Chapter 11 Tieran
I hit send before I can second guess myself.
Tieran
I’ve been thinking, and I feel like you need some hobbies.
Fuck, can I unsend it? I shouldn’t have sent that. It’s none of my business if she doesn’t do anything for fun. If she wants to work sunrise to sunset every day for the rest of her life, then that’s her prerogative, and it is none of my business.
And yet, here I was, making a right arse of myself by making it my business.
She’s going to tell me to fuck off any second now, and it’s probably going to give me a semi.
My phone pings from my hand, making my blue staffy’s head lift off my lap. Her soft grey eyes are inquisitive as her head tilts back and forth from where she sits next to me on the bed. My heart rate kicks up like I’m in grade school and my crush is calling when I see the notification from her.
Jade
Who is this?
A smile stretches across my face.
Tieran
I believe I remember saving my name in your phone yesterday.
Jade
Your name? Are you confident in that lie?
My God-given name, yes.
You deleted it, didn’t you?
Obviously.
How’s Archie doing?
There’s a long lapse in conversation, and I don’t think she’s going to answer.
My stomach dips at first, but then three jumping dots appear, and I’m grinning at my phone like an idiot.
This is ridiculous; she’s made it clear she wants to pretend like nothing happened between us.
So why am I putting myself through this?
Jade
He’s doing okay today, thanks for asking.
Tieran
If you need someone to stop by, I’ll be at my parents’ for our weekly Sunday roast tonight.
At your parents’ two nights in a row?
…yeah. Want to come?
No.
Can Archie come?
Do you have a crush on my dad, Tieran? Are you trying to be my step-daddy?
Not really my kink, but I can adapt.
Too much, that was definitely too much, and I need to learn how to keep my thoughts to myself.
There’s just this impulse inside me whenever I talk to Jade.
I need to get a rise out of her. I want to feel her fire and stoke it higher and higher until it burns me a little.
Like if her boldness singes me, maybe I’ll be imbued with a fraction of her confidence.
The reverberating silence on the other end of the conversation is loud, and it makes me itch to fill the void, to say anything to get her talking to me again.
Tieran
London is a big city, you know.
Jade
Very astute observation. Is that big brain of yours what scored you the position of fly-half?
We do have to be very strategic and analytical. So yeah, it probably helped my case.
Apparently, humbleness isn’t a requirement.
No, they actually encourage us to be insufferable.
Mission accomplished.
My many wonderful qualities aside…I’m concerned by your lack of leisure.
Stop thinking about it then.
You’re 27. That’s far too young to not be out experiencing life.
How do you know my age? Have you been stalking me?
Would you believe me if I said it was a lucky guess?
Not even a little.
Then yes, I did a light google search the day of the team meeting.
Creep.
Can you blame me? That particular revelation was a bit of a shock…
I guess I can’t fault your curiosity.
That curiosity, and my impulsiveness, rears its head right now.
Tieran
Is it safe to assume you may have also done your own internet search that day?
Those dreaded three dots jump on the corner of the screen, disappear, come back, and disappear again. When a response hasn’t come in the last couple minutes, I jump up and get dressed for the gym, my dog nipping at my heels.
My phone dings while I’m changing my shirt, and in my haste to finish getting dressed and get to my phone, I end up shoving my head through the sleeve hole, temporarily suffocating myself.
Finally free from the constraints of man-made cotton, I reach for my phone, feeling like an idiot when I see the text isn’t from Jade, but my sister, Charlotte.
Charles
Mum wants you to get here early.
Tieran
Why?
Says you haven’t been round in ages and her heart is breaking more by the day because she only ever gets to see you on the telly nowadays.
I was there last Sunday…
I’m just relaying the message, not trying to make sense of it. Don’t be a prat and get here early. And bring Pebble. I miss my niece.
Fine, but I’m going to the gym first.
God forbid you go a day without aggressively dropping a 90-kilo bar on the ground.
*125kg
See you later, loser.
I finish getting ready for the gym, taking Pebble out on a quick walk before I leave, when my phone dings again.
Jade
Only to figure out why I didn’t recognize you before.
To be a fly on the wall when she left the conference room that day.
Jade is bold—assertive—and doesn’t strike me as someone who enjoys not having control of a situation.
Based on the way she held herself during the team conference, and the fact that she set up meetings with every player to determine needs and improvements, something tells me she’s a hands-on type of leader, not someone prone to error.
Seeing me that day must have been a shock to the system.
Now, all she sees is a mess she needs to clean up. A headache.
Tieran
I’m sorry if this…situation…created a mess for you. My only intention that night was to provide back up when that wanker wouldn’t leave you alone.
Jade
I know.
Do you regret it?
Insecurity prickles at my neck. I don’t know why I asked, why I feel this compulsive need to know if what I felt that night—what I can still feel writhing under my skin—is one-sided.
But Jade never answers the question, leaving me on read the rest of the night to wonder.
Pebble barrels through the door like a tiny bull, straight onto my dad’s lap, tail wagging furiously and mouth spread wide in a smile with her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
My dad starts in on aggressively petting her, telling her she’s the best girl and planting kisses all over her face. It’s the only time I ever see him openly affectionate with anything or anyone—his family included.
“You spoil her,” I rebuke.
The only response I get is a grunt as he continues to stroke her neck. Pebble soaks up the attention, flipping onto her back and wiggling so much in excitement, she nearly slides off the chair.
Lottie, Charlotte formally, Charles only to me because our parents thought they were having another boy, pops her pastel pink head around the corner. “My favourite family member is here,” she exclaims, barreling past me and over to my dog to lavish her in love.
“No need to say hello to me,” I say to the room at large. I may as well not even be here.
“Did you hear something, Pebble?” Lottie says within an inch of my dog’s face while Dad’s gone back to watching a rugby match between two Northern teams.
“Did you catch our match?” I ask him, feeling like a little boy seeking his father’s approval.
Dad coughs. “I was on the road. Harold said you lost, though.” He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t console me. I don’t know why, after so many years, I still hope for a shred of kinship. It’s not who he is.
Lottie’s looking up at me with a regretful expression. “It was so close, though. I’m sure you’ll ease back in soon enough.”
My sister, ever the people pleaser, always trying to keep the peace.
“Tieran!” my mum calls out. “Come make batter for the yorkies. You make it the best.”
I step past Lottie, messing up her baby pink hair, before following my mum’s voice into the kitchen, where I find her lining a tray with duck fat to make the roast potatoes.
Harriet Stone stands at the counter, dark brown hair streaked with silver pulled back and secured at her nape with a hair clip.
Her blue eyes, the ones she gave me and my sister, shine bright in the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she coos. I quickly place a kiss on her cheek before pulling out a bowl and all the ingredients I need to make the Yorkshire puddings for dinner.
Together, we work on finishing up the sides as the roast cooks in the oven while Dad and Lottie entertain Pebble. Every now and then I can hear her speaking, asking about his week, and only getting short answers in return.
Sunday night dinners have been a Stone family staple for as long as I can remember.
Mum started them when I was five or six, just after Lottie was born.
She said it felt like it was the only way for us to spend quality time together on a regular basis, since Dad’s job kept him away a lot.
She’s yet to admit that, despite the weekly occurrence, it hadn’t bonded any of us to him more than what he allowed.
Charles Stone is a good man who provides for his family in the ways that outwardly matter, but he’s quiet and doesn’t see a need for affection.
Even still, the tradition keeps me grounded amidst the chaos of my life.
I can close my eyes and paint a picture of one of these nights from memory alone.
The four of us around the table, Mum rolling her eyes at Dad as he tries to lean back in his chair and see the screen rather than have a conversation, Lottie sneaking a potato away for Pebble, whose head is resting on her knee, and me drowning my plate in a vat of gravy.
I was eight years old when I told the family around this table I wanted to play rugby.
It’s the first time I remember seeing my dad smile.
Then, Mum started rejoicing, saying it would help me work off all my expendable energy.
They signed me up for a local league the next day.
After my first practice, I slumped through the front door caked in mud and sweat, and collapsed onto the sofa from exhaustion.
When I woke up, I told them I loved it so much, I couldn't wait for next week.
Dad clapped me on the shoulder, and I finally felt like I won something.
I kept playing as a teen, eventually progressing to a university before getting called up to train for the Legends.