Chapter 26 Sam
SAM
“Sorry, shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I exclaim, realizing I’m still holding the book.
“I didn’t sleep well last nigh—you don’t care about that,” I say, walking to the nightstand to put the book back where I found it.
Embarrassed that she found me with it. “Sorry, you got me interested in the…” I gesture at the book and step away from the bed, feeling awkward beyond belief.
Rosie holds her hand up, and the next words, more apologies, die on my lips.
“Stop apologizing for reading my book. And I can see how tired you are. Is that why you were such an asshole this morning?”
I love that she doesn’t beat around the bush. She doesn’t coddle me, doesn’t handle this with kid gloves. She calls me right out on my behaviour.
“I can’t blame a lack of sleep for that. I don’t have an excuse, but I do regret it.”
She crosses and then uncrosses her arms, aggressively fidgeting as if she’s keeping herself from saying or doing something she’ll regret.
That won’t do though. “I know this morning was probably not what you expected. Say what you’re thinking,” I urge.
“I don’t expect anything from you, Sam. I mean, I’m not even sure why we’re having this conversation right now.
You and I had some fun, probably needed by both of us, and that’s all it was.
All it can be.” I hate that what she’s saying is true and it feels like the air is being slowly sucked out of the room.
“My concern wasn’t for me. The guys had been joking about you taking off, and well…
” She worries her lip and looks away from me.
“Maggi already thinks the world of you.”
“I think the world of her too,” I say, unsure if I’m talking about just Maggi or Rosie too. It’s a dangerous thought regardless.
She nods. “That’s obvious, and it means a lot that you’ve made time for her. I know kids can be a lot.” She has switched to twining her fingers nervously, and I desperately want to reach out and take her hands. “Just…promise me you’ll say a proper goodbye at the end of this.”
Her words hit me harder than any of the tackles I spent nearly two decades taking. Yet another reminder of what this is. I keep needing those apparently.
I move toward her slowly, ready for her to step back. She doesn’t. She stands her ground, her chin raised defiantly as I close the distance between us.
“I’m not going to leave without a goodbye.” I tell myself not to touch her, but then my hands are sliding along her jaw, her breath stuttering at the connection. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”
She stares back at me, unflinching, hard, confident. Then her hands come up and wrap around my wrists, and I ready for the inevitable of my hands being ripped from her face. But she surprises me and holds steady.
“I was an asshole earlier,” I admit. I swallow, not sure whether or not I want to go deeper.
But she feels safe. Like I can be fully honest, and she won’t shut me out.
“I was diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder just over a year ago.” I watch her eyes widen and her lips part, but I continue speaking before she can verbalize any pity.
“I’m on a new medication, and would you believe me when I tell you that a side effect is depression?
” I offer a humourless laugh because if I can’t laugh about it, I’ll cry.
“A medication to treat a disorder can actually amplify the disorder it’s meant to treat. Ass backwards, right?
Anyway, I hadn’t slept and then around three decided to take my meds to see if they’d help.
” I wince as this morning’s encounter blurs into focus.
I know I was happy to see her. At least part of my brain was, but then there was that voice murmuring that she didn’t deserve to deal with my shit.
My instability. The meds usually do a decent job of suppressing it.
The lack of sleep seems to play a greater role than I realized, though.
“Needless to say, they took a bit longer than usual to kick in. I’m so sorry I made you feel anything but wanted in that moment.
” I pull her closer, and her hands slip off my wrists and land on my waist, curling in my shirt.
“It didn’t reflect my true feelings.” Which are what exactly?
That I want her for as long as she’ll let me keep her?
That she makes me want to look hypocrisy in the eye and say, “Yeah, and?”
“It…it was jarring,” she whispers. “You looked at me like I was taking up precious space.”
I want to tell her to take up all the space. Whatever space she’s in, it’s hers. Only hers.
“I hate myself for that. I should have stayed in the cottage. I thought the walk would help. I thought food would help. I thought…” I look at her, really look.
Blue eyes the colour of a Highland sky on a clear day, a faint dusting of freckles across her cheeks, and a dark shadow below her eyes revealing perhaps her own lost sleep and stress.
“I thought seeing you would help. I didn’t anticipate that I wouldn’t really be able to see you.
I don’t know how to explain it. My thoughts are so ugly when I’m like that.
It’s as if they pull a veil over reality.
And sometimes it’s easier to just let things be veiled. Especially when I haven’t slept.”
“Thank you for telling me. I know you didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”
I know I didn’t have to say a thing. I could have let this desire fizzle out. Offered a cold goodbye, hid away in the cottage, and gone back home where I’d berate myself for weeks until I forgot about her.
“Being honest with you was the only option, Rosie,” I say, a spark of happiness dancing across my chest as her cheeks turn pink.
“It took years for me to be honest about things. When you’re an athlete, you learn to bury physical pain so you can keep going, keep pushing.
I didn’t realize how much I was pushing down emotional pain until after my parents died.
Even then it took me a while to come to terms with the fact my low moments were happening more often than not.
Men don’t suffer from depression.” Her eyes narrow, and I chuckle.
“That’s what I convinced myself. Obviously it’s not close to the truth. ”
“Are you still going off to a remote cottage on Sunday?” she asks.
“I am,” I confirm.
“Is that what you meant by an all-expenses-paid vacation?” She looks nervous, like she’s overstepped, uncomfortable asking for clarity.
I nod. “Yeah. I didn’t know if you’d want to come along. Feels kind of selfish of me. Obviously you’re here with family, so you’ll probably want to—”
“I’ll come,” she interrupts. “Thomas and Martha were going to do things with Maggi next week. I thought about going to Germany to visit my sister, but…” She shakes her head.
“Never mind, I have time.” She doesn’t specify what she means by that.
I know she’s here for another month, but maybe she has made up her mind about the move.
A reminder that I’m going to take a week with her if that’s what she’s offering. If that’s all she’s offering.
“We leave Sunday.”
“Go, Mommy!” Maggi’s voice rings out across the makeshift pitch we’ve marked out with towels.
It’s not an ideal field to play on, but half of the guys are retired players still feeling the effects of injuries, and there is a smattering of women who said they’d play.
We aren’t playing anywhere close to full contact.
Rosie smiles at her daughter before jumping around with her teammates.
She didn’t touch the ball, but Maggi seems thrilled that her mom’s team is now winning.
I feel a lick of jealousy travel up my spine as Pierre lifts Rosie off the ground, his right hand firmly on the place I had my hand when I held her down the other night.
It’s a ridiculous reaction. Some silly part of my brain that hasn’t evolved. She isn’t mine. Pierre is in a committed relationship, and there is absolutely nothing sexual about the celebration. If he had been lifting up Colin, I would have thought nothing of it.
The next play starts as her feet touch the ground and I turn my attention back to the ball.
It’s amazing how I was always single-minded when I played.
So focused on the game that I couldn’t hear the crowd half of the time.
Now I hear every breath, laugh, and word that leaves Rosie’s body.
My team is losing, and I’m the cause of half the missed opportunities because of how distracted I am.
The most shocking part of it is that I don’t care.
When I played, a loss left me stewing for days.
Picking apart a game to figure out what went wrong and where we could improve so it wouldn’t go wrong again.
My drive and intensity kept me on every starting roster in my career.
My work ethic landed me the biggest contract ever awarded in the league, something that seemed to shock the entire country.
A Canadian, really? I was on billboards posing with models and cars, splattered in mud, drinking a fancy European beer.
Hounded in public for my autograph. Slipped more numbers than I’ll ever remember.
It had been fun at first, but the lustre of fame didn’t last long.
And it certainly didn’t carry a single sparkle back home.
I was Sean Keefer’s son. “Oh, the one who lives in Scotland?” No one at home knew I was to Premiership Rugby as Sidney Crosby was to the National Hockey League.
In the early days it bothered me. I wanted to be someone to people back home.
But as my need for privacy and quiet grew, the happier I became with just being Sean Keefer’s son the minute I stepped off the plane.
“Wake up, Sam,” Colin calls as the ball hits me in the chest and I take off running, juggling the ball embarrassingly.
“Woooo!” Maggi’s little voice calls out as I toss back to Ash, who catches the ball without a single bobble, takes three strides, and sends it back to Thomas.
I drop back, take off to the right, behind him, and accept a pass, this time getting a firm grip immediately as I stretch and dive for the try line.
My team is waiting when I stand, arms wrap around me as they jump and cheer. I give them a second of my attention then I look up and find Rosie grinning at me.
“Good job,” she mouths before turning away to get ready for the next play.
“That soaker tub is calling my name,” Colin says, stretching as we laze about after dinner.
“You’ve earned it, babe,” Sarah purrs as she wraps her arms around his neck from behind, leaning to drop a kiss on his forehead.
I let my eyes linger and then turn in time to see Rosie gasp at something Maggi does. They’re playing a card game. It’s not a real one. It’s one Maggi is making up on the spot, and Rosie and her in-laws play along as if it’s totally fine that the little bugger is clearly rigging it.
“My mom said they’re going to take Maggi to Inverness for three days after this. Dad knows some tour captain who knows all Nessie’s hiding places.” She grins.
“She’ll like that,” I muse.
“They’ve got some faerie tour booked too,” Colin adds, tipping his head back and kissing Sarah’s chin.
A weird feeling washes over me at the thought of not getting to hear all about the trip.
It’s something resembling grief but not quite as immense.
It’s like disappointment but more painful.
Time and space will help, I tell myself.
After next week, I’ll go back to the real world.
This one will fade away. All the could-bes and other imaginings of the future that I refuse to entertain will eventually stop pushing against my defences, giving up like all the other dreams I’ve had in recent memory.
“What?” I ask, knowing they’re both staring at me without having to look.
There’s silence, and then Sarah mumbles, “Nothing.”
Nothing is what it should be.
Nothing is far from what it is.