Page 56 of Hard to Hold

My eyes all but bug out of my head. “Yes. I’m sorry. Did I not say I did? It was”—Wonderful. Incredible. Homecooked—“my new favorite meal.”

She claps her hands as Archibald chuckles. “I’m so glad,” she says as if she were nervous that I was actually going to complain. “After the game you played today, you deserved something special.”

I spare a glance across the table to Rory and feel awkward. “Rory kicked arse—did great today too. I think he’s going to make a fine defender if they end up keeping him there.”

“Rory will do fine wherever he plays so long as he keeps practicing,” Archibald says dismissively as he takes a sip of brandy. “But you, Rush. You were magnificent today.”

Shifting in my seat, I feel uncomfortable at the praise, but I offer a smile or comment when proper during the rest of the meal. Rory even makes a face at me at one point and we erupt into laughter.

But it’s only when the meal is done and Mrs. Matheson walks out with a cake lit with candles that I do a double take when they start singing, including me. She laughs as she puts it down in front of me. And when the singing ends, they all look at me expectantly.

“We know it’s not for two weeks, but we wanted to help you celebrate your birthday properly,” Helen says. “Happy birthday, Rush.”

I blink at her . . . and swallow back tears. It reminds me of the last time my birthday was celebrated. It was my twelfth birthday and my mum was healthy and happy. She’d picked up an extra job waitressing that I kept telling her she didn’t need, but when I opened my present, I understood why. She’d bought me a Liverpool shirt. We’d cried together when I opened it.

It’s the last great memory I have of her—before treatments and hair loss and pain. Before she lost her jobs, because she missed so much work from being sick. When we cuddled together in that tiny flat, so I could keep her warm and try to make her laugh through the pain.

“Rush? Son? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this would upset you. I promise I’m not trying to take over for your mum.”

I’m so fucking embarrassed by the tears that I shove away the one tear I let slip down my cheek with the back of my hand as fast as I can. “No. This is . . . it’s good. Fine.” I feel like an arse. “It’s just . . . I can’t remember . . . It’s only ever been my mum and me who celebrated my birthday.”

“Not anymore. Any friend of Rory’s is family to us,” Archibald says in that deep baritone of his.

“Go on, make a wish,” Helen says.

When I close my eyes, I wish the only other wish I’ve ever had other than to save my mum: I wish to play for Liverpool F.C. someday.

And it’s only after I blow the candles out and Rory grumbles how full he is that Helen hands a wrapped present to me.

“What birthday is complete without a gift?” Archibald says as Rory smirks in his seat across from me.

“You’ve already done more than enough. I can’t accept anything else.”

“Go ’head, mate. I promise you’ll love it,” Rory says.

I open the package and stare at the same set of boots that I was madly wanting hours before. Bloody hell. What do I say?

“I can’t—this is too much. Thank you, but—”

“Nonsense, son. One of the best footballers I’ve seen play in a long while deserves to have the best for his feet,” Archibald says.

“These are expensive. Thank you, but like I said, I can’t accept them.”

“You can and you will,” Archibald says with a finality that silences the room. “Tell him, Helen. Tell him what you asked me earlier this week.”

Both Rory and I look back and forth from his dad to his mum before Helen finally speaks. “We want you to think of this place, this house, our family, as your home. Rory’s never had a brother before and Archibald says you’re without a family. That you need a steady family to help you on the field as well . . . and we want you to know, we’ve really loved having you here the few times Rory has brought you home and”—she smooths her hands down her thighs as if she’s nervous—“I’m rambling. I don’t mean to and I don’t want to overstep, but we want you to stay here with us over the holidays and when you have breaks from the academy or any time things get too crazy where you’re staying.”

My head spins at the offer. At the sense of normalcy and home and warmth I feel when I’m in this house. At having someone like Rory in my life who looks out for me.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” she says, eyebrows raised and hope in her eyes. “I always wanted to have two boys. It was my dream, but I was unable to have any more children after Rory and so . . . I don’t know, but when Archibald suggested this, I thought maybe this is God’s way of giving me two boys.” Her smile—there’s something about the warmth in it that reminds me of my mum in this moment. I’d do anything for it to remain so I can remember her a little bit more.

God, I miss her.

God, I miss . . . a sense of belonging. Of not being alone.

I clear my throat. Uncertain what to say.