the other studs and helps Leo properly lace them.

As I continue watching their interaction, Berg nudges me with his elbow and whispers, “He hasn’t been on a date in at least a month; always insisting he’s interested in someone else every time we tried to set him up. It all makes sense now.”

“Oh, no, sorry.” I swallow hard. “Ronan and I are just friends.”

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