“You’ve already got that covered,” I comment sarcastically, turning back to the paper.
Ian shakes his head and changes the subject. I keep my attention focused on the articles, nodding every now and then, just to show him that, actually, I don’t really care about what he’s saying.
After a never-ending breakfast, where Ian did nothing but stuff his face and give me advice about the upcoming match, we get up and head for the exit. Before we leave, he waves goodbye to his beloved waitress.
He can do what he wants. It’s nothing to do with me. I don’t have to make an effort with anyone, not her or anyone else – especially if I don’t want to. And I never want to. I’m not paid to be nice or make conversation. I’m paid to play – and to win.
“You could’ve at least waved,” Ian says to me, winding me up even more.
“I think she’s here to work, not chat. That’s what she’s paid for, isn’t it?”
“It’s actually her café.”
“That doesn’t change anything. Besides, why do you care so much?”
“She’s always nice to me, okay? I’ve known her for a while now – I come here a lot, and so does Riley.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“There we go, exactly – I don’t have to justify myself to you either,” I retort proudly.
“I’m just saying that if you keep behaving like that, Ryan, you’ll never get anywhere. You’ll never make friends, you’ll never meet anyone…”
“I don’t want to meet anyone. And as for friends, I’ve already got you and the other guys on the team.”
“But don’t you want a new life for yourself? One where you meet people, maybe meet a girl…”
I whip my head up, glaring at him.
“They’re not all the same, you know,” he says kindly.
“Don’t start with one of your speeches. The fact that you’ve found someone who seems – for now – not to want to run away, doesn’t give you the right to give me a life lesson.”
“Watch what you’re saying, Ryan.”
“They’re all bitches or sluts. They stay with you until they get a better offer, then they leave. Apart from your Riley, obviously…” I say, hoping for a rise out of him.
“God, you’re impossible, you know that? You can’t even try to be reasonable.”
“I can be, just not with this,” I say, ending the conversation.
And to think that this morning I woke up with such good intentions. It just took that waitress…whoops, sorry, thatownerof the café, and her inane comments, prompting Ian to bring up the only topic that’s forbidden between us.
I scoff as I climb into the car with Ian, headed for the airport. I can see the town spread out ahead of us: the streets I grew up in, the park we used to fight in, the cafés that have been around for decades, and the familiar countryside that I’ve missed these past few years. I tell myself that, deep down, it’s nice living here, in my own city, near my family, with Ian, as if nothing had changed.
The problem is that somethinghaschanged.
I’m not the same person anymore, and I don’t plan on going back to who I was. The kind, polite boy, there for everyone and too sensitive to be considered a man – he doesn’t exist anymore.
He’s dead. Buried. Over.
I don’t care about being nice to waitresses, shop assistants, bank clerks, because I don’t want to be close to anyone. Apart from my teammates.
I don’t want friendships, relationships. I don’t want anything.
“Ready for your first away game? You nervous?” Ian asks, as I pull into a space in the terminal car park.
I nod and get out of the car. We walk over to the check-in desk and queue up behind some of the other guys in the team.
Playing calms me down – or, at least, it lets me forget about everything, without needing to kill someone. I always wanted to play. There was never another option, and I’ve worked hard to get where I am today.
I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been playing since I was thirteen. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful places in the world, and I’ll continue to do so. Right now I’m in Dublin – after that, who knows.
For now, I have to stay here. I just need to keep a low profile, see as few people as possible, limit any social contact and, for God’s sake, avoid that bloody café, or next time I’ll have to talk to her. And I’m certain she’ll like my response even less than she liked my glare.
Looks are painful.
But words can kill.
