Page 57 of Trying Sophie

The rest of the pub went eerily silent. I looked up, expecting to see an injury on the field. The cameraman zoomed in on Declan settling the ball in position before he picked a few blades of grass and tossed them in the air. For a few quiet moments Declan stared at the tee, then the posts. And then in two strides his foot connected with the ball and it sailed through the uprights and the pub erupted in cheer.

Just then Cian emerged from the kitchen carrying a heavy box of tonic water to replace the bottles we’d gone through already. Tired of feeling like an ignorant fool about a sport that was obviously important to everyone in town—including the man I may or may not want to climb like a tree—I asked him for a crash course in rugby.

“I don’t understand anything that’s happening,” I told him, pointing at the television.

He sighed and ran his hand through his thick mane of hair. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Well, for starters, why did Siobhan break out the champagne when that kid scored a touchdown.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “That was not a touchdown.”

I shrugged. “That’s what it looked like to me.”

“Rugby was played for fifty years or more before American football was invented,” he said with no small amount of disdain. “Not to mention those pussies wear pads and helmets and couldn’t take a fucking hit if their lives depended on it.”

“Fine,” I conceded, having no personal stake here. “I only called it a touchdown because that’s the terminology I’m familiar with.”

When I didn’t argue, Cian’s shoulders relaxed and the hard lines of his mouth softened. “Okay, well first off, it’s called a try, and they’re celebrating because the lad who scored grew up here. This is his first start so it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Oh, well. Good for him then.”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid,” Cian answered, but I got the sense he wasn’t really paying attention to me. “They’re already talking about him becoming one of our country’s next greats.”

I didn’t want to read too much into it, but there was a bitterness to his words that had been absent when he was simply relating the mechanics of the game.

“But they say that about a lot of us who burn out before we can reach our full potential.”

He shoved his hands deep into in his pockets and walked away, heedless of my supposed lesson.

So much for that, I thought.

“Don’t mind Cian,” Siobhan said, rounding the corner. “Match days are hard for him and he can be a bit of a dick.”

“Declan said he was good.”

“He was,” she confirmed, sadness in her eyes. Before she could say anything more, Cian came back and she clammed up. “Here he comes. By the way, he hates to be talked about so pretend I was never here.”

As I watched Cian circle the room with a frown, I came to a realization about him. From all outward appearances, he was in the physical prime of his life. But his mind and body had been honed for one thing, and it’d been ripped from him well before it should have. Now he faced a life he hadn’t planned on, while the person he’d been closest with had gone on to stardom, something he should be experiencing as well. Cian had had it all in the palm of his hands … and then suddenly he hadn’t. Everything Cian wanted, Declan had. Uncomfortably, I realized the role I played in here as well. He wanted me while I wanted Declan. Looking at it like that, I could almost understand why he’d been so crazy and judgmental.

I called Siobhan behind the bar and asked her to man my station while I went to find him. Remembering him pulling out his cigarettes that night out in the rain, I peeked my head out the door. Spying him against the wall, a bottle of beer in his hand, I stepped outside.

“Can I join you?”

He flinched when he heard my voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to harass you about leaving me on my own in there.”

I hadn’t thought to grab my coat and now I was freezing. Rubbing my hands up and down the exposed skin of my arm, my teeth chattered.

Watched me out of the side of his eye, Cian said, “I’d offer to keep you warm but I know you don’t want that.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Give it a rest, will you?” Then, more gently, I added, “I want to be your friend if you’ll let me.”

“Friends,” he said, testing the word. “And Declan?” he asked, taking another drink.

“To be honest—and I mean this in the nicest way possible—Declan doesn’t factor in to my friendship with you.”

He twisted the bottle in his large hands. “Fair enough,” he answered after a short while. “Since we’re friends and all, I really have to ask … and please think about your answer. Are you sure you want to go down that road with him?”

---