“So, what did the coach want?” I ask cautiously leaving the UCD car park.
“I don’t feel like talking about it.”
“Where shall I take you, home?”
“To your place please. I need to keep my distance from Nick for a few hours.”
* * *
We letourselves in to my apartment and I throw my keys down on the counter. Ryan goes straight to the fridge looking for alcohol. He never used to touch the stuff. He grabs a bottle, opens it and then flops onto the sofa, running the cold bottle across his forehead.
I follow his lead and join him on the sofa.
“Hard day?”
“Total shit.”
Perfect.
My own shit wasn’t enough for me to take on – now I have to deal with his, too.
“Is it because of Nick?”
“Kind of.”
“Do you want to talk about it or do I have to read your fucking mind?”
He scoffs and opens his eyes, sitting up and leaning his elbows on his legs.
“The president was there with the coach,” he starts nervously, peeling the label off his bottle.
“They offered me a position.”
“What?”
“Don’t get too excited.”
“Sorry, I’m just surprised.”
“No big deal bro, just a spot on the bench.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I’d have to think about it.”
He turns and looks at me with sad eyes. It feels like I’m looking at the kid who took a beating on the field every day and then came to me at night begging me to teach him how to improve and get stronger.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“But you don’t have a team right now, right?”
“Not exactly. Let’s just say there’s a deal on the table. Someone’s on their way out.”
“It’s a great opportunity, you know that, right? They’re not going to ask you a third time.”
“I know, but I don’t think I’m ready to put down roots here just yet.”
“And our family? Don’t you think about them?”
