Chapter 4
Finn
I catch the ball with my skull.
It bounces off my head with a dull thud, then skitters across the grass like it’s running away from my incompetence. Not my finest moment.
‘Fucking hell, Lennox!’ Brodie bellows. ‘That was aimed at your hands, not your pretty face.’
The cold air bites at my cheeks. It’s our first full-pitch session outside since the holiday break, before the first game of the year on the tenth.
The reporters on the touchline are a reminder that my life’s turned into a soap opera.
But I’m here to play rugby, not star in Coronation Street.
They point their lenses like snipers. I want to flip them the bird, but I keep the urge on a leash.
I’m a respectable man now, apparently.
I wipe mud from my face. ‘Sun was in my eyes.’
‘It’s fucking Scotland in January,’ Scottie Kerr shouts from the other side. The Rebels’ centre, my flatmate, and a gobshite. ‘There’s nae sun. Just admit you’re distracted by thoughts of your wee girlfriend.’
Snickers ripple through the lads. They’ve been at it ever since the post went live last night.
The press release and the social campaign are supposed to steer the public perception from ‘reckless serial shagger’ to ‘heartbroken man making a mistake’.
But the team doesn’t care about narratives.
They care about a good laugh and taking the piss. Can’t blame them.
‘Aye, Finn, what’s it like having a woman who knows what a book is?’ Scottie shouts, his grin wide enough to split his face.
‘Probably too much thinking for him.’ Our Number 8, James MacKenna adjusts his scrum cap. He’s usually quiet, but even he’s getting in on the act.
A few minutes later, the ball – a white and neon green blur – glances off my chest and drops. Again.
‘Lennox!’ Coach Wallace barks my name through the chill. ‘You want to play or piss about?’
He’s right. My body’s here, but my brain’s hooked on dark hair in a high ponytail and rules I’m not sure I fully understand. It’s with a pair of bossy blues that pin me down without trying. With the press of her round arse against my thigh, that soft weight when she settled in.
Don’t even dream about it.
We run the drill again. This time I’m locked in, body moving on muscle memory. Catch, pass, sprint. Repeat. Rugby’s simple when you strip away the noise. Has always been that way for me. It’s the rest of life that’s complicated.
Scottie sidles up during water break, sweat dripping from his forehead. ‘Still weird I’ve never seen that Elite Edge girl around. You’ve been hiding her under the bed, or what?’
I take a long swig to gather my thoughts. ‘We’ve been keeping it quiet, that’s all.’
‘That why you were shagging two birds in Switzerland?’
I splutter. ‘We were…on a break.’
‘A break?’ Connor Duff pipes up from behind. He’s a winger with zero filter. ‘That the one where you broke your dick trying to handle two at once?’
The water bottle crumples in my grip. ‘Fuck off, Duffy Duck.’
‘Seriously though,’ Scottie presses, ‘how’d you land her?’
‘What can I say?’ I shrug, aiming for nonchalant. ‘She loves my natural charm.’
‘And your ability to multitask,’ Scottie shoots back, dry as toast.
More laughter. Brodie, standing a few yards away, shoots me a glare that could freeze lava, then shakes his head. He’s been silent about it all, which is almost worse than the constant ribbing. He’s in on it, that’s why. But that doesn’t mean he approves.
The reporters hovering just beyond the railings are still watching us like hawks, vultures, whatever predatory bird fits. I flip my bottle and catch it, still giving them nothing. It’s not easy.
‘Must be stressful, though,’ Connor muses, ‘trying to keep track of which bits go where. Like playing Twister but naked.’
‘And with extra parts,’ Scottie adds. ‘Sounds exhausting. I get tired just imagining it.’
Coach’s whistle cuts through the banter. ‘Move!’
We jog back to position. My thighs burn from yesterday’s gym session, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in my face. I used to dish it out; now I’m the punch-line.
Doesn’t feel great, to be honest.
The drill starts. I focus on the ball, the grass, the space. Not on her serious expression when she laid out the ‘rules’ of our so-called relationship. Not on the giggle that escaped her when I made that joke. Not on how electric her hand felt in mine or how her pulse jumped when I touched her.
And not that cute rosy flare that I can’t wait to see again.
The ball sails over my head.
‘Fuck’s sake!’ Coach roars. ‘Get your head out of her lap and on the ball, Lennox!’
The team erupts in laughter.
I blow them a kiss, and I’m grinning, but they don’t know what happened, how fucked up it all is. And I intend to keep it that way.
Eventually Coach makes us run suicides. Sprint. Touch the line. Turn. Again. And again. Lungs burning, legs screaming, sweat pouring down my back. By the end, I’m ready to collapse.
‘That was a shite session, lads,’ Wallace says. ‘Hit the showers. Lennox, a word.’
The others trudge off. Coach waits until we’re alone. ‘You with us, Finn?’
‘As I said last week during the crisis meeting, one hundred per cent, Coach.’
‘Because your head seems to be elsewhere.’ He folds his arms. ‘Management’s watching you. You’ve used up all your favours, Lennox. One more fuck-up and even I can’t save you. Don’t make me regret backing you.’
My mouth goes dry. ‘I know. And I won’t.’
‘Good.’ He claps my shoulder and walks away.
The reporters start shouting questions, but I ignore them, heading for the changing room to get my stuff. Won’t make it into the shower, though. Because it’s almost time.
Right on schedule, a mint green Fiat 500 putters up to the kerb, looking like it escaped from a children’s cartoon. Theo’s car, exactly where her plan said it would be. In another life, she’d have made an excellent bank robber. The photographers lurking by the fence perk up.
‘That your girlfriend’s ride?’ Connor grins, shouldering his gear bag. ‘Seems like a Tic Tac.’
This is it. Our first public appearance as a ‘couple’. Lenses twitch and flash, hungry for the show we’re about to give them.
‘Hope she brought your juice box and colouring book.’ Connor laughs at his own joke.
Each step toward her car loads my calves with sand. It’s the cameras making me nervous, I keep telling myself, not Theo. Definitely not the fact I’m about to kiss her in public for the first time. Professionally and all that.
Through the windscreen, I spot her fussing with her ponytail.
Her fringe sits perfectly straight across her forehead.
Her coat’s the kind of green that makes her pale skin glow.
It’s true that I don’t have a type, I love them in all sizes and shapes.
But damn, she draws the eye – whether she means to or not – and I keep noticing details I normally wouldn’t.
The car door opens, and she steps out. Those serious blue eyes scan the scene, clocking the reporters, my teammates, the choreography of this moment.
‘Hi, babe,’ she says with a beaming smile, loud enough for the nearest paps to hear.
‘Hey…you.’ The two words rumble out rough in a way I didn’t plan.
We’re one foot apart. Close enough to catch the trace of sweat cooling behind her ear, sweetened by whatever body wash she uses. Skin-soft and fresh. It hits low. Blood, focus – all rushing south.
Theo looks flustered underneath her pro-facade, colour striping up her neck again.
As I said, really fucking cute.
I guess I should kiss her, that’s what boyfriends do. A quick peck to sell this show. But my legs freeze and my brain shorts out. Why am I suddenly paralysed by the thought of pressing my lips to a woman’s cheek?
Theo takes control. Her small hand cups my jaw, warm against my cold skin. She rises on her toes and presses her lips to the corner of my mouth.
Soft. So fucking soft.
My knees buckle slightly. I breathe her in too deeply – vanilla and cherries and whatever witchy thing melts all consonants off my tongue.
I find her waist instinctively and hold her, steadying us both.
For a second, everything stills. Just her mouth near mine.
Her fingers warm on my face. My whole body tight with the ache not to fuck this up.
‘You reek of PE kit in a Lidl bag’, she whispers against my cheek, still smiling for our audience.
The cameras click frantically.
I let out a rough chuckle, and it’s unguarded. ‘I thought you’d love my natural musk.’
‘Get in the car, skunk. And for the love of God, open the window.’
I fold into the passenger seat, a process that requires more leg origami than expected. My knees practically touch my nose.
‘This thing’s tiny,’ I grumble as she climbs in behind the wheel. ‘Do you keep the other half at home?’
‘Not everyone needs to compensate with vehicle size or horse power.’ She starts the engine, which wheezes like an asthmatic kitten.
‘You insulting my manhood, MacMickin?’
‘Obviously not. Just a general commentary on athletes and cars.’ She pulls away from the kerb, waving at the photographers. Once we’re out of sight, the smile drains from her face. ‘That should give them something to write about for now.’
I adjust my seat, trying to find a position where my knees aren’t jammed against the dashboard. ‘Think they bought it?’
‘Guess so.’ She keeps her eyes on the road. ‘Though next time, try not to look like I’m holding a knife to your throat.’
‘Next time…when’s that again?’
‘We have a dinner reservation this weekend. Big date night.’
‘Ah, right. The schedule.’ I scrub a hand over my face. ‘You always this organised with your boyfriends?’ It’s such a cheap attempt at prying that it almost makes me laugh out loud about myself.
‘You’re explicitly not my boyfriend.’
Of course she’s too smart to take the bait.
‘I know. Just the lad you’re snogging in car parks.’
Her hands tighten around the steering wheel. ‘That wasn’t a snog. That was merely a peck.’
‘Tell that to my dick.’
She swerves slightly. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Kidding! Christ, woman, you’ll kill us both.’
A small smile tugs at her lips. ‘Stop shitting yourself. I have a wee car, but I’m a confident and competent driver.’
Who got deliciously rattled by my very inappropriate comment. I press my lips together to hide my grin and stare out of the window. ‘So where are we going?’
‘Your place first. You’re screaming for a shower. Then we’re meeting Charlie at the Sin & Tonic to go over the interview strategy.’
‘All work and no play, MacMickin.’
She swings the car into the next turn like she’s aiming to test the airbags. ‘Unlike you, I take my job seriously. You should try it some time.’
We drive in silence for a while. The sort that makes you notice your own heartbeat, lets your mind wander, and conjures up unwanted memories. A slamming door. A phone that never rings. A man I stopped calling ‘dad’ long before he died.
Nope. Not going there.
I roll my neck and watch Duncraig’s houses blur past.
Her phone shuffles some old pop song I don’t recognise. Girl voices with syrupy harmonies. So that’s her vibe? Interesting.
‘Who’s this?’
‘The Shangri-Las.’
‘Sounds like a girl gang with matching eyeliner.’
‘Pretty much.’ Theo lets another real smile sneak in as she drums her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song. ‘So… Your teammates seem okay.’
‘Och, they tolerate me.’
‘Because you’re such an amazing flanker?’ she quips with faux awe.
‘That’s for them and Coach to decide. But I know that I’m good, aye.’
I glance at her profile. The determined set of her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows, and the lifting tip of her nose. ‘You kissed me in front of all of them and the press, Theo. That’s gutsy.’
‘As I said, it was hardly a kiss.’ She sighs. ‘Oh, boy. This is going to be tougher than I thought.’
‘C’mon. It could be worse. You could be stuck with Scottie. He farts in his sleep.’
That startles a laugh out of her. It’s a good sound. Good against dark memories. And I want to hear more of it.
‘I got the one who only makes a tit of himself when he’s awake. A real treat.’
I grin despite myself. And I got a feisty wee girlfriend.