Chapter 28
Adjusting the Game Plan: Often called by the captain or coach when responding to the flow of the game.
Translation: Time to make my own calls.
Wolf
The line crackles, the faint hum of the Ballymun traffic outside my parents’ shop bleeding through. Mam always takes calls
out in front of the shop, and I can practically see her tall, slender frame leaning against the large display window.
“You sound tired,” she says, no hello, no easing in. Straight to business, my mam.
I rub the back of my neck, staring out at my view of Fletcher Mountain, feeling guilty over the stark contrast of our two
views right now. “Training is hard.”
“Maybe taking your law exams would have been easier?” she shoots back, sharper than I expected. Christ, I’ve only been gone
a bit over a month, and she’s already on me about this.
I blow out a breath. “I’m thinking about applying for a different kind of job out here, actually.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear her light footsteps scrape on the pavement as she paces. “What kind of job?”
I swallow, feeling like a boy again instead of a twenty-something rugby player living on my own in a new country. “A rugby
coaching gig for youths here in Denver. It’s not a lot of money, but if I get an offer from the team, the two incomes could
be decent.”
Her inhale is soft, but it lands hard in my chest. “I thought this Colorado move was temporary.”
“Well . . . getting back to Ireland is the long-term goal, but I’m not getting any calls from an Irish team yet, so . . .”
I sigh heavily at that reality, hating that I might be letting my sister down if a call from Ireland never comes, but I can’t
base my life on the hope that they’ll take a second look at me. I made my bed back home, and now I have to lie in it. At least
here, I get to keep working in the sport of rugby in one way or another.
“All that hard schooling you did just to become a coach?” My mom sounds resolute. Disappointed.
“It wouldn’t have to be forever.” I try to keep the grumble in my throat, but it comes out thinner than I’d like. “It just
feels like something I’m good at. I like helping kids, Ma. It feels important.”
“Wish it paid you like it was,” she harrumphs.
I sigh, feeling her dissatisfaction. “Maybe it’s a bad idea.”
She pauses for a moment, and her tone lightens when she asks, “Does this mean you like it over there?”
“Yeah, I do,” I reply, the words heavy in my chest. “I like my team too. Fergie has become a proper mate.”
“What about the host family?” she asks robotically.
I smile as I picture Trista and Stevie and all the rest of the family toddling around the mountain, living their lives. I
pass Luke and Addison taking Levi out for walks in the stroller, Calder walking his bleedin’ cats in these contraptions on
his chest, Wyatt feeding carrots to his goat and all the other animals nearly daily. It’s a good life up here on Fletcher
Mountain. It’s no wonder I’ve felt inspired to lay down some roots.
Then there’s Everly.
Fuck.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as Everly’s face instantly floods my vision.
It’s been three weeks of our casual no-label situationship or whatever you call it, and her bleedin’ ripped sweatshirt is still hanging on the back of my bathroom door.
It’s pathetic how I stare at it every day while I’m in the shower.
How I notice that it still smells like her.
I tell myself I’ll return it, but the truth is, I like the presence of her in my space.
No matter how hard I try to keep things casual this summer, she’s wormed her way into my space.
My routine. My head. And if I’m honest—and Christ, I hate admitting this—I don’t want that sweatshirt gone. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“The family is decent. They treat me better than I deserve.”
“I doubt that,” Mam says, her tone terse. “You’re a good boy, Conri.”
“That’s debatable,” I laugh dryly as I take a deep breath in. “Do you think I’m foolish for applying for that job?”
“Yes.” She sighs heavily. “And no.”
My brows furrow.
“If it makes you happy, I suppose that’s worth something.”
My throat tightens. My ma doesn’t use flowery language like this with ease. This is as close as we’d get to an I’m proud of you.
“What about Cliona?” I ask, my voice grave.
“What about her?” she snaps, and I can feel tension crawling through the line. I’ve always played a bit of a middleman between
my mam and Cliona. They can often be like two lionesses battling to be queen of the pack. It’s why Cliona and I are so close.
I’m her protector, helping the two of them communicate when things get rough. Our ma means well, but her delivery can set
my sister off.
“Are you letting her be happy?” I ask, my tone firm.
“ ’Course I am. What do ya mean by that?”
“Ma, she’s doing brilliantly for Leinster. You need to let her off the law exam hook as well.”
“Oh, fine, then. Both of you are grown now and know better than your da, and I, is that it?”
“No, I’m just saying that we need to start making some of our own decisions about our future. We’ve got a good education, and that’s in large part thanks to you two. That’s a foundation that will help us wherever we go. But at some point, we have to find our own way, don’t you think?”
She grunts out a noise that doesn’t sound altogether bad. “I suppose so.”
I smile because this is as big a victory as I’ll ever get with my mother. The woman is hard and soft at the same time. She’s
a good mam, even if she never fully embraced this rugby world of ours.
I know she’s disappointed that I don’t want to continue down the law pathway that she and Da urged me and Cliona to take.
Da might even be furious. But had I not been raised by my hardheaded, determined, and hardworking parents, who I have always
wanted to make proud, I may not have been confident to pursue anything other than their dreams.
But I can be more than a lawyer, even if it won’t ever pay as much. And whatever I do will still be meaningful.
“I miss ya, Ma,” I say because it’s the truth, even if our relationship is a hard one at times.
“I miss you too, Conri,” she says, her voice soft. “I just want you to be happy.”
I smile warmly. “I’m working on that.”