Chapter 5
Connor
The turnoff to my parents’ place came quicker than I expected, muscle memory doing most of the work as the road narrowed and the city finally gave way to green.
Palms lined the verge, flowering hedges thick and manicured, the plants my mam knows the names of and I never will.
I indicated right and turned onto the private drive, Jake lightly snoring next to me as I go.
The asphalt was smooth, curving gently through the trees so the house stays out of sight until the last stretch.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves dappling the windscreen, and I slowed as the house appears at the end, pale against the greenery, windows framed in light peach, curtains stirring slightly in the warm California breeze.
The driveway opened out into a neat gravel apron, space for a few cars, the garden clipped and deliberate.
My mam’s pride and joy outside of me and Caitriona.
I pulled into the familiar spot, cut the engine, and listened to the quiet that only ever existed this far from the city.
Jake stirred, snorting once and waking himself up. “Oh shit, was I asleep?”
“Out like a light as soon as we hit the highway.”
“Damn,” he said as he rubbed his eyes and took in the surroundings. “Still feels like you should’ve grown up feral out here.” Pushing the door open, he squinted toward the house, sun cresting his face. “Barefoot. Sunburnt. Eating fruit straight off trees.”
“I did eat fruit off trees,” I told him. “Mam lost her mind about it. She was convinced I’d poison myself one day.” I loved California as much as I loved Ireland, but since we usually only visited the latter, this place was home.
Finding the key, I pushed it into the lock and turned.
The house was cooler than outside, tiled floors holding the day’s shade, the smell of garlic and something slow cooked already heavy in the air.
Voices drifted from the kitchen, overlapping, and my shoulders loosened, something inside me recalibrating, as if my body knew we could relax here with my family.
“Connor?” my mam called. “Is that you?”
“In the flesh,” I said, dropping my keys on the sideboard.
She appeared a moment later, wiping her hands on a tea towel, smile breaking out when she saw me. Pulling me into a warm hug, like she always had, garlic and herbs clung to her hair and clothes as I squeezed her tighter.
“You’re late,” she said.
She tightened her arms around me once more before stepping back. Her eyes flicked over my face, assessing. “So handsome, just like your father.”
“Strong genes,” Jake agreed. “But let’s not overlook the rest of us.”
My mam’s smile widened as she looked past me at Jake, eyes bright with amusement. “You’re handsome, too, lad.”
Jake’s ears turned pink. “I’m scared of your husband, so please don’t flirt with me in front of him, Siobhan.”
She laughed, the sound tender and unrestrained, and waved us farther into the house. “Come on. Both of you. Dinner’s nearly ready. Hope you’re in the mood for beef stew.”
“God, your mom’s the best,” Jake groaned.
“Don’t moan while talking about my mam.” I slapped the back of his head playfully.
“You presume that’s the first time I’ve done it?”
“Oh, feck off with that, I’ll set my Da on ye.”
Jake dodged my next jab and chuckled. “One minute around the Irish and you sound just like them again.”
I decided to ignore him and moved down the short hall and into the kitchen, entirely led by my nose. There really was nothing like Siobhan O’Riley’s cooking. Steam fogged the window above the sink, a pan simmering on the stove, the table already set.
My dad stood at the counter, sleeves rolled, glass of wine in hand. His dark hair was like mine but peppered with grey at the sides.
“There he is,” he said, glancing up as we came in.
“Hey, Da.” He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, then wrapped it around my neck, pulling me to him.
“Good to see you, son.”
Before I agreed that it was good to be here, footsteps thudded down the hall and in ran my little tornado of a niece.
“Uncle Con!” she yelled as she wrapped herself around my legs and nearly took me out at the knee. I caught her under the arms and lifted her, her laugh loud in my ear.
“Maeve, you’re gonna be one hell of a forward one day, kiddo.”
“You came back,” she said, eyes bright.
“I said I would.”
“That was aaaages ago.”
Her little voice dipped on the last word, and something inside me gave way. It was like I’d missed a step I should’ve known was there. It had been about two months since I’d seen everyone at Christmas. I know kids’ reality is a time warp, but I hadn’t ever meant to stay gone for that long.
I set Maeve down. At four, she was already up to my mid-thigh. “I promise I won’t leave for that long again,” I said, ruffling her dark hair.
“Pinky promise?” She stuck out her little finger, grabbed mine with a hard stare, and waited until I agreed. Mini manipulator.
Liam hovered behind her nearby, watching. Since he’d turned ten, he had a lot less to say. I thought maybe his hormones were changing and that awkward phase was about to start. I remembered feeling the same as him growing up.
“Hi, mate,” I said. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he said simply, and I chuckled inside. Then my sister, Caitríona, came up behind him, one hand resting briefly on his shoulder as she leaned around him to look at me.
“About time,” she said, though her mouth tipped up when she smiled. So like our mother, with lighter hair than me and our Da.
I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Missed you too.”
She snorted. “Liar. You miss Mam’s cooking.”
I shrugged. She was right.
“Good to see you too, Jake.”
“Pleasure is mine, Cait. You’re looking mighty fine as always.”
Cait rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Careful. Flattery like that gets you extra chores.”
Jake placed a hand over his heart. “For you? I’m a giver.”
“Still flirting with my wife, Jake?” Trent appeared from the garden, wide shoulders and square jaw. The perfect American husband.
Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Respectfully, she’s a ten.”
Trent laughed deeply and pulled Caitriona into a hug, kissing the side of her head. “I know.”
Still smiling, he glanced at me. “Good to have you back, Con.”
“Good to be here,” I said, and meant it.
Mam clattered around the stove, ladle in hand. “Right,” she said. “Everyone seated. And if anyone touches the bread before I say so, they’re not getting seconds.”
Jake breathed in, eyes half-closing as he took in the smell from the stove. “She’s firm and a sensational cook,” he said with reverence. “I’m in heaven.”
Mam shot him a look over her shoulder. “That mouth of yours will get you in trouble one day, mark my words.”
“I hope so.” He grinned proudly. She wasn’t wrong.
Jake had become an extension of my family in a lot of ways.
He’d grown up in the system, aged out of it with nothing but a duffel bag and a chip on his shoulder, and somehow, since we’d been on the same team, he landed here more often than not.
Sunday dinners. Holiday strays. Last-minute invites that were never really invites at all.
No one ever asked if he was staying. He just was.
Mam set a bowl down in front of him and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze on her way past, casual as breathing.
At the far end of the table, beneath the window, my grandad’s photograph watched over us. Dad always propped it up when we had dinner together, angled so he faced the table instead of the window.
The sting of not having him here hadn’t lessened, even after five years.
Some days, it surprised me how intense it still was, how quickly it crept up when I wasn’t paying attention because I’d remember something he’d said, or I’d smell his signature tobacco and peppermint scent and it would put me on my ass.
He’d passed after I graduated college, just as everything was supposed to be beginning, and the last thing he’d said to me had been that he wanted me to carry on his legacy for him, to make him proud.
Daniel Connor O’Riley had been one hell of a rugby player back in Ireland. Everyone said so. I’d grown up on the stories, the grainy photos, the way people’s expressions shifted when his name came up. I wanted to keep that promise; I just didn’t know how yet.
Maeve’s spoon clattered against her bowl, pulling me back. “Uncle Con,” she said, leaning across the table, “Dad says you’re famous.”
Trent choked on his drink. “I did not say famous.”
“You said people know his name,” she insisted.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Jake grinned. “It kind of is.”
Mam shook her head, but she was smiling as she reached for the bread.
“So are you like a movie star as well as just playing rugby?” Maeve asked, so innocent that the rugby part was less important to her.
“It’s because of rugby,” Cait said, calm and patient, like she was explaining something she’d already explained before. “Not because he’s in films.”
Maeve’s eyes flicked back to me. “Do they clap when you play?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
“And shout?”
“Yes.”
“Do girls throw their underwear at you?”
I choked on air while also desperately trying not to howl with laughter.
“Maeve Fionn Wright, where in the world did you learn that?” my sister hissed, mouth agape.
Maeve shrugged. “It was on the TV.”
Jake’s shoulders shuddered beside me. “I love this house.”
Mam set her spoon down with a soft clink. “Right,” she said calmly, which somehow made it worse. “Maeve, mo chroí, maybe we keep our questions about rugby.”
“But that was about rugby,” Maeve insisted. “People like rugby players.”
“That’s enough,” Cait said, firmly now. “Eat your dinner.”
Maeve huffed but obeyed, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like boring.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the heat fade from my face. “For the record,” I said as I looked at my niece, “no one’s thrown underwear at me.”
“Yet,” Jake mumbled in his not subtle way.
“So…” Dad changed the subject and glanced at me over the rim of his glass. “How’s the stadium holding up after the quake?”
“The quake shifted more than they thought,” I said. “We’re close to a secondary fault line, and the storm finished the job. Pipes under the pitch cracked, drainage failed, and once the water started coming up from underneath, it didn’t stop. The building needs a restructure as well.”
“That’s not just surface damage,” Trent said.
“No,” I agreed. “Weight room flooded. Storage sheds are a write-off. And there’s enough concern about the ground itself that the engineers won’t clear it until they’re certain it’s stable.”
Dad nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “So what does that mean for the team?”
“It means we’re displaced. And currently sharing a stadium with the Valkyries.”
Cait’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s their first pro season.”
“I know.”
“They’ve worked years for that,” she said pointedly.
Cait hadn’t had that. Not really. After college, there’d been nothing solid to step into for female rugby players.
No contracts you could live on. No clear path that didn’t involve juggling training and full-time jobs and calling it commitment instead of compromise.
She’d loved the game just as fiercely as I did, but love hadn’t been enough back then.
“We weren’t about to take space from them,” I said instead. “They earned that building.”
Jake nodded, quiet now. “They did.”
Cait glanced at me, something unreadable crossing her face before she masked it again. “Good,” she said. “Because they deserve that season.”
I held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, thinking of everything she’d given up without ever calling it a sacrifice, and nodded once.
It struck me then, the same way it did with Teddy earlier this week, how female athletes do the work anyway, loving the game for years before going professional, even when the structure hadn’t been built for them yet.
Cait, back then. Teddy, now. Different generations, similar story.
Things I hoped would improve for the likes of Maeve’s generation.
“Sharing is caring,” Maeve mumbled through a mouthful, which earned a glare from Cait. “What? You always say that.”
“I do,” Cait said, reaching for a napkin and dabbing gently at Maeve’s mouth, her tone softening even as her eyes stayed stern, “and I am right. But we chew first, love.”
Maeve grinned, unbothered, and went back to her stew with exaggerated care.
Mam glanced between us, then at me. “It’s very kind of them to accommodate all o’ye giants.”
Jake leaned closer to me, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Your mom thinks I’m big, dude.”
I nudged his shin under the table. “Keep talking and I’ll test how buoyant you are in beef stew.”
“This stew is really incredible, Siobhan. Your best yet,” Jake said pointedly.
“I’m glad you think so, lad. There’s plenty more on the stove.”
It didn’t matter that it was sixty degrees outside; this was summer for us Irish natives. My mam always made stew in the winter months, come heat or snowstorms.
I liked the predictability of it.
Eventually, after an hour of eating and chatting together, we all moved into the living area, surrounded by couches and fluffy pillows. Much more than anyone needs, but my mam always wanted her guests to be fed, warm, and welcome.
Liam took the spot next to me, fidgeting slightly. “I think it’s cool,” he piped up after being mostly quiet during dinner. “The rugby. I mean, your job.”
I smiled and held his gaze. “You still playing at school?”
He nodded.
“I’ll come by with some of my guys,” I said. “We’ll ransack the place. Show them how it’s done.”
Liam’s face lit up like I’d just handed him the world. “Really?”
“Really,” I said.
The warmth that spread through my chest caught me off guard.
Passing something on like that—time, knowledge, belief—made my grandad’s last words settle differently than they ever had.
Maybe legacy wasn’t about trophies or names etched into plaques.
Maybe it was this. Showing up. Making space.
Letting someone else feel seen in the game the way I had once been.
Liam nodded like he was locking the promise away somewhere important, then leaned back into the cushions, suddenly less restless.
Maeve, who had been upside down on the arm of the sofa, chose that moment to interrupt. “If Uncle Con’s coming to your school, he has to come to mine, too.”
“Of course. I’ll talk to Coach. See what I can do.”
Mam smiled at me over the rim of her mug, something proud and tender in her expression. “Your grandad would’ve loved that.”
The truth of it settled, deep in my stomach, and I nodded once.
“Yeah,” I said, returning her smile. “I think he would have.”