Red flags passion player.., p.21
Red Flags (Passion Players), page 21
Eoghan’s muscles worked as he ran the ball down the pitch and kicked it over to his teammates. His lungs ached before reaching a level where his fitness and conditioning took over and all he had to focus on was the game. The fans cheered when his team got control of the ball and groaned in unison when the opposing team regained control. His job as an attacker on the team was to go after other players, shadow them, and keep them from scoring, especially one player in particular. Martim Santos. He was an excellent player, but his personality was shite. Known for being a troublemaker on and off the field. Eoghan looked forward to the games with him because Martim’s skill helped elevate his, especially when the matches went into overtime. Even better if Ireland took the lead and ultimately won the match. Unfortunately, Portugal had bested them often in the past, but Eoghan believed that today, with everything working for him, Ireland would take that match and move their club up the standings.
Martim dribbled the ball with Eoghan on his heels, passing with his teammates until the ball had gone back to Martim for a goal, but Eoghan was there to spoil the goal, as was Pippin, who also braced, ready to deflect.
Back our way.
Eoghan didn’t know when the energy shifted, but he played in the zone, his feet light and comfortable and his legs strong. He’d never understood being in the zone until he’d become a player, but he definitely knew when he wasn’t. He hadn’t felt the haze of the zone once since he’d come back to play—that was, until now. His movements were easy, his plays effortless, and as it came to Martim, Eoghan was white on rice. Everywhere.
“Get off my ass,” Martim yelled in Portuguese at one point. That only expressed to Eoghan that he was doing something right, and he gloated inside.
Eoghan slapped hands with his teammates before they reset. The game continued, and his body dripped with sweat.
“Pass,” Eoghan heard and sometimes yelled, many times a deflection to confuse the opposing players. He ran the ball hard and tried to steal it from another player. Their feet tangled, tripping them both up, but unlike the other player, it was Eoghan who fell.
The fans gasped like he was a fragile Fabergé egg that had just broken. He lay on his back for a second, squinting out of one eye. He checked in with his body. All good!
“Get up, Eoghy!”
He could have sworn he heard Charlotte, but he couldn’t possibly through the tons of fans at the stadium, and there was no way she’d call him Eoghy in public.
He leaped up, and the roar in the stadium had to be heard from across the pond.
He and the team ran a wide flank play in an attempt to unbalance their opponents.
A pass to Patrick and a kick into the goal.
Cheers erupted as the Irish national team scored first. Patrick ran down the sidelines, and the stands vibrated with stomping feet like an earthquake. The screaming fans released puffy emerald-colored smoke that fogged over the stadium in patriotic flair.
Charlotte blew into her gloves to warm her fingers and bounced her feet as she sat and watched Eoghan brilliantly work the pitch. He ran players down, attacked them, and kicked the ball from right under them.
Charlotte screamed her throat hoarse, along with the other fifty thousand fans in the packed house.
“He looks good,” Shane said as he watched Eoghan with her and Ayanna.
“He looks great,” Charlotte corrected, and Shane chuckled. “I mean, his cleats look like they’re working well for him,” she added.
“Mmm-hmm,” Danai said, decked out in team colors. He and Charlotte sported Irish-flag-inspired scarves around their necks in patriotic support.
Ayanna bumped her. “I’m so glad that this is the first game we get to watch together.”
“Me too,” Charlotte said, but though she enjoyed this moment with her friend, she kept her eye on the O’Farrell jersey on the field.
Charlotte bolted to her feet and her heart stopped beating in her chest when she saw Eoghan fall. She was numb to the brisk evening air.
“Please, please get up,” she prayed quietly to herself. The panic in her heart gripped her so fearsomely that she was ready to jog down to the field.
“Come on, Eoghy!” Her voice cracked from trying to scream over the rest of the fans gasping and moaning at Eoghan on his back.
Then, just as quickly as he’d fallen, he was back on his feet and running with the team.
“Yeah,” she screamed and jumped up and down like she’d won the Powerball.
“We have O’Farrell . . . ,” the crowd sang for him, and Charlotte thought her chest would crack open with joy.
“Eoghy, huh?” Ayanna teased her out of earshot of everyone.
Charlotte covered her face with her hands. Her hopes that no one had heard her scream the endearment were utterly dashed. “Hush. You didn’t hear that,” she retorted.
“We all did, boo,” Danai chimed in.
The game continued, and Eoghan, Lance, and Patrick moved together in a wide flank play. Eoghan passed the ball to Patrick, who scored, and Aviva went mad. Charlotte jumped up and down, her arms reaching for the sky. Like the fans in the stands who high-fived and hugged each other, she did the same with Shane, Ayanna, and Danai.
“He’s playing well,” Charlotte said.
“Walsh’ll take him out soon,” Shane said.
“What? Why? He’s doing so well.”
“He might have some swelling as his leg catches up with the other one from his injury. It’s natural, but best to take him out and work him up to a full game,” Ayanna said.
Halftime came, and in the dressing rooms, the team bounced off the walls. They’d drawn first blood, and even better, Eoghan was playing his best. He finally felt one with the pitch and couldn’t wait to get back out there.
“Great job, lads,” Walsh said. “Keep up the good work. Eoghan, way to attack the ball. I’m going to take you out and—”
That was all Eoghan heard. He couldn’t have heard Gaff correctly. He’d come so far to get back to this very moment, this very feeling. Likely Gaff had made a mistake, misspoken, and meant to address his comment to another player.
“What?” Eoghan asked.
“You’re done for the day,” Walsh said.
In the past, he hadn’t been one to normally question his coaches, but he couldn’t comprehend why Gaff had made this move. “If I’m playing well, then why are you taking me out?”
“Just a little precaution. Good job, lad.”
Eoghan seethed even as his teammates patted his shoulders and back. He drank some water to cool down but nearly choked on it.
“It’s all right, mate. Well done out there,” Pippin said.
Eoghan punched a locker, ready to snap.
“Let’s go,” one of their teammates said, and they headed back on the field. Eoghan stomped to the players’ box and watched the rest of the game.
True to Shane’s words, Walsh took Eoghan out of the game. Ayanna knew her stuff, and Charlotte trusted her that if Eoghan had to be taken out of the game, it was for his own good.
Charlotte recognized that tantrum walk Eoghan did to the players’ box. She half expected him to blame her shoes, kick them off, and have Dodger run and go get them. She knew how much he’d wanted to play a full game and be as good as he’d been before the injury. She hugged herself, wishing she could give him a hug, pronounce herself his biggest fan, and tell him how great he’d done. But most of all she wanted to tell him that she was proud of him. However, Eoghan spent his first five minutes on the bench sullen and unmoving. That was, until Portugal scored. The disgruntled fans booed their discontentment loudly. Eoghan jumped up and waved his hands up and down to get the fans excited, willing them to help the team get the goal back.
“Come on,” he yelled, even though it sounded like a faint call under the roaring attendees. The crowd got hyped, and as Charlotte watched the game, the Irish team scored and got the goal back. She almost covered her head at the real possibility of Aviva tumbling down over them from the deafening screams.
“Yes!” Charlotte high-fived Ayanna and Shane. She clutched her heart, exhilarated for Eoghan and the teammates she’d come to grow fond of.
“Come on, guys,” she yelled, willing Eoghan and her team to a win.
The second half started out well, but then Portugal tied the score quickly. Eoghan cheered his team on as they got a point back. In the end Ireland won the game, but the win was bittersweet since Eoghan had spent the second half benched. He’d been in the zone, and Walsh had taken him out? He clenched his fists. He wanted to be out there and play against his rivals. Had he shown signs that he was fatiguing? His insecurity from childhood, when he’d gotten pulled out of games, resurfaced like yesterday.
The fans were happy, and that would have to be enough.
After an ice bath and massage, Eoghan showered and dressed. Walsh pulled him aside. “I know you’re stiff about me taking you out, but you’re not ready for a full game yet. Your leg was swelling. I’d asked Miles to keep an eye on it,” Gaff said, referring to the assistant coach.
“You know I can play through it,” Eoghan said.
“And I’ll need you to, so take the pin out of your arse,” his coach said.
“Thanks, Gaff,” he said and left the dressing rooms. He almost forgot that his father would be waiting where he always did.
“Dad,” Eoghan said.
“Good game, son.”
“Thanks,” Eoghan said tentatively.
“But the second half. Walsh should have left you in,” Donal said. “You have to show him, son. You have to show him that you’re ready to lead at the helm again.”
“Gaff knows what he’s doing, Da,” Eoghan said. “There will be plenty more games.”
“That’s the attitude you have?”
“I don’t want to wallow in it tonight. Walsh explained himself, and it’s good. All right.”
“Don’t get soft, son.”
“Soft?”
“Stand up for yourself with your playing time. You’re the star.”
Eoghan shook his head. He’d accepted his coach’s decision because Walsh had taken him out to protect him. Yet here his father was unable to let it go. “The lads are waiting, Da.”
“Right, well, me and your ma will see you for dinner at the next weekend?” his father stated more than asked.
“Yeah,” Eoghan said. “See you then.” His father had parked on the other side of the stadium for years to avoid the traffic. When he left, Eoghan welcomed the time alone and dragged his way out to meet his friends.
Outside, Shane waited with Ayanna, Charlotte, Danai, and Pippin, but Eoghan’s eyes landed and remained on Charlotte.
“Good win,” Charlotte cheered.
Shane slapped hands and bumped shoulders with him.
Ayanna studied his leg. “You had a little swelling, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted to his physio.
“Good, it’s behaving normally. That’ll pass as you stay in games longer,” Ayanna said. “I’m sure that’s why Walsh took you out.”
“Doesn’t mean I was happy about it,” he said.
“Did he crack a locker?” Shane asked Pippin.
“Nah,” Pippin said. “Just a bit of a punch.”
“Let’s go out for a bit of the craic,” Shane said. “The rest of the lads are there already.”
“Grand.”
Charlotte inched over to him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. He boldly took her hand in his. “Walk with me for a bit?” He relaxed when she didn’t pull away. He wanted her more than he could stand, but right now he just needed to be close to her. He hadn’t had her in his arms since Monday last.
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “You’re never this quiet. Say something. You’re freaking me out.”
“Will you come to dinner with me?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“At my parents’ house at the next weekend?” He didn’t qualify it or overexplain it. He wanted her with him, and though his family wasn’t perfect and she had concerns about their relationship, he wanted her to know every part of him, good or bad. She didn’t respond for a long time, and he thought that perhaps he’d made a mistake asking her.
“I don’t know, Eoghan. That seems so . . . formal and so serious.”
“It’s dinner.” He smiled, though they both knew the level he was asking her to jump. Though she didn’t physically run, he sensed she wanted to.
“Okay, I’ll come.”
“Yeah?” Sure, he looked like a little boy who’d just gotten his first date.
“I said yes, didn’t I?” She made a fist and pushed him, gently, center chest.
“Okay.”
Chapter 21
Eoghan and Charlotte arrived at his parents’ home in Limerick. During the season his folks frequented Dublin more, staying at their flat in the city, but Eoghan visited his childhood home several times a year on special occasions, like Easter, Christmas, and now bringing Charlotte to dinner.
“It’s such a sweet house,” Charlotte said as they pulled up to a brick house on a row with other yellow-and-brick houses, common for the developments in many neighborhoods. Their door was black with evergreen plants on either side and a door knocker that he’d made for his mam when he was seven. He had a lot of great memories of growing up with his family, Shane, and eventually Pippin, but the more his celebrity had grown, the more had his father’s need to control him.
He entered the house with Charlotte, the savory scent of his mam’s cooking hitting them as they made their way farther inside.
“Hello,” Eoghan called.
“Here he is,” his father said and gave him a pat.
“Where’s Ma?” Eoghan asked his father.
“She’s gone to collect the messages,” his father returned. “Something important she forgot. Should be back any minute.” He looked at Charlotte and gave her a nod. “Hello there.”
Eoghan had hoped his father would give her a warmer greeting than a nod, but Eoghan told himself that his da would warm up in his own time.
Charlotte, on the other hand, opened her arms wide. “Mr. O’Farrell! So good to see you again.”
Eoghan’s eyes widened when Charlotte hugged his father, who stiffened in her arms. Eoghan snickered into his hand, knowing exactly Charlotte’s purpose. Thankfully, she didn’t torture oul Donal with a lengthy embrace.
“Yes, well, show her where to put her things,” his father tossed at him and quickly found his way to the couch. “Maybe you can go ahead and get her a drink while you’re at it.”
The instructions were more than Eoghan had expected from his father, who thus far had only shown distaste for Charlotte’s role with the team.
Eoghan took her things. “My ma’s just gone to get groceries. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring you something you like,” he said to Charlotte, who mischievously eyed his father, who was watching a game on the telly. “I know that look well enough.”
“What?” she asked, batting her eyelashes too sweetly at him to be taken at all seriously.
“Behave yourself.”
She winked at him before refocusing her attention back on his father. “I got this.” Charlotte marched over and sat on a love seat close to where his father was sitting. “Whatcha watching, Donal?”
“The match from Thursday.”
“I missed that one. Any good?” Charlotte asked.
“It’s all right.”
Eoghan smothered his face with his hand, questioning why he’d brought Charlotte here to his parents’ house for dinner. Of course, he knew why. He’d fallen hard for her, though he’d never foreseen a moment where he brought any of the women he’d dated, with the exception of Eileen, to his parents’ house. He’d convinced himself that he’d loved Eileen, but eventually, he’d been able to admit that infatuation had played a larger role in that relationship. Eileen chose him, and being in so deep, he took her from not just any bloke or pal but his friend. His best friend Shane. He and Shane, with the help of their best friend Pippin, worked things out a year after the incident two years ago, and then when the dregs of that conflict reappeared when they were in America for four months together last year, they cleared the rest of the toxic air.
Eoghan falling in love with a good, Catholic, Irish girl had been his ma’s dream. But the dream of Eileen quickly had turned into one of the hellish nightmares that Poe had written about. Now he was with Charlotte. Not white, not Irish, and not Catholic, yet here he was bringing her to dinner. Throwing her into the den. At his childhood home with his parents. Populated with lions. What was his endgame?
Eoghan brought Charlotte a beer, and as he handed it to her, he heard a commotion coming through the front door. It was his mother returning from her shopping. Eoghan went to help, and his father stayed put, his eyes focused on the television. Charlotte put her beer down and stood up and made her way over to them.
“There’s more in the car,” Eoghan’s mother said.
“I’ll take these,” Charlotte said and tried to take the groceries from him, but he shooed her away.
“Go on and relax, Char. We’ll take care of it.”
“Oul fella,” his mother yelled to his father. “Get off yer arse and help me and your son with the messages.” Her warning command always got both him and his father moving.
Used to his wife’s barking, Donal dragged himself away from the TV, then revved up his actions when he saw his wife struggling with the bags she carried into the kitchen. One thing his father tried to be was ever gallant for his wife.
Despite Eoghan’s suggestion, Charlotte helped with a bag or two. “I want to help.”
“The cooking is done. I had to get one more thing but then went ahead and got groceries for the week, plus I wanted to make sure I had a few extra things for your friend.” His mother briefly looked at Charlotte, who smiled. “Dinner will be on the table in short order.”
