Warmth spreads through my chest at the words Thelma leaves lingering in the air between all of us, not just for being accepted, but for the woman across from me finally seeing her daughter for who she is. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I could thaw the heart of a single Morrigan, but now, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve won over the matriarch, as well as her eldest daughter.
The woman in question leans forward and squeezes my hand. “Thank you for what you wrote about our Rhiannon the other day, Robert love. It’s about time she was with someone who saw how special she is and told the world.”
She turns her attention to Rhiannon. “And you.” She swallows. “To all of you, I suppose. I’m sorry I let your father run the show. I didn’t think I had a voice when it came to rugby. I’ve never played; I watch because you all play, but I was never a fan before I met your father. I should have stepped in or at least spoken up when I didn’t agree with things he said or the direction he was taking all of you, the pressure he put you all under.”
From the stunned looks on all four Morrigan children’s faces, apologies aren’t big in this household, which just makes me even madder at their father. I bet he never took responsibility for leading them wrong, either. He probably coached them through the sport, and if his strategies didn’t pay off, he’d blame the kids.
I want to punch him in his arrogant face.
Taranis opens his mouth, perhaps to defend his father, but after a few seconds doing a fish impression, he chooses to remain silent. Probably for the best.
“Thanks, Mum.” Rhiannon’s voice cracks. “I appreciate that.”
Clíodhna shakes her head. “I can’t believe you kicked Dad out of Sunday dinner.”
Aoife kicks me under the table. “Thanks.”
I tip my head, questioning her with my gaze.
“Sunday dinners were boring as hell until you came along.”
For once, the Morrigans don’t feel like a fortress. They feel like a family.
CHAPTER 54
Rhiannon
Ihaven’t seen much of Dad over the past few weeks, but tomorrow is the first home game of the season, and I imagine his opinion on how we should play the game and pursue the title will win out over his childish huffing.
Who knows?
His stubbornness might reign supreme.
I tell myself I’m ready for whatever version of him shows up—coach, critic, or cold shoulder. But the truth is, there’s still a little girl inside me waiting for her dad to clap from the sideline instead of glare from it.
Maybe that’s why I’m so jittery outside this school gate—it’s not just the speech. It’s the ghosts that come with performing for approval.
Thankfully, over the past couple of weeks, Taranis has let up on Robert when they’ve been in the same room together. Last week after dinner, we played a few rounds of Uno, and no blood was spilled or anything.
I’m taking all progress as good progress.
My hands are sweaty as I stand outside Castleview Primary School, the place where I spent the first seven years of my life.Robert stands beside me, with one of his photographer friends from his former job next to him.
Talking to primary school children about the sport I love with my whole heart has always been something I wanted to do, but I’d never really been brave enough to use my voice. I guess part of me thought that because I wasn’t my father, or my brother, I didn’t have much of value to contribute about the game.
Robert’s hand brushes mine. No words, just a grounding squeeze—the kind that says, “You’ve got this.”
At least half of the kids in this class right now are women. And as a woman in a “man’s job,” I have a responsibility to show these impressionable minds that the world is their oyster, and that if they really want to play rugby, they can.
The principal comes out to shake my hand. “Rhiannon Morrigan. It’s been a long time.”
“Mr. Harkness, it’s good to see you after all these years.” I shake, then turn to introduce Robert. “Robert, this is my P4 teacher, Mr. Harkness. This is my boyfriend, Robert, and a freelance photographer who is going to take a few snaps of my big debut.”
Mr. Harkness offers me a warm smile. “Take a breath. You always got shaky when you had to stand in front of the class to say anything.”
I can’t believe he remembers me out of a class of thirty-two from more than two decades ago.
My facial expression must be filled with questions because he shakes his head. “You weren’t the kind of student a teacher could easily forget, Rhiannon. I always knew you’d do great things when you were older.”
