There’s no talking to him. I’ve known what he’s like my whole life, and I’ve accepted it, but now I know more of who I am, I don’t accept it anymore.
My heels click on the wood—sharp, final. I swing the door open, and I leave, straight-backed, eyes filled with unshed tears, and my chest heavy but clear. Behind me, silence. The sound of control shattering.
CHAPTER 50
Robert
Ithink it’s finally finished.
For a man who makes a living putting words into the world, this feels like the hardest one I’ve ever written
If I stare at it much longer, I’ll never post it. I’ll let it rot in my hard drive forever.
That’s what the old me would’ve done—pick it apart until it’s sterile, polished, safe. But she doesn’t need safe. She deserves honest.
Rhiannon stayed over last night and very reluctantly left for her preseason game this evening after a lazy day in bed and a pregame protein fuel-up. For once, I didn’t check my email, didn’t think about drafts or deadlines. She has this way of making the noise stop.
I’ll be heading to the pitch soon, but I needed to get my thoughts out on the page before I left. And with a trembling hand, I suck in a quivering breath and hit Post to share what I’ve written on the internet.
It’s the same motion that once wrecked everything—a single click. Funny how something that small can ruin or redeem you.
She might still kill me.
It might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Third strike and we’re done.
She was so mad about the article Pete wrote because she finally felt like I’d seen her, the real her, and not how the media and her dad have portrayed her to be, and then I made her a story.
Well, today I’m making her a story for sure. Not the same story as everyone else has made her, however. The world needs to know how amazing my girlfriend is, and there’s no better person to share who she really is than the man who really loves her.
Maybe this post won’t fix everything between us, but it’s the truth—and for once, that feels like enough. Maybe this is what journalism was supposed to be all along—telling the truth about the people who make us want to be better.
Even if she is a plant killer.
CHAPTER 51
Rhiannon
Ithink it’s important to start by saying that the previous article published about Rhiannon Morrigan in theStormont Tribunewasnotwritten by me. They are refusing to print a retraction and apologize to the subject of the article, and the only recourse I have is to apologize for them and write the truth.
My stomach drops, my pulse spikes. He didn’t. He bloody well did. It’s not the same paper that gutted me in print, but the same byline that tore holes in my life now sits beside an apology I didn’t ask for.
If Robert sees Pete, or the editor for the paper in Belfast, I imagine there’ll be a broken face in it for both of them, so they won’t be able to speak. Depending on his mood, he might break a few fingers while he’s at it.
My game has ended, the locker room hums with the buzz of phone screens, my name lighting up notifications like a fire alarm.
My face burns.
Robert is outside. I saw him in the stands during the game, and I gave him a quick peck on the cheek before cominginside to get changed. He’s here. And he’s gone and published something about me on the internet without consulting me first.
Maybe that’s progress—wanting to fight him and kiss him in the same breath.
Part of me wants to level him with a rugby ball to the skull, but another part, thinks this “defending my honor on the internet” thing, might be the single most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.
I also think it’s important for you all to read what I had originally intended to write before the skeleton of an article was taken from the shared drive of theLarne Chronicle. My words were bastardized until they were no longer recognizable by someone who used my connections to Rhiannon to get a promotion at a bigger publication.
Until a few short months ago, what I knew about Rhiannon Morrigan was the same as what all of you knew. She’s a driven, quick-thinking leader with the physical and technical skills on the pitch to place her in the hall of fame of all-time great fly-halves. Everything I’d learned about the championship-winning Raven came from interviews, articles on the internet, and puff pieces written by publications around the country.
What you can’t tell from those pieces, not even from the interviews with the woman herself or anyone who knows her, is anything about the person behind the persona. And I’ve recently had the absolute pleasure and honor of getting to know the woman behind the warrior.
