Page 15 of Finding Him
“This is different! It’s helping! I can just tell she’s dying to play, and I’m sure she’s brilliant,” she says, jutting her lower lip out. Even if I hadn’t already made up my mind, I would’ve marched my arse over there anyway. I can’t say no to her.
“I’ll see if I can get O’Shea to let her come to the trials,” I say, putting on a show of faux reluctance for appearances sake.
The resulting squeal and rib-cracking hug is my one small moment of clarity—one I probably should dwell on for longer. I’m not sure how the team was going to take to having a girl on the field with us. Most of them were good lads, but some were awfully crass.
It isn’t like it’s guaranteed she’ll get on, I tell myself. For all I know, she could be shite. O’Shea would cut her at the trials, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Pat on the back, good deed done.
But a nagging voice in the back of my head tells me not to count on it.
“Coach,” I say, getting both of them to turn and look at me. For a second, I’m caught off guard by how intense Molly’s eyes are—this watery, pale blue that looks like some sort of jewel with a fancy name—but I force my face to stay neutral. I’ve known Coach O’Shea long enough to know how to get him to agree with you.
“Come on,” I say lightly. “She’s not used to how it works here. Just let her trial tomorrow. If she’s shite, she’ll realize it herselfand leave us be. Better than the two of yis standing ‘round bickering all afternoon, yeah?”
Coach’s eyebrows do a little dance, and I can tell he’s weighing it up. I can tell the moment he decides it’s less trouble for him to just let this happen. Molly Lockhart looks like the kind of person where you can tell they won’t take no for an answer.
“Fine,” he grumbles, sounding like someone pulled the word out of him with pliers. “You get the trial. But if you get a ball to the face or a stud to the shin, don’t go crying to the board. I’m not responsible for you.”
“I’ll take responsibility,” I blurt, the words just coming out.What am I even doing right now? Actually?
Coach walks away, muttering something under his breath as per usual. I look back at Molly. Up close, the sun is hitting her just right, and I have to remind myself we’re on a pitch, not in some bloody movie. But I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth.
“So, tomorrow. 4:15,” I say, keeping the challenge in my voice. “You’re not gonna chicken out on me, are ya?”
She gives me a lopsided smile, and it gives me some sort of adrenaline rush to know I’m the one putting it on her face. “Of course not, Niall.”
She knows my name.“You know my name?”
“Do you not know mine?”
My mind is telling me to play it cool, so I just shrug my shoulders. Of course I know her name. I made JJ tell me everything he knew about her first thing during small break when he told me he saw her.
I start backing away, needing to get back to the lads before they start taking the piss out of me for lingering around the yank. I pivot, ready to get back into the session, but then I stop. I can’t just leave it at that, can I?
What would I care if she thought I was just some dickhead who wouldn’t ask her name though?
I do care.
“Hey.” She stops, looking back at me. “Good luck,Molly.”
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WHENI’VE HADa pint, I always end up staring at some form of water. Be it rain streaks on the window, the lake in Riverbend, or even sitting on the roof of the Escort out on The Strand—I’d find some source of water and sit there and stare at it, mind going blank.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had gone out with Da that day. Other times I think about walking out into the waves, and just... letting them decide what happens to me. The latter scares me the most. It’s always a jarring thought to be slammed with, one I have to dismiss right away. What would happen to Mam, to Claire, to the lads, to the future I’ve promised myself?
Usually my solution to these thoughts is to just have another drink.
Right now I’m staring into the basin of the sink, my hands submerged in lukewarm water. I’d nipped the last of the bottle I had stashed under my bed while I was making dinner, and am still riding on the lingering buzz.
“Niall? Did you hear a word I said or have you finally vacated your skull entirely?”
“Sorry, what were you saying?” I glance at my mother, handing her the plate I’ve been obsessively scrubbing for the past three minutes.
“What kind of cake do you want?”
My seventeenth birthday was now only ten days away, and I was probably at the bottom on the list of people actually excited about it. JJ and Finn were already planning on using my house to throw a massive session “for me” on the Friday after, andclearly Mam was thinking about sweets. Not that she ever really stops thinking about sweets, since that kind of came with the job of running the bakery.
“I dunno. Surprise me.”
