Page 132 of Finding Him
“Positive.”
We make it to the tunnel, slipping in while everyone else is lining up, a chaotic, noisy rush of bodies and voices. The roar of the crowd is a deafening wall of sound, but somehow, it feels distant, like we’re in our own little world.
I squeeze her hand one last time. “You got this, alright?”
She nods, then gives me a small smile, repeating the words we always say to each other before games. “Good luck, Niall.”
“Good luck, Molly.”
??` ?? ?´?
“NIALL.”
Finn’s voice snaps me out of my haze, where I’m standing on the side, watchinghim, my mind a million miles away.
It’s him. I know it is.
I was right about it being the guy in the picture. He looks a little different, more clean shaven and his hair cropped shorter. But I recognize him right away, standing with O’Shea and another older guy, clapping and cheering with everyone else.
As if a monster deserves to be just a face in a crowd.
It’s halftime, and we’re up — 4-3 — a narrow lead against a team that’s really good. But I can’t bring myself to be celebratory. I’m too busy stewing up a murder plan, a thousand different scenarios playing out in my head, each one more violent and satisfying than the last.
“Tell Fitzy that’s the guy,” I nod in his direction.
Finn looks confused. “What’s that mean?”
“He’ll know,” I assure him, my eyes still fixed on the monster. “Red coat.”
“Alright. Got it.” Finn nods, stepping away from me. I don’t move towards the water station, or head to the locker room. I stay standing with my arms crossed, looking athim, my gaze a hard stare I hope he can feel.
He was really nice to me
He said if I ever told anybody, he’d get me blacklisted from ever playing again
He just acted like it never happened
Sometimes I wonder if it ever did... but it had to have, right? I remember it all so well
Molly’s words that night in her bedroom—her voice so raw and afraid I was going to judgeherfor something out of her control—flood me with even more anger.
“Niall!” O’Shea is calling my name and waving me over, cheerful and oblivious.
Oh joy, I’d love to come over. Let me just grab a weapon.
I make my legs move, forcing them to carry me across the pitch, my feet heavy, each step a conscious effort. No doubt he wants to introduce me. No doubt he wants me to play nice, to be a good little host.
If only he knew...
I’m not going to force Molly to tell anybody. I promised her that I wouldn’t tell anybody either. That I would let her figure out what to do, but I know that all she really wants to do is forget. To erase him from her memory, to pretend he never existed.
She can’t ever forget him though, but it looks like this fucker sure sleeps easy. He’s standing there, smiling, acting like he’s a proud, supportive coach, like he didn’t destroy a young girl’s life.
I make a mental note that I need to gently guide her into doing something—the right thing—but promise myself that until she’s ready I won’t do anything to break her trust in me. I have to be smart about this. I have to be patient. But it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard.
“Niall,” O’Shea says, smiling as I approach. “This is Coach Rourke, Molly’s coach back in the States. And this is—”
“Coach Ross,” the man finishes, smiling and holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
