Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance

by Norinne, Rebecca

  “What’s your point, Cian? I’m tired so if you’re not going to be good company, leave me in peace.”

  “You’re such a fucking arsehole,” he uttered. Shaking his head, he added, “I’d give my left nut to be in your position and you’re willing to throw it all away because you had a fight with your girlfriend.”

  I’d suspected Cian resented my success, but this was the first time I’d seen his bitterness so pronounced. This conversation went beyond simple animosity and I wondered if his anger ran much deeper, if he was somehow actively campaigning for my dismissal. I couldn’t see how my being benched would benefit him, so it was probably just my paranoia talking. Then again, anger and jealousy did strange things to people.

  “I thought I told you to leave Sophie out of this,” I reminded him for the last time. “Don’t make me repeat myself or you might fail another head injury assessment.”

  If you’d told me two years ago I’d be sitting across from my best friend threatening him with bodily injury, I would have said you were out of your fucking mind. But like I said, anger made people behave strangely.

  Cian pushed his chair back violently, the legs digging screeching along the hardwood floors, and rose. “Look, I like Sophie.”

  I snickered. “Yeah, I’m well aware of that.”

  He stared down at me, eyes assessing. “She’s too good for you. I already told you that … and her as well, but neither of you will listen.” He shook his head and pulled out his wallet. “You’re not capable of loving her and she doesn’t seem willing to give up on you. So … I wish you both all the best. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Opening the leather bi-fold, he tossed two €20 bills on the table to cover the tab. I would have paid since money was tight for him, but I figured it best not to remind him.

  “See ya!” I hollered as he strolled away.

  Because I would. The next time I stepped foot in Ballycurra, I’d either hear about what he was up to or I’d run into him. That’s just the way our town was. You couldn’t avoid your enemies when you’d grown up three houses down from each another.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sophie

  Tapping my pen against my lips, I flicked my eyes between my calendar and the website on my laptop. I’d spent the past week reaching out to my contacts about press junkets and had managed to secure two opportunities in January. All I had to do now was figure out which one I wanted to take, sign the contract, and book a one-way ticket out of here.

  If I went on the Jamaican resort-hopper tour set up by an all-inclusive hotel chain that specialized in luxury, adults-only resorts in the Caribbean, I’d be gone as early as January 6. But if I joined the “Winter in the Alps for Non-Skiers” trip my friend Tom had finagled invitations to, I’d have to stay in Ballycurra until the end of the month. I looked back at my calendar and considered the timing of each—early January versus late.

  Between the implosion of my relationship with Declan and my grandfather’s increasingly stubborn stance on making improvements to the pub, the earlier departure was the better option, certainly. But I wasn’t convinced going the all-inclusive route was something I wanted to tackle, especially by myself, while a week in the Alps with Tom would be a riot. But … I’d been freezing for weeks now so maybe jetting off to the warm waters of the Caribbean was exactly what I needed Especially if it got me out of here that much quicker.

  Three weeks. Twenty-one days. It couldn’t come soon enough.

  Biting the bullet, I accepted the invite and shut the screen on my laptop. Taking a deep breath, I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes.

  Right then, time to move on Sophie.

  That absolutely was not a tear cascading down my cheek.

  The next night I worked behind the bar while the sound of chatter and gossip wove around me, the din of many individual voices and laughs paired with the clinking of silverware and the tinkling of glasses mingling into one long sound that had become the soundtrack of my life. I’d gotten so good at letting that cacophony drown out my inner monologue that I’d gone four whole hours without once thinking about Declan. Okay, not really, but settling into my groove back here—smiling, waving, pouring, and serving—made it look like I wasn’t obsessing over him, which was almost equally as important since word had gotten out we’d broken up and I was being watched like a hawk.

  I’d been so focused on studiously avoiding those marked stares that I was surprised when Siobhan flitted behind the bar to tell me I had a guest at one of the front tables. Her eyes sparking with mischief, I tried not to let my hope show. Even though it’d been days since I’d heard from Declan, hearing there was someone waiting to see me made my heart beat a little bit faster.

  “Take over for me back here?” I asked, wiping damp palms against my thighs.

  She surveyed the room. “Yeah, alright. All of my tables are okay for now.”

  As we slid past one another, Siobhan laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s not him sweetie.”

  “Oh, I didn’t …” I started to speak. “He’s not … We’re not.” Shit, I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

  “It’s okay,” she mused. “Your eyes kind of gave it away.”

  “No really,” I protested weakly. But why bother? She’d been right. And she’d been kind about being right, not at all smug as she could have been. Like I expected her to be.

  For days I’d been waiting for questions like “Well, what did you expect?” or comments like “I told you so,” but so far most everyone had remained tight-lipped about me about Declan. Likely waiting for me to break down first, I thought, as I watched one woman’s head flick back around when she saw me catch her staring.

  Deflated but curious, I crossed the pub to see who my visitor was. I didn’t know anyone outside of Ballycurra, and even if I did, it’s not like I was expecting company. The thought was a sad one and I felt very lonely all of a sudden. Lonely and very surprised when I saw it was Aoife O’Shaughnessy waiting for me. I didn’t know Declan’s little sister that well, but I recognized her straight away. She would have been hard to miss since Declan had told me she’d dyed her short blonde pixie cut a shocking shade of bubblegum pink.

  My heart clenched painfully as I recalled other whispered conversations that had stretched long into the night, ones where we’d confided in each other all the ways we’d failed or disappointed our families. While I’d done my best never to judge Declan for the things he’d done before we met, his mom and sister hadn’t been so diplomatic on the subject.

  Pushing my nerves aside, I smiled as I approached. When Aoife stood, I extended my hand in greeting. “Aoife, so nice to see you again. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  She shook it perfunctorily and sat back down, eyes blazing. “What have you done to my brother?” Arms crossed, she waited for my answer.

  Okay, no pleasantries then.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know it was you who broke his heart.” She pointed her finger at me accusingly.

  Confused, I leaned back and studied her, trying to get a handle on what was happening. Aoife was a tiny little slip of a thing—so much different from her brother’s hulking frame—but right now it looked like she wanted to murder me and, despite her size, would likely succeed.

  The idea that Declan had a champion in the little sprite started to bring a smile to my face, but my grin faltered when I realized what she’d accused me of.

  “Wait, I broke your brother’s heart?”

  “Well, if not you, then who?” she shot back angrily.

  I scoffed, but it came out sounding like a cross between a snort and a belch. “I can assure you, I did no such thing.”

  Despite the confession I thought I’d heard him mutter our last night together, or maybe because of it, I didn’t think Declan had a heart to break. Because if he’d loved me and still cheated on me? Yeah, he was a heartless bastard.

  “Well
, something’s wrong with him. If it wasn’t something you did, then what?”

  “Aoife, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Maybe it’s how the team’s playing.”

  “He’s the most competitive person I’ve ever met, but he’s lost before and it never affected him like this.”

  I hated to think our breakup had sent Declan back to his old ways, but it was a very real possibility. “Affected him how?” I asked, holding my breath while I waited for her answer.

  “He’s drunk, like all the time, and he shows up to practice hungover and Eoin said he hasn’t shaved in days.”

  Declan was a saint about going to bed early (unless I slept over and we stayed up all night) and he really didn’t drink all that much while he was training.

  “You’re right, that doesn’t sound like him. He takes rugby seriously. Probably more serious than anything else in his life. Why would he risk that?” I wondered as Aoife looked at me with worry.

  “I don’t know,” she sniffled. “But don’t you see? There has to be something wrong if he’s risking his career. Declan’s the best there is but The Wallaby hates him and would love a reason to pick someone ahead of Declan for the Six Nations team.”

  When she finished speaking, Aoife sat back and assessed me. Tilting her head to the side, she stared— unblinking—for several long seconds.

  I rubbed my fingers over my throbbing temples. I’d been popping paracetamol like candy for the last three days but I couldn’t seem to shake this constant headache. I blew out my breath and rested my arms on the table. With a sigh, I asked her what she knew about my relationship with her brother.

  “How much do you know?”

  “I know everything was great and then it wasn’t,” she answered quickly.

  Now it was my turn to study her and watch for her reaction. “Your brother cheated on me, Aoife. I haven’t talked to him since Aidan’s Christmas party.”

  “Wait, what?” she sputtered, her arresting turquoise eyes going wide. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  I turned to look out over the pub so she couldn’t see the hurt on my face. “Maggie says otherwise.”

  “Ugh,” Aoife snarled. “I hate that cunt.”

  Between my time in Edinburgh and Ballycurra, I’d been in the British Isles for a handful of months but I didn’t think I’d ever get used to hearing people use that word so openly. It was said so often I’d almost stopped thinking of it as a pejorative. Almost.

  “Yes, well,” I drawled, bringing my face back around, “I agree with the sentiment. But be that as it may, your brother hooked up with her less than 72 hours after …” I stopped. I didn’t have it in me to say the words. The pain of remembering was too great.

  “Seventy-two hours after what?”

  Avoiding her gaze, I picked at a hang nail, my eyes downcast. “Since we … made things official,” I settled on.

  “Bullshit!” she called out, startling me. “He wouldn’t do that. He l— … likes you. So much. He was different with you. Happy.”

  I’d been happy too. Happier than I’d ever been and he’d ruined it. The way I felt for him had been overwhelming in its swiftness and the intensity of it had frightened me, but I’d been willing to work through that fear. I’d been the only one, it seemed.

  “But he did,” I answered somberly.

  “Nope,” came her rebuttal as she crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest again. “Not buying it. Especially if Maggie’s the one who told you.”

  “There were pictures, Aoife,” I stammered. “I saw them.”

  “You saw a picture of my brother fucking Maggie?” she asked accusingly, as if I was the one who had done something wrong.

  Which maybe I had. Because the truth was I hadn’t seen anything like that. I’d seen a picture of Maggie sitting on Declan’s lap, and her bitch friend Annie had tried to get me to look at another one that supposedly depicted Declan’s tongue shoved … somewhere, but I’d pushed past her and left the party before I’d actually seen anything.

  “No, not exactly.”

  She leaned forward, her hands fisted on the table between us. “Well then, tell me exactly what you saw.”

  I dropped my head back against the leather booth and inhaled. On a long exhale, I opened my eyes and met Aoife’s calculating glare. “Maggie was sitting on Declan’s lap. They were at a pub, surrounded by people. Aidan, Liam, and some other guys were there too.”

  “Was Eoin there?” she shot out.

  I scrunched up my face and tried to remember what I’d seen. It’d all happened so fast. “I don’t know. I don’t remember seeing him. I didn’t look too long.”

  “I bet he was,” she muttered, pulling out her phone and typing into her screen. Shoving it back in her jacket pocket, she said, “If he was, he’ll tell me what’s going on. I’m sure there’s been a mistake.”

  “Maybe,” I said on a shrug. “But he didn’t deny it, Aoife.”

  “What did he say when you asked?”

  “Uh,” I replied, not wanting to admit I hadn’t actually spoken to him. “I asked if he slept with Maggie and he said yes.”

  “He has,” she answered quickly. “About seven months ago, I think.”

  Seven months. He’d said it’d been a long time ago, while Maggie had told me it’d only been a month. The question was, who was telling the truth?

  Maggie had no reason to lie to me, while Declan did. Because that’s what men did, right? They lied, cheated, and stole a little piece of you with every passing moment.

  But Declan was different. That’s why I’d fallen in love with him. Because I’d known in my heart he wasn’t going to turn out like Stephen or my dad. I’d decided I could trust him … and then I hadn’t. Worse, I’d told him he could trust me. I’d failed us both.

  “Shit,” I said, my heart sputtering. “He didn’t do it. He didn’t do it and I ruined everything.”

  “It’s okay,” she rushed to assure me. “You need to talk to him.”

  “I can’t,” I whimpered, pulling out my phone and sorting through my messages until I found our last exchange. Shoving my phone her way, I said, “He hates me.”

  Her eyes drifted over the screen. When she finished reading, she raised them and stared at me for a beat. “He doesn’t hate you, Sophie.

  She passed the phone back to me.

  “He does,” I argued, waving the device around. “He never wants to see me again.”

  She tilted her head and her eyes narrowed. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “But maybe not.”

  I dropped my head forward. “We’re done,” I whispered.

  “You can fix this Sophie. You have to fix it. He’s a mess. He’s going to lose everything. You have to at least try,” she implored. “I’ll help you.”

  “It’s too late.”

  “It’s not!” she exclaimed.

  “It is,” I said gently. “I’m leaving soon, Aoife.”

  “Wait, what? You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.” I squared my shoulders. “January 6.”

  If looks could kill, I would have been struck dead. “You bitch,” she accused on an angry whisper. “You come here and get his hopes up, make him … make him. You led him on.”

  “No, Aoife, I didn’t,” I reacted calmly. “Declan’s always known I was leaving in January.”

  When I heard the words aloud I realized how futile it all sounded. Had we ever really stood a chance?

  “But that’s ridiculous,” she shot back. “Your life’s here now.”

  Aoife was young, and from all Declan had said, somewhat sheltered by their mother so I gave her some leeway. Of course she’d see it that way. As far as she was concerned, my family was here—and lord knew they didn’t want me to leave—as was my boyfriend. Why I would want to go anywhere else made no sense to her.

  Suddenly it didn’t make much sense to me either.

  Thankfully I was saved from having to say anything more when Siobhan appeared at our table, the pub’s cordless phone trill
ing in her hand. “It’s been ringing off the hook for the last ten minutes,” she told me, passing it my way.

  “This might be important,” I told Aoife as I took hold of it.

  Declan’s sister flung her body out of the booth. “Fine, take your call. But this isn’t over Sophie. Not by a long shot.”

  It was. She just hadn’t had enough time to accept it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sophie

  To my surprise, it was Katie calling me from the airport. In Dublin. I’d been so caught up in my own drama I’d completely missed it when two days ago news broke that her fiancé, rocker Jackson Stapleton, had been having a torrid affair for the better part of a year with the wife of one of his bandmates. Apparently, his silicone-enhanced mistress had sold her story to the highest bidder, revealing sordid details of rampant drug use, late night orgies, and trashed hotel rooms.

  While I felt horrible for Katie, I was happy for Cameron Scott and his wife Sarah Travers because a new, more salacious story meant they’d finally get some breathing room from the press. The tabloids had been merciless about the panty-meltingly gorgeous actor marrying a plus-size woman.

  Strange as it was, I had a vested interest in Cameron and Sarah’s relationship since it had been my blog post about Eagle Harbour that had spurred Sarah to plan a romantic getaway for she and Cameron when they were still hiding their relationship from the public. When she’d written to me to thank me for my recommendations, we’d gotten to talking and had become fast friends.

  I still couldn’t believe the studio financing Cameron’s blockbuster movie, The Ties That Bind, had tried to force him into a fauxmance with his co-star to boost interest before the film’s release. Thankfully, Cameron and Sarah’s time in Eagle Harbour had been exactly what they needed: a few short months later they were getting married on my favorite beach, and now they lived in the small coastal community when Cameron wasn’t filming.

  But back to Jackson, a man who—unlike Cameron—had succumbed to the temptation of superstardom and had turned out to be a terrible fiancé. Since I’d known him, Jackson had never done anything by half. At first, that’d been what Katie most loved about him, but over time his balls-to-the-wall way of living had become something she tolerated for the sake of keeping the peace. I often wondered if she’d ever get tired of it and leave him, but once he asked her to marry him, Katie had begrudgingly accepted her life would forever revolve around his whims.