Rhiannon
“Right now, they’re calling you the ‘daddy’s girl shagging the man who tried to ruin daddy.’ You want to look like collateral damage? Or do you want to own the narrative? It’s your decision.” The team’s PR manager, Órlaith, sits across the desk from me, her fingers interlocked as she peers at me with sympathetic eyes over the rim of her clear-framed, chunky glasses.
This is bad. This is really,reallybad.
I’m hungover to hell, both of my parents are so mad they’re barely talking to me. And our Taranis has kicked into overprotective big brother mode, simultaneously threatening to rip Robert limb from limb while also giving me stern lectures about being so careless with my vagina.
He hasn’t come right out and said it, because he doesn’t know I actually slept with the guy—and I’m thankful for small mercies—but that’s the jist.
How could you have kissed some rando in a bar, Rhiannon? Don’t you know better, Rhiannon? Haven’t you learned from all the shit our Aoife pulls, Rhiannon?
If she’d been the one to kiss the journalist in the pubyesterday, it would be no big deal. But because it’s me… different story. Different rules for different children. Isn’t that a kicker?
Most of them don’t know what I didafterthe kissing part, and that’s how it’s going to stay given how pissed everyone is that my tongue touched his. Of all the men I could have had a quickie in a bar with… it had to be that one? Goddamnit. My vaginal compass is clearly all the way broken.
“What do you suggest I do?” I’m a trouble virgin. Dad makes sure of it, so my mind is one giant blank page right now. Some girls on the team are frequent fliers in this woman’s office; they’re always getting into trouble one way or another. But me? Clean as a whistle. Responsible, rule follower, respected. A triple threat of Rs. Until now.
A flicker of doubt rolls through my mind. Should I call Dad? If I did, would he pick up my call? If he did, would he be able to get past his disappointment and anger to give me sound advice about what I should do right now?
Órlaith shifts in her chair, casting her eyes down from mine. At the end of the day, she’s here to cover the team’s ass, while Dad is supposed to have my back. My stomach churns at the reminder that when it came to George, he didn’t. He had the nerve to text me that George is ready to take me back whenever I calm down.
Almost cost me a new phone from throwing it across the room.
Órlaith still hasn’t spoken.
“What? Whatever you think will help, I’ll do it.” I can’t ask Dad for advice. I’m not sure my siblings would be able to adequately guide me through this. And if I take a year out from rugby to repair my image, or to let people forget the last twenty-four hours, my spot on the team wouldn’t be there when I come back. She knows it, and I know it. Professional sports move too quickly for anyone’s seat to be held for asmuch as a month, never mind a year. Unless it’s for injury. In this case, it’s not an option.
She worries her lip.
“Just how bad is this?”
We’re in her office on a Sunday morning, Rhiannon. I’d say it’s pretty fucking bad.
“The Ravens are gearing up for a new season; we want to compete internationally. We’ve alljustgotten past a league-wide doping scandal, and you publicly fall into bed with the man who cast a very bright light on the darkest underbelly of rugby?” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s pretty bad.”
Ouch. I’m glad she didn’t hold back. But also, ouch.
I don’t correct her about falling into bed with him, more like falling into the sink… I’m not going to lie about it if I’m asked directly, but I’m also not going to volunteer more information than I need to. Ultimately, I know what the optics look like, and in today’s world, kissing a guy is as good as fucking him.
“They’re going to spin it so you look as bad as they can make you out to be. Betraying your father with the man he has an injunction against, potentially cheating on your ex in some kind of revenge sex, or worse. They will probably say you started cheating on George while you were still together. And that his cheating was retaliatory. Poor, sad, heartbroken George.”
I open my mouth, but she holds up her hand. “The press aren’t nice people, Rhiannon. And they fucking hate women. They’re going to do everything they can to destroy you. They’re going to say you started boning this Robert man during the investigation, maybe even to cover up something he found about your da. God knows how else they’ll spin it.” She waves her hand. “The possibilities are endless when it comes to the whiff of an outrage.”
“Surely they can’t slanderme and make stuff up.”
Órlaith gives me that kind of look you give to a kid when you’re explaining something and waiting for them to catch on. “That’s exactly what they can and will do. They’ll find the line between legal and illegal, and they’ll hump it like wild animals in mating season. Whatever skeletons you have in your cupboards or buried in the darkest part of your life, they’re about to come crashing out.”
My skin heats, and my breathing quickens. This can’t be happening. It can’t. We just got Dad and Taranis through the scandal. I never once doubted their innocence; Dad has been a staunch advocate against drugs of any kind for as long as I can remember. And Taranis is just like him, but it was hard on all of us. The pressure, the violation of our privacy, the exhaustion, and the grief of hearing just how high the coverups went and who all was involved.
“We need to change the narrative,” I mumble it mostly to myself, but she murmurs in agreement.
“I’m not sure how to do that. I’d suggest finding a Patsy and dating some vanilla pleb for a while to make it look like you’re squeaky clean, reliable, and stable, but they’ll probably just call you a slut if you move on again so fast.”
I wince at her weaponizing the word.
“Iwouldn’t think you’re a slut, to be clear. Get it, girl. Sleep with as many people as you want. But society…” She whistles through her teeth. “Vicious.”
Society really does suck sometimes. God forbid a woman should enjoy having sex and taking control of her body. I almost snicker. Considering I’ve been with the same man almost my entire adult life, calling me a slut or any other derogatory term about the number of men in my bed is damn near laughable.
