Of all the ridiculous, made-up gossip I’ve heard about Cillian, this one might just take the cake.
“Brother, shut up.” Brooks, the team’s captain, scoffs from beside Ezra, reaching over and swiping the ball from midair. He starts tossing it back and forth in his hands. “First of all, like Coach would let someone on the team who deals fuckingdrugs, Ezra. Be so for real. Second, half a pound of cocaine is definitely not low level on the drug dealer chain.”
Ezra’s brow pinches as his lips purse, like he’s only now realizing just how ridiculous his accusation sounded when his best friend laid it out for him.
“Regardless of what he did to end up here, I personally think this is a bad idea, letting this guy who’s clearly a liability walk on to the team. I don’t know what Coach was thinking,” Fitz chimes in. He shrugs and glances at me. “No offense, Ror.”
Sebastian Fitzgerald, better known as “Fitz,” is my best friend. We’ve been inseparable since we met at his first rugby practice our freshman year, and he knows me better than anyone. So he knows just how protective I am when it comes to my dad.
And this team.
Lifting a brow, I narrow my gaze, dragging it over each of them before landing back on Fitz. “How about we not spread rumors? None of us knows therealreason why he’s here, and I trust my dad to make the best decision for the team. Plus… say what you want, but he’sgood. Really fucking good. I’ve seen the tapes. I don’t know him, but I do know that if he plays as well as he did in London, then he’ll be good for the team.”
No one has anything to say after that, not that I expected them to, so I pick my phone up out of my lap and scroll through my socials while we wait.
There’s nothing else to say about any of it. It’s already done. I know they don’t want him walking on to the team, they’ve been antsy since they found out, and they’re right to be distrustful when it’s clear he was expelled from his last school, but… I trust my dad more than anyone. I know there’s a lot at stake for everyone involved, but they have to trust that my dad knows what he’s doing and is making the right choice. He’s always been a damn good coach and put this team above everything, and I don’t think that’s changing.
A few minutes later, the door opens and my dad, Coach Matthews, and Cillian walk through. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up close, and I’m surprised how much more… intimidating he seems.
He’s taller than I thought, his thick shoulders even broader than they appeared from the try lines. A burgundy T-shirt stretches across them. Tattoos cover both his arms, the dark ink spilling down his skin onto the tops of his hands, painting a portrait that tells a story of some kind. His sharp, chiseled jaw is set in a hard line as his dark, smoldering eyes scan the room of unhappy faces peering back at him.
“Afternoon,” my dad says, addressing his players. He’s always been a pillar of strength, and it’s one of the many things I’ve always admired about him. I know this can’t be easy for him, bringing in this guy and hoping like hell that it works out, but I do believe that he’s the best coach I’ve ever known, and he would never steer his guys wrong. If this new guy is here, it’s because my dad believes that he’s worth it. “I’m going to keep this short andsweet. We’ve got a practice to get to and I know that you’ve all heard what’s going on. Let’s just call this an official introduction. This is Cillian Cairney. He’s transferring in from London and will be joining the team.”
The entire time my dad’s speaking, Cillian’s quiet, his stormy gaze slowly moving around the room as my dad talks about the transition and how vital it is that they work as a team.Playas a team.
Honestly, Cillian looks completely uninterested in being here, and when we lock eyes from across the room, the scowl on his lips seems to deepen, a look of something I can’t read passing through his eyes.
I lift a brow, holding his stare until he finally looks away, placing his gaze back on my father.
All right then.
Dad tells the guys that Cillian will be jumping in immediately, participating in all team workouts and practices.
Even though they all nod, the air in the room is tense and so thick you could practically choke. Everyone’s aware the guys aren’t happy to have Cillian walking on to the team, and it’s clear that he’s not happy to be here either. Which seems like the perfect recipe for disaster.
Sighing, I sit back in the chair and cross my arms over my chest. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but it seems even more impossible after seeing him face-to-face. Seeing the guys’ reaction to him.
Dad finishes his speech, then asks Cillian to hang back before dismissing the rest of the guys to head to the pitch. They file out of the room in a sea of whispered murmurs and stares, not bothering to hide their disdain.
I’m on my way to follow them out when my dad grabs my forearm softly, stopping me. “Hey, Ror, could you stay back for a second?”
Turning back to face them, I plaster on a small smile, tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen from my ponytail behind my ear. “Yeah, of course.”
Cillian looks annoyed that he wasn’t dismissed with the rest of the team, shuffling from one sneaker-clad foot to the other before shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his dark gray joggers.
“Cillian, this is my daughter, Rory. She’s our equipment manager and my right-hand girl. I just wanted to introduce you two since you’ll be seeing her around. Going to head out to the pitch, I’ll see you shortly,” Dad says, jerking his head toward me with a smile before disappearing along with Coach Matthews through the door, leaving us alone.
Inpainfullyawkward silence.
“Hi,” I say, offering him a small smile. “I’m Rory,unofficialassistant coach.Officialequipment manager.”
Cillian’s brow raises, but he remains silent, so I stick my hand out and refuse to look away, not backing down. “Nice to meet you.”
He glances down at my hand before slowly dragging his eyes back up to meet mine. For a second, I think he might actually leave my hand awkwardly hanging there, making this entire encounter that much more unbearable, but after the longest seconds in history, he slides my small hand in his, and shakes it.
It’s over before I can even register the feel of his hand in mine because he drops it like he’s been burned.
“Likewise.” The hoarse, growly, English accented syllables slip from his mouth, his tone flat and void of any emotion at all.
