Page 72 of Ruck Me

Chapter22

EOIN

Clodagh openedthe door and waved me in. “Aoife hasn’t moved since you left this morning.”

I did a double-take. “What? I’ve been gone allday.”

“Yeah, and she’s still at the kitchen table in her robe, her head bent over her laptop.” She looked down at the brown paper bag I held at my side. “I hope that’s food for both of you because she hasn’t eaten anything either.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, making my way to the back of the house.

“Ainsley and I tried,” Clodagh shrugged, “but she mumbled something about being in thezone.”

I shook my head as she climbed the stairs, leaving me standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching my disheveled girlfriend banging away at her keyboard as her lips moved along with whatever she was typing. Every time I looked at Aoife, I was hit anew with how beautiful she was, but I’d have to be a blind man not to see that she was also exhausted.

Her faded pink hair—with roots that looked like they hadn’t seen a bottle of shampoo in days—was piled on the top of her head in a messy ponytail and she had light purple bruises under her eyes from a lack of sleep. When I’d fallen asleep last night, she’d been sitting up in bed with her computer on her lap. When my alarm went off seven hours later, the bed next to me was already cold. I’d come downstairs to find Aoife sitting in the dark, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen and a giant mug of coffee at her side. When I’d left for practice an hour later, she’d promised to try and get some rest. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.

“Please tell me you at least got up to use the toilet,” I said, stepping into theroom.

“What?” she asked, finally looking up. “You’re back already?”

I set the fish and chips on the counter. “Already? Aoife, it’s half nine. I’ve been gone almost 15 hours.”

“No way!” she exclaimed, looking at the clock hanging over the stove. “Oh shit!—” her eyes darted back to me “—I guess I lost track oftime.”

I had to stifle a laugh. Aoife looked so guilty sitting there with her eyes wide as she chewed on her lip, as if she'd been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Which, come to think of it, was true. She shouldn't be sitting in the same spot for hours on end, skipping food and showering, while she worked herself ragged. If there was one thing being an athlete had taught me it was to pace yourself and listen to your body because if you didn’t, you could burn out—fast.

I walked around the table and set my hands on her shoulders as her face dropped forward. As I kneaded the stiff, tight muscles of her neck and upper back, Aoife let out a moan of relief. “Christ, that feelsgood.”

“What are you working on anyway?” I asked, pushing my thumbs into her deltoids to work out the kinks there.

“You know that project I told you about a few weeksago?”

“Mm-hmm,” I answered, my eyes skipping over the presentation on Aoife’s screen as I pressed my fingers into her the same way the team’s massage therapist did for me when I was tight after a match. I couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, but it looked polished and professional.

“Well, he liked it so much he asked me to expand it for a full presentation to the agency’s partners and some of their marquee clients as a value-add service they want to start chargingfor.”

“That’s great.” I pressed my elbow against her flesh and dug in. I felt the muscle give way and she moaned. “But you’re working yourself to death.”

“It’s fine,” she said, twisting in her seat to glare at me over her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a couple moredays.”

I crossed my arms, ready to argue, but I knew that look—anything I said would fall on deaf ears—so instead I shook my head and sighed. “At least eat something,” I said, passing her the bag what was supposed to have been my dinner.

Pushing aside a pile of Aoife’s notes, I set the Styrofoam container down and popped the lid, the smell of salty, greasy fish wafting up to greet mynose.

“Fuck!” Aoife clamped a hand over her mouth, and the color drained from her face as her eyes grew wide and panicked. Throwing back her chair, she raced down the hall and started retching into the toilet.

My long strides eating up the distance between us, I reached her side in a matter of sections. Dropping to my knees, I rubbed her back as she heaved into the porcelain basin. When she finished, Aoife closed the lid and moved on wobbly legs toward to the sink. Cupping her hands under the tap, she rinsed her mouth out and splashed cold water on her face. When she raised her face to dry it, I caught her haggard reflection in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” I asked, pushing down my rising panic.

She nodded into the mirror and grabbed the hand towel to wipe away the water. When she turned toward me, I braced my hands on her cheeks and bent my knees, bringing us eye-to-eye. “Are you okay?” I asked again, my eyes flicking betweenhers.

Aoife cleared her throat and winced. “Yeah, I’m fine now,” she croaked, her throatraw.

“What happened?” I asked, letting my hands fall as I took a step back. I had an important match in two days. If she’d come down with the flu, I needed to gather up my things and get the fuck out of there. That was my first thought. My second was: Don’t be an asshole. Your girlfriend is sick, and you’re all she’sgot.

Aoife pressed her hand flat against her abdomen. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling queasy for a couple of days.” She shrugged, as if needing to barf for multiple days in a row was no big deal. “That’s why I didn’t eat earlier. It’s probably just nerves. This is the first truly important project I've been assigned atwork."

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