Chapter 42
Rhiannon
Idon’t know which way is up. Robert has just told me, in the front seat of my car, before going into my thirtieth birthday party, that he loves me.
People in my life say it all the time, friends, family, George said it often. But no one, not one single person I’ve ever met has told me they love me with the same conviction, the same emotion that Robert just did. Without condition like he just did.
My chest is so full it might burst, but I don’t have time to sit with it, to process what he said, or even to rebut the fact that I don’t need to earn love. Is that what he thinks I do with Dad? Is it what I do with Dad?
I really need to get on with finding a therapist, because if my boyfriend’s psychoanalyzed me in only a month, a therapist would have my number in a matter of days. Fuck. Am I a stereotype? Female athlete with daddy issues?
I shudder. Say it isn’t so.
Though all signs point to yes.
The car park is filling up with vehicles around us, and the car clock tells me we need to head inside soon.
“I don’t know what to say, Robert. You sure pick your moments.” I shake my head, my hair swishing from side to side. “Thank fuck you didn’t say all that in there. I’d have killed you stone dead for making me cry in front of my family.” I shove him, then I kiss him, then I shake him again.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I love him too. But I don’t want him to think I’m saying it because he did. So, I kiss him again, squeezing him so tightly he makes a little oof sound, and I give him a stern look. “We’re not done with this conversation.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and for a fraction of a second, I contemplate leaving my own birthday party and taking this man home to make love to me all night.
But it’s a milestone birthday, family have come in from all over the fucking country to make tonight special for me.
And our Clíodhna accidentally told me that the queens of Larne are glammed up and ready to give the performance of the year.
A knock on the window startles us both. Aoife yells to get the fuck inside because there’s a party happening without us, and she wants cake.
We get out of the car; Robert takes my hand and leads me to the door. My stomach’s in knots, a tangled web of anxiety and excitement. “Robert?” I whisper without looking at him.
“Yeah?”
“Bring the fucking juice.”
“Seriously? You can play in front of fifteen thousand people out at the Glynn, but you’re anxious about a birthday party with everyone you know?
” He pauses. “Wait. Never mind. Family over strangers, I totally get it.” He steps in front of me and grabs my shoulders with both hands.
“You’re fucking amazing. You’ve got this.
And if anyone annoys you, you tell me. Sully and I will fuck them out the window. ”
He sounds so serious, I’m not sure I want to test him, and it makes me laugh.
When we make it inside, the whole crowd erupts into “Happy Birthday.” It’s mortifying, but at least they get it out of the way early, and it’s not hanging over my head the whole night. Everyone rushes to give me good wishes, hugs, and tell me their present is on the gift table by my parents.
Robert takes it in stride. Instead of leaving me to fend for myself, he silently stands by my side, shaking hands with my uncles, cousins, friends, teammates, and even some of my parents’ friends.
At some point, the crowd around me thins, and he guides me to a chair to sit. He returns with two drinks and a plate of sandwiches.
Fuck. I could marry this man.
“Happy birthday, gorgeous.” My two best friends stand in front of me looking very smug. They look at me, then Robert, then back at me, wiggling their eyebrows—lacking in any kind of subtlety.
Robert rolls his lips between his teeth. “I’m going to say hi to Sully and my ones. I’ll be right back.”
Matthew and Bláthnaid flank me on chairs at either side. “Do you think that looked fake, Matty? I don’t think it looks fake at all.”
My eyes go wide. “Who the fuck told you about that?” I grab an arm each and jerk them toward me.
Matthew flicks his hand. “No one needed to tell us.” He lets out a sigh.
“One.” He holds out a finger like he’s got a list and shouldn’t have to say it out loud.
“We’ve all read a fake dating trope. There’s a book every few months at Books and Bants with that vibe, and it’s super common in sports. Especially when there’s a scandal.”
He’s not wrong. Our local romance book club, Books and Bants, definitely has a fake dating kink.
“Usually, it’s the male athlete who gets himself in trouble and needs help with his image.” He grins.
Bláthnaid leans forward and grips my knee.
“Plus, your Aoife can’t hold her water. She thought we knew.
And we should have known.” She shoves my shoulder.
“But that.” She waves her finger between me and the direction Robert has gone off in.
“I know you, Rhiannon Fiadh Morrigan. And that’s not fake. ”
“You’re right, it’s not.”
The two of them whoop and high-five, drawing the attention of those closest while I cover my face with my hands.
I’m getting away from these two. It’s time to introduce myself to Robert’s family.
I’d rather take my chances with the McAllisters than sit here and get the inquisition from my friends about my not-fake relationship with the man my da’s sending eye-daggers at from across the room.
“I’ll be back.”
“Sure you will,” Matthew practically sings at me. “Is she walking funny? Blá, do you think she’s walking funny?”
“Looks like she got dicked so well she can’t walk straight.”
A wave of heat encapsulates my body. I hate my friends. But there’s also a tiny, wee part of me that’s smug and wants to swagger, because they’re right. I have been dicked so fucking good. I can’t allow myself to mull on that, though, because Robert’s mum is right here.
“Mrs. McAllister, I’m Rhiannon. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She takes my outstretched hand as Robert gives me wide “why’d you flee from your friends?” eyes.
“Please, call me Maryann.”
I smile at her, and a younger woman who looks like Robert with long hair reaches to shake my hand as well. “Emma. This one’s younger and far more put together sister.”
Robert winces. It’s a barely visible flinch, but it’s there, and I feel it somewhere deep inside my bones. Sibling rivalry is a terrible thing.
I give her a smile, but it’s not warm. “I don’t know about that. I think Robert could give you a run for your money. He’s the most put together man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”
His eyes warm as they hover on me, and I blow him a kiss.
Sully springs to his feet. “Dance with me, fly-half.”
“The fuck you will.” My protective boyfriend yanks Sully’s shirt until he sits his arse back down.
Sully’s eyes bug out of his head. Robert and I track his line of sight until his confused gaze lands on… wait… what? Sully’s staring at Bláthnaid with a mixture of what seems to be jealousy and adoration, but I don’t know him well enough to know for sure.
“What the…?” Before he even finishes his sentence, he’s on his feet and crossing the room.
The lights flicker. Robert reaches for me to sit on his lap, but I’d block his view of the drag show that’s about to take to the small stage in the Pigeon Club.
The Themuns & Usuns Queens are beyond fucking stunning. They’re a cross-community troupe that travels the country working with local youth and giving award-winning performances. It’s peace process but make it pageantry. Their tagline for shows is, “Serving peace, drama, and a wee bit of trauma.”
I can’t stop laughing as they introduce themselves.
It’s my first time getting to see them, and it must have cost my family a pure fortune to get them here for a personal party.
George was never interested in it, but Robert is laughing just as much as I am as Clitty Bang Bang tells us she’s built for speed and banned from every garage in County Antrim.
Buckfast Betty looks like the girl your ma warned you about—fishnets at a funeral, handbag clinking with a bottle of Bucky she’d probably bless herself with if given the chance.
Bap N’ Sausage struts out all grease-stained glamour, like she’s just rolled straight off a fryer but somehow makes it look filthy in the best possible way.
Sash My Way? She’s a loyalist chic turned drag queen camp, the kind of look that makes you laugh and cringe all at once.
Ginger Snapped storms the stage, all wild red hair and feral energy, so much like my youngest sister that I get a finger flipped in my direction the second she spots me staring.
And then there’s GAA-Ga—thighs carved out of hurling season, hair big enough to belong in a showband poster from the sixties. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.
By the time they’ve done their standup, skits, and lip-syncs, my sides hurt from laughing. And I feel like the luckiest girl in the whole fucking world. I’ve successfully avoided being in my father’s company for most of the night, a fact I’m sure Robert hasn’t missed out on.
When he finds me after Robert heads to the bar for what’s undoubtedly going to be my last drink of the night because I think my hangover’s already kicking in, I want to be anywhere but here.
“Thanks for the party, Dad.”
He gives me a one-armed hug. “It’s not every day your oldest daughter turns thirty.” His tone is flat, cautious, and I know he’s still pissed that I’m dating his enemy.
I may not know why Robert did what he did, but I know he’s not a malicious man. A loyalty I’ve held dear to my father with both hands my whole life is fraying, and I’m not sure how to resolve that in my heart.
I still love him, I do. But I’m not on board with how he’s treating Robert, and the more I pay attention to the way he’s handled our rugby careers, the less sure I am to be on board with that either.
“I don’t like that you’re with that man, Rhiannon.” Here it comes. Another father-knows-best lecture. “It’s not good for your image, for your career, for the family.”
What he’s not saying is that it’s not good for him. He doesn’t like Robert, he doesn’t think I should like Robert, and historically speaking when Dad said jump, we all said how high. He’s not used to dissention in the ranks.
“He’s good for me, Dad. And I’m sorry you don’t like that. He’s—”
“Don’t.” Dad holds up a hand, cutting me off like a scythe. “I’m not interested.”
I reach for the three birds on my collarbone to ground me. He’s not even going to try to listen, to understand where I’m coming from, or to even tolerate Robert because he’s important to me.
It’s not that he’s strict, he’s controlling me, my sisters, us, with compliance. It’s his way or the highway.
I take him in, staring at the face of the man who is supposed to love me most, love me no matter what. Unconditional, isn’t that what they say a parent’s love should be?
But for Michael Morrigan, his love comes with plenty of conditions. And as I stare at the frown pinching his face and the hostility in his eyes, it occurs to me that it’s a cost I’m not sure I’m willing to pay anymore.
It’s not anger that threatens to crack my heart, but a heavy wallop of grief that I don’t have to face because the man in question appears and ignores my imposing father figure, two drinks in hand.
“Thanks, did you forget the peanuts?”
He cocks his head to the side. Peanuts was our “get me the fuck out of here” safe word.
The rule about code word clearance was part joke when we put the rules together, but here and now I want out of this conversation and away from my dad.
I don’t want to spend the last few hours of my thirtieth birthday party being berated for who I choose to spend my time with.
“I did forget them.” He reaches forward to pass me my drink and somehow clips Dad’s elbow accidentally on purpose, tossing Dad’s entire drink over his trousers.
Dad doesn’t say a word. He glowers at my boyfriend, gives me an “I told you so” look, and storms off.
“That wasn’t as dramatic as I expected.”
Robert gives me my drink with an apologetic smile on his face. “It was the quickest thing I could think of. I wasn’t sure you’d want me to throw you over my shoulder and stride out of your birthday party. It would have looked like I was taking you out back to fuck you.”
I cup his face with my palm before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve heard of worse ideas.”