Go Ravens, give ’em hell!
I can’t help but smile at the last line. We got our arseshanded to us thirty-two to seven on the pitch against Leinster, but I love his enthusiasm and optimism all the same.
Clíodhna bumps my shoulder with hers. “You good?”
I bite my bottom lip in case a sob should slip out and nod. “I want to know the woman in this article. To be her. I want to have the faith in me that he does, to see the strength in me, the potential that he does.” Maybe it’s time I stop waiting to become her and start acting like I already am.
Aoife snorts. “We must suck at telling you if you don’t know that you already are that woman, Rhi.”
“And we all have endless faith in you. Even Dad.” Clíodhna gives a name to the reluctant voice in my mind. “He wouldn’t push us so hard if he didn’t think we could handle it.”
I’m not sure I’m picking up what she’s putting down there, but I stay quiet.
Aoife rolls her eyes. “Or if he didn’t want to relive his glory days through us. Same, same.”
Isn’t that what Robert said, too?
We get showered and changed, and a couple of the girls squeeze my arm or smile at me as I make my way out of the building and into the car park. Where my over six-foot-tall boyfriend is leaning against my car with what looks like leaflets in his hands. When I get close enough to him, he offers me the fanned-out pieces of card.
“What’s this?”
“Hot Girl Healing, item number five. These are paint sample cards. We’re going to redecorate. At least your bedroom. And your living room, I saw you mean-mugging your walls during the interview, but I didn’t know what color you wanted, so I kind of got them all.”
My heart swells. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone who sees me in color.
“But we’re hiring professional painters, Rhiannon. I loveyou, but I will get paint on your ceiling, your radiators, and your carpet. I can help you pick the paint. I can go with you to buy the paint. But I cannot help you apply. I will end up wearing more of it than the walls do.”
The image of him paint-splattered in overalls in my bedroom makes me laugh as we get into the car.
“Do you have a color you’re thinking about?” he asks, while I pull the car out and point it in the direction of home.
Maybe this is what loving him means—being brave enough to be seen too. Throwing him a grin, I nod. “Fuchsia.”
CHAPTER 52
Rhiannon
There’s a nervous flutter of wings in my stomach on the drive home. In some ways, nothing has changed, but at the same time it feels like everything has changed. Whatever walls were left between us crumble for good.
I know his truths, about who he is, where he came from, and what his motivations were for digging such deep trenches during his doping investigation. And I’ve never felt more exposed or seen in my entire life. Having validation that the post-George Rhiannon isn’t the hot mess express we probably all thought I would be is nice. Or maybe she is, and people are okay with that.
Hearing that I should trust my instincts instead of relying on other people’s—read: Dad’s—opinions is a hot take for sure. I spent my whole life guided by the north star of our sport and career and family. But what if Robert is right? What if my instincts could be better than what Dad instilled in us our whole lives?
What might that look like on the pitch? Who knows? Because I’ve never given the idea space totake root.
“You okay?” Robert pulls me from the depths of my own mind, making me start as he covers my hand with his to stop me picking at my cuticle. We’re almost home. I just need to keep it together until we get back to his place, and then I can let the jumbled cluster of emotions fall out of me.
I nod. “Just thinking.”
He nods, too, turning to look at the darkness of Larne passing out the window. “I understand if you’re upset with me.” He clears his throat. “I did the exact opposite of what you told me to do, and I didn’t get your input beforehand.”
My heart cramps. “No. I’m not mad at you, Robert. Not at all.” For a second, I want to be. I want to have a reason to be furious. But all I can feel is this stupid, swelling ache in my chest.
“I’m… thoughtful. You gave me a lot to chew on. And to be honest, I’m struggling not to cry my eyes out on this drive. No one has ever said anything like that to or about me before.” My voice wavers as tears swim in my vision. While I blink them away, I clutch the steering wheel tighter.
His palm is a weight and an anchor on my thigh, pressing me back into my body when my head wants to spiral away.
I’ll be there to catch her when she stops running.
