Page 151 of Trying Sophie

Chapter Forty-One

Declan

I wasout the door and in my car, the heat turned way up to combat the icy December cold snap, when my phone rang, the screen showing Liam dressed in full drag on Halloween.

“What?” I barked, sending the call through my car’s Bluetooth speakers.

“Jaysus, that’s no way to greet the man who’s about to save your ass,” he shot back.

“Sorry,” I replied automatically. “Look, I’m in the car. And what do you mean you’re about to save my ass?”

“I really fucking hope you’re on your way to the stadium,” he answered, “because if not, we’re both in deep shit.”

My eyes darted to the digital clock above the rearview mirror to find it was later than I thought, but not so late that I couldn’t drive out to Ballycurra, grovel at Sophie’s feet, and be back in Dublin in time for the match.

And that was the exact moment I remembered a pre-match dog and pony show for some sponsors and their guests. When we’d been told our attendance was mandatory, a few of us had pushed for it to happen after a weekday training session but the team’s management chain decided the experience would be better if it was tied to the excitement of an actual match. In other words, the sponsors would be more invested in opening up their pocketbooks the next time someone hit them up for cash if they got to see us on an all-important game day.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“I take it that’s a no,” Liam groaned.

Before I could tell him where I was, he was already working through how to buy me time to backtrack to the city. “Look, you’ve got an hour before the luncheon starts. Can you be here in thirty minutes? That’ll give you time to park, get in here, and get into your suit.”

“I can try, but it’ll be close.” I scanned the road for oncoming traffic and then flipped a U-turn before gunning the six-cylinder engine in hopes of making up some time.

Twenty-seven minutes later I slammed my car door and jogged through the player entrance to find Liam pacing.

“That was quicker than I thought it’d be,” was all he said as he turned to walk down the corridor toward the changing room.

For the first time in a couple of weeks I actually smiled. “I’m pretty sure I gave some old guy out walking a bunch of tiny dogs a heart attack when I zoomed past him doing a hundred and forty.”

My unaffected smile must have taken Liam by surprise because now he was looking at me curiously.

“What?” I asked.

“You sober?” he probed, deflating the momentary slice of happiness I’d achieved.

“Fuck you, Liam.”

He stopped and rested his hands on his hips. “Look Declan, you’ve shown up to the last few practices either hungover or still drunk. The lads have covered for you as best we could, but people are getting suspicious and I don’t want your bullshit blowing back on me. So if you’re drunk, you need to tell me now so we can figure out a way to get you out of this thing.”

I stared at him, unblinking, for a few seconds. Enunciating every word, I asked, “Do I sound drunk to you?”

His eyes flicked over my face and lingered on my pupils. “No, you don’t.”

“Good, because I’m not.”

“Good.” He nodded, case closed. “Let’s go then.”

Falling in line next to him, we walked a few steps before he turned his head to me and with a snicker, said, “Nice beard by the way, but you’re gonna get so much shit about the hair.”

I ran my fingers through my overgrown locks, long enough to pull back into a man bun. A small man bun, but a bun nonetheless. Feigning ignorance, I asked, “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Only the fact that you’re not perfectly primped and coifed.”

“When are you going to give it a rest?” I asked, not at all chuffed by his teasing.

It was a jab I’d heard for years, ever since some fans had made a big deal about how the state of my hair directly impacted our team’s win-loss record. Apparently, when I had a good hair day we won, and when my hair sucked, so did we. I once shaved my head mid-season to prove there was nothing to their superstition, but then we’d lost three games in a row and all hell broke loose. The lads begged me never to do something so foolish again.

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