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“Not being the same,” I muttered.Not being good enough.

“You know how I feel about the rugby,” Mam said. “I’ve never made any secret of it, but you should know that I support you one hundred and fifty percent. I know you’re brilliant, love, and I know you’re going places. You’re a phenomenal player, and you need to remember that. It’s okay to be nervous. You’ve had a hard few months with your surgery and recovery, but know that there are other boys out there who wouldkillto play like you do on your worst days.”

“You really think that?”

“I’ve been on the sidelines watching you play since you were in the minis in Blackrock,” Mam replied. “And I can’t count the number of coaches and other parents who have come up to me, telling me that my boy was destined for the green jersey.” Smiling, she added, “I’ve always been proud of you, love, and I’ve always known you were brilliant.”

“You’ve never said any of that before,” I mused, scratching my jaw.

Mam smirked. “Because I’m still holding out hope that you’ll take up golf instead.”

“I doubt it, Ma.” I shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Well, just keep your brain safe out there,” she muttered, standing up. “Don’t be letting any of those thugs hit you on the head.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, laughing.

“And no more naked Shannon in your room,” she added, giving me a scathing look as she tossed the bra on my lap. “For clothes changing or anything else.”

50

Let’s Make Some Bleeding Babies

Shannon

Johnny had been back on the pitch a little over a week, and my anxiety was still through the roof. He was training full-time again—working his body to maximum capacity. It was terrifying to watch because I had a god-awful fear of him injuring himself, but I had to concede that it was different this time.Hewas different. He was talking now and addressing his pain, working with his physios, OTs, doctors, and trainers, and following all the orders laid down.

Panicked and nervous, I sat in the stands of Ballylaggin RFC on Saturday morning, knees bopping, as I looked on with my heart in my mouth. I clutched a disposable cup of creamy hot chocolate between my glove-covered fingers and blew into the rim, enjoying the heat of the steam as it rose and hit my cheeks. It had been hammering down with rain all day, and I was grateful to be sitting under the plastic awning in the stands.

Like always, my attention was riveted on the boy in the number 13 jersey. He had a woven cap on his head with the club logo etched on the front and a long-sleeved, black body warmer on under his training jersey. Beneath his black training shorts, I could see the white support bandage strapped to his thigh, and it made me feel a little queasy.

I watched him for the longest time, stretching and sprinting, following orders and completing drills with effortless ease.

Let him get this.

Please god, let the boy make it.

He deserves it.

He’s earned this.

“It’s a training session, Shan, not a match,” Claire chuckled, dragging me from my thoughts. “If you keep clapping every time he catches a ball or completes a lap, the lads on the team are going to give him a roasting.”

“Oh.” Mortified, I stilled my hands and tucked them under my thighs, knocking my empty paper cup off the bench in the process. “I don’t want to embarrass him. I’m just—”

“In love?” She feign-swooned and dropped her head on my shoulder. “I know.”

“Proud,” I corrected, cheeks flushed. “He’s worked so hard to get back out there.”

“And look at him go,” Claire mused, pointing to where Johnny was whizzing around the pitch like a bullet, outrunning his opposition with relative ease. “He’s on fire today.”

“Yeah.” I sagged in relief when Johnny sidestepped the big, beefy boy charging straight for him and threw the ball back to Feely, who ran straight for the posts. They all smashed against one another—Johnny included—and I groaned into my hands. “God!” Reaching up, I pulled my woolly hat down over my eyes until they had stopped pummeling each other. “I hate this sport.”

“You’re so cute.” Claire laughed softly. “So, how’d you get out of the house?”

I scrunched my nose up at the memory of Mam, screaming at the top of her lungs for me to stay inside or my father would find me, this morning when Aoife offered to drop me off at Claire’s house. If that wasn’t bad enough, Mam had followed me into the front garden, crying and wailing in full view of the neighbors. I didn’t know what she expected me to do; stay in my bedroom and rock? I didn’t feel safe there.

The truth was I was more likely to see Dad sitting at our kitchen table than at the rugby club. Besides, I wanted to support Johnny. This was huge for him, and I wanted him to know that I was there for him—regardless of what was happening in my home life. Focusing on Johnny kept the panic thrashing around inside of me at bay. Being here gave me the escape I needed. I felt like I had a purpose, like there was a reason to not lie down and cry into my pillow. Like there was a reason to fightback.

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