Page 152 of Trying Sophie

“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.

Eventually I was able to get the call to connect and as it rang, I swallowed and took a few deep breaths. I’d had a whole speech planned out for when I saw Sophie that culminated with me dropping to my knees and begging her to love me. A phone call was a whole different ball game. After four rings I realized I was going to have to wing it when her voicemail clicked over. Hearing her voice for the first time in weeks caused my chest to ache with lost time and missed opportunities.

“Hi, this is Sophie. You know the drill.”

I froze. Literally could not make a word form on my lips. Three seconds passed, then five. And then, just before the message clicked off, I said the only thing I could, the most important thing she needed to know. “Sophie, it’s me. Declan. I miss you. I know I fucked up when I said I wished I’d never met you, but I hope you can forgive me.”

I started babbling, not at all sure what was coming out of my mouth. But then an idea struck that I thought was genius. I couldn’t get out to Ballycurra, but hopefully I could convince Sophie to come to Dublin—to me.

“I don’t know what your plans are tonight, but it would mean a lot to me if I could see you after the match. If you can make it, I’ll have a ticket waiting for you at the will call gate … and then we can go somewhere and talk.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “I’m begging you. Please, baby.” I stopped speaking when my voice broke.

I hung up and held my head in my hands as my heart thumped furiously in my chest and my breath came in quick gusts. I’d done what I’d set out to do this morning, even if my approach hadn’t been ideal. Now it was up to Sophie to decide if she was willing to meet me halfway.

Five minutes later I was in the changing room, pulling a shirt over my head, when Coach McCarthy approached with Aidan, Eoin, and Liam trailing behind.

“You get yourself sorted then?” he asked brusquely.

We both knew he alluded to the mess I’d been the past couple of weeks but I appreciated he hadn’t mentioned any specifics.

“Yes sir,” I responded while he leaned forward to stare into my eyes.

They were still a bit bloodshot from my weeks-long bender and all those sleepless nights, but they were clearer than they’d been in days thanks to my newfound lease on life. Coach wouldn’t see anything to make him question my ability to play later today.

Confirming what I knew to be true, he stated, “You look better.”

While I’d been working through my shit—or rather, not working through it—Coach hadn’t once asked what my problem was and I’d never volunteered the information. Now I appreciated the quiet faith he’d shown in me when I wasn’t sure I deserved it.

The lads stepped forward, Aiden clasping my shoulder, and Coach fell back.

Turning to leave he barked, “Help him get that flowing mane pulled back so he looks pretty for the cameras!”

The last thing I heard before he stepped through the swinging double doors was a hearty chuckle and something about “ugly mugs” and “fucking dandies.”

Aidan looked at me skeptically. “That hair is awful.” He gestured in a circle over his head. “And what’s with the Grizzly Adams look?”

If anyone on the team was more of a pretty boy than me, it was Aidan Quark.

I shrugged. “I haven’t felt like shaving.”

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