Chapter 4
Ryan
Ian insisted on going out for breakfast before we left, in that café that he says is really good, just down the road from his house. I hate breakfast, it’s the most pointless meal of the day. A black, unsweetened coffee is the only thing you need to wake up your brain and get you on your feet.
Today is my first away game with the team, and even though I’m trying to hide my nerves, I have to admit it isn’t easy to slot yourself into such a tight-knit group – especially for a guy like me. Even though I’ve known some of the guys for years, basically since I started playing.
On top of that, Ian’s on the team too, and playing alongside my brother puts me under even more pressure.
He’s one of the best on the team, a reference point for the other players.
This doesn’t surprise me – Ian evokes trust and security, and definitely has a much more likeable temperament than me, especially since he’s been with Riley.
He’s practically the only person I get along with, the only one who can put up with my shitty personality and my unnerving quietness.
I’m someone who doesn’t talk much, and who listens even less. Not that I’m a cold person: I just don’t like it when people piss me off while I’m trying to do my own thing.
We all live in Santry, the same neighbourhood we grew up in – including, unfortunately, that bastard.
It’s basically like going back to our roots, as if we never really grew up.
I live in the Parklands residential area, with everything you could need right on your doorstep: supermarkets, corner shops, a gym, a pool, take-aways.
Everything needed for someone who doesn’t have time to go into town, like me.
We go up to the counter, where Ian chats happily to the girl serving us – I already start to feel out of place, regretting following him here.
I don’t like wasting time, and I especially hate going to these kinds of places.
They’re always full of people who can’t wait to have a nice, long chat.
I just want to drink my coffee in peace, get on this damn flight, play this match and then get myself home to relax in front of an action film or something, before collapsing into bed and falling into a deep sleep.
When the girl turns to me to ask what I’d like, I only order a coffee. She almost passes out at the idea that I don’t want to eat anything. She asks me again what I’d like and I respond slowly, pronouncing my syllables like you do with someone who has difficulty understanding.
When she realises I’m not joking, she starts babbling, listing off the whole menu to me.
Perfect.
All I needed this morning was someone to piss me off.
I slowly raise my head, my eyes threatening her to shut her mouth and just give me my damn coffee. I’d say, from the way she reacts by retreating back behind the counter, her eyes wide with shock, that I was successful.
Ian, as always, tries to play the whole thing down. Recently, he’s always had that smile plastered across his face – so much so that it sometimes makes me hate him.
What does he have to be so happy about?
Oh, yeah. Riley, a baby on the way.
A life.
We sit down at a table and I grab the newspaper, while Ian tries to chat to me. The waitress from before finally brings us our order, but before turning away, she gathers the courage to open her mouth again, apparently just to piss me off some more.
I lift my gaze once again, showing her how little I really care about what she said, or the fact that she wants a ‘thank you’ from me. What for? For bringing me my coffee? Isn’t that her job?
I ignore her, just as she deserves, and wait patiently for her to piss off, so I can go back to reading in peace. She turns and leaves, and I could swear I saw steam coming from her ears.
“What did she ever do to you?” asks Ian, buttering his toast.
“Mmm?” I mutter, barely listening to him.
“That girl…”
“What girl?”
“The one who just brought over our breakfast,” he insists.
I snort, deciding to answer him. “What do you want, Ian?”
“Why did you treat her like that? Why do you have to act like an arsehole with everyone? A bit of kindness costs nothing, you know…”
“You’ve already got that covered,” I comment sarcastically, turning back to the paper.
Ian shakes his head and changes the subject. I keep my attention focused on the articles, nodding every now and then, just to show him that, actually, I don’t really care about what he’s saying.
After a never-ending breakfast, where Ian did nothing but stuff his face and give me advice about the upcoming match, we get up and head for the exit. Before we leave, he waves goodbye to his beloved waitress.
He can do what he wants. It’s nothing to do with me. I don’t have to make an effort with anyone, not her or anyone else – especially if I don’t want to. And I never want to. I’m not paid to be nice or make conversation. I’m paid to play – and to win.
“You could’ve at least waved,” Ian says to me, winding me up even more.
“I think she’s here to work, not chat. That’s what she’s paid for, isn’t it?”
“It’s actually her café.”
“That doesn’t change anything. Besides, why do you care so much?”
“She’s always nice to me, okay? I’ve known her for a while now – I come here a lot, and so does Riley.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“There we go, exactly – I don’t have to justify myself to you either,” I retort proudly.
“I’m just saying that if you keep behaving like that, Ryan, you’ll never get anywhere. You’ll never make friends, you’ll never meet anyone…”
“I don’t want to meet anyone. And as for friends, I’ve already got you and the other guys on the team.”
“But don’t you want a new life for yourself? One where you meet people, maybe meet a girl…”
I whip my head up, glaring at him.
“They’re not all the same, you know,” he says kindly.
“Don’t start with one of your speeches. The fact that you’ve found someone who seems – for now – not to want to run away, doesn’t give you the right to give me a life lesson.”
“Watch what you’re saying, Ryan.”
“They stay with you until they get a better offer, then they leave. Apart from your Riley, obviously.”
“God, you’re impossible, you know that? You can’t even try to be reasonable.”
“I can be, just not with this,” I say, ending the conversation.
And to think that this morning I woke up with such good intentions. It just took that waitress…whoops, sorry, that owner of the café, and her inane comments, prompting Ian to bring up the only topic that’s forbidden between us.
I scoff as I climb into the car with Ian, headed for the airport.
I can see the town spread out ahead of us: the streets I grew up in, the park we used to fight in, the cafés that have been around for decades, and the familiar countryside that I’ve missed these past few years.
I tell myself that, deep down, it’s nice living here, in my own city, near my family, with Ian, as if nothing had changed.
The problem is that something has changed.
I’m not the same person anymore, and I don’t plan on going back to who I was. The kind, polite boy, there for everyone and too sensitive to be considered a man – he doesn’t exist anymore.
He’s dead. Buried. Over.
I don’t care about being nice to waitresses, shop assistants, bank clerks, because I don’t want to be close to anyone. Apart from my teammates.
I don’t want friendships, relationships. I don’t want anything.
“Ready for your first away game? You nervous?” Ian asks, as I pull into a space in the terminal car park.
I nod and get out of the car. We walk over to the check-in desk and queue up behind some of the other guys in the team.
Playing calms me down – or, at least, it lets me forget about everything, without needing to kill someone. I always wanted to play. There was never another option, and I’ve worked hard to get where I am today.
I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been playing since I was thirteen. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful places in the world, and I’ll continue to do so. Right now I’m in Dublin – after that, who knows.
For now, I have to stay here. I just need to keep a low profile, see as few people as possible, limit any social contact and, for God’s sake, avoid that bloody café, or next time I’ll have to talk to her. And I’m certain she’ll like my response even less than she liked my glare.
Looks are painful.
But words can kill.