Page 105 of Playing Dirty
Margot’s last text from after game six is still open on my phone. Supportive, warm, telling me to stay focused, that she's feeling better. Maybe some of it's even true, but I know her, and I know what she's not saying. Fuck, I miss her. Sabrina's been keeping me updated at least.
All afternoon, sandwiched between media scrums and recovery sessions, I white-knuckled the urge to drive up to Napa and scoop her up. But she asked for room to breathe, so I'm fucking giving it to her, even if the distance is gutting me. Forcing it before she's ready would only push her further away.
The sliding door behind me glides open, and I turn to see Fiadh stepping out, clicking it shut to keep the noise inside. She's carrying two beers. I give her a small nod as she settles in against the railing beside me, passing me a bottle, and both of us look out over the city lights glittering away toward the bay.
I tip the bottle back and take a long sip, the cold brew doing nothing to soothe the restless energy humming in my blood.
"So," she says, leaning her elbows on the rail. "Are we going to talk, or are we going to keep pretending you came out here for the night air?"
I snort. "I hate when you do that."
"Read you like a book? It's a gift." She clinks her bottle against mine. "Let’s start with something easier. The game tomorrow. Are you ready?"
I consider the question. "Aye. I'd hoped we'd put them away a bit easier than this, but I suppose the Cup isn't meant to come easy."
"That's life. It never hands over the easy version." She takes a sip. "Just don't let Brennan in your head again. That first game, when you lost your cool out there, I nearly climbed through the television."
"I know it. Cost us the game, and I've heard about it from every pundit in North America since."
"He riles you up because it's the only way he can beat you. When you're at your best, it's not even close, Cillian. Unfortunately he knows that, so he just tries to drag you down into the muck with him. The man isinsufferable," she says, with a venom that makes me laugh.
We've always operated under the sibling code that if one ofus hates someone, the other does too. This did once lead to me shoving an older boy at school into a hedge because Fiadh said he was a gobshite, no further questions asked, and her clattering a lad twice her size across the ear because he laughed when I missed a penalty. And the code extended double to the younger ones, because nobody made one of our sisters cry twice.
She glances over. "The knee's not acting up, then?"
"No, the physios have been at it round the clock," I say. "The body's about as good as it gets this deep into June. Which is to say, held together with tape and a healthy dose of stubbornness."
"And the head?" She smiles like she already knows the answer.
"The head's the complicated one." I take a sip. "Ask me tomorrow."
"Mm." She leans her elbows on the rail and looks at me sideways, blue eyes bright in the shadows. "And is that about the game, or about her?"
I groan, staring out at the dark water. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Absolutely not. I'm the eldest. It's my sacred duty."
"By fourteen months, Fee. Don't be pulling rank."
"Fourteen months is fourteen months, and the rank is real. Law is law, and I'm the only qualified lawyer on this balcony, so you'll have to trust me on the legal specifics." She smiles, then lets her expression soften. "For real, though. Are you out here debating whether to call her, or just moping in the dark?"
I sigh, taking another sip of my beer and staring out at the San Francisco lights blinking across the bay, thinking of Margot an hour away in Solstice Ridge and the distance I’ve no idea how to close.
"I just keep replaying our last conversation. I fucking knew she was getting anxious, and I could tell she was lying when I asked her about it, but I didn't push. I just let it slide because Iwas so focused on the Cup," I say, the guilt twisting in my gut. "She was drowning right in front of me."
"It's not your fault. She's been fighting that a lot longer than she's known you. We're on similar medications, actually, she and I. We talked about it in Dublin while you were busy getting fleeced by Lily at cards." She shrugs. "One conversation where you didn't push wasn't going to change what was coming."
"Aye, well, she shouldn't have had to face it alone," I mutter, staring at the dark water of the bay. "Not when I was right there."
"She's not alone, you eejit. She's got her sister, her people, her therapist. What she asked you for was room, and you gave it to her." She jabs a finger into my chest. "You didn't fail her. You loved her the way she was able to be loved that night. There's a difference between missing something and causing it."
I sigh deeply. "Aye. And I keep thinking, if I'd just pushed that night. One more question. If I'd..."
"If, if, if." She waves her bottle at me. "You'll make yourself crazy the night before the biggest game of your life, and she'd murder you for it."
I snort. "She would, actually."
"She'll come back, Cillian." She bumps her shoulder against mine. "And from what you've told me, and the little I know of her, I don't think she's running from you. I think she's trying to carry the whole thing alone so you can focus on the Cup. That is what she said, isn't it?"
