Rooster: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (21 page)

Oscar will play a part in that, but I hope it won’t come down to it either.

That’s not the only thing I’m worried about. Rory is as strong as an ox, and as stubborn too, but two weeks ago, he couldn’t even walk unaided. If he gets injured again, if he even so much as twists his knee the wrong way, any hope we’ve got of that visa being extended will go up in smoke.

Francis knows this, and the opposition knows this. Everyone watching knows this, but if Rory doesn’t play at all, he can’t prove that he’s fit again, and back for good. He has to start, even though they opposition will be doing everything they can to bring him down, fuck him up and take him out of the game for good.

There are two good things about this game. One, they’re not playing the Islanders, and two, Brad Hartcliffe won’t be lining up for them, because he can no longer consider himself a professional ice hockey player. Rory was right about that, a broken leg is nothing compared to a lifetime ban.

I’m with him for a while in the locker room, before they get called out onto the ice and I have to head up to my seat and watch it all with my heart in my throat.

“You look even more serious that Kowalski”, Rory says, smoldering eyes all over me.

“Just don’t get hurt out there”, I warn him. “You get hurt, this is all over, everything you’ve worked for, everything we’ve got.”

“Izzy, believe me, Kowalski’s got my back.”

My eyes go to Kowalski, sat like he always does, upturned stick between his legs while he polishes the blade. “He said if I don’t he’ll make me Godfather of the next one. I can’t have that”, he says.

“The next one?” I say, my eyes wide at Rory.

“If I’m staying-”, Rory begins.

“Just go easy, okay? How does it feel?”

“Stronger than ever before. Like us.”

“I’ll wait for you afterward”, I say. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

“You just try and make me.”

I make my way through the crowd and up to my seat just before the game begins. I’m surrounded up here by Rangers fans, all of whom are chanting his name. “Rooster”, they shout. “Rooster, Rooster, Rooster.”

It’s what the papers in Ireland used to call him, the nickname he’s adopted over here now too, and what they put on the back of his shirt now. Rooster. The man with the arrogant swagger who never admits defeat. The man who doesn’t stop bragging, the light skinned Irish bad boy who’d do anything at all for his girlfriend and their son. The man who broke a leg and shook it off like it was nothing. The man with a clipped wing who still knows how to fly.

Rooster. Rory fucking O’Connor. The man that made an indecent proposal, and wouldn’t accept no for an answer. The man that came back to stay.

They line up on the ice and Rory looks up to me. Through the grill of his helmet, the cage that separates the baying crowd from the players, through the mash of waving arms and deep through me and into my heart, he looks at me.

That’s the father of my son, and that’s the man I’m going to marry, whether the world likes it or not.

When the klaxon sounds, my breath immediately catches in my throat as the puck drops, slips out from underneath Staal and spins off the wall and towards Rory. There is a gasp followed by cheers from the fans around me when Rory collects it deftly with the reverse edge of his stick, skips a tackle and goes head first into another. He’s almost through and on goal, when Daley, the right defenseman comes out of nowhere to check him cynically, thrusts a shoulder deep into his chest and tips him off balance.

In silence, we watch Rory bounce off Daley and go thudding out across the ice, tumbling several feet in slow motion, his stick twisting out of his grasp and sliding across the ice the opposite way to his body, until he finally comes to a stop flat on his back, arms spread out, legs wide like a fallen angel.

Kowalski looks at Staal, Francis looks fucking worried and I look towards Rory, while the referee approaches cautiously, terrified, perhaps, at what he might find.

The crowd is on their feet, fearing the worst. You could hear a pin drop in here. If it wasn’t for the beating of my heart, I’d be convinced that time had stopped altogether.

Less than ten seconds into the game and Rory’s not only on his ass, he’s not moving either. If I wasn’t in so much shock I’d be crying.

For a long while I feel like the world is conspiring against us, and then I see it. A slight movement of his skate, a twitch of his hand, that big fucking smile that could set the ice on fire.

Rory sits up, looks around for a moment as though to ask,
you didn’t think that was it did you?
and then springs to his feet, to the loudest cheer I’ve ever heard in here, from both home fans and the ones just visiting.

My heart starts again, someone puts their arm around me supportively and I curse Rory secretly, hoping I never have to see that again at any point in the rest of my life.

A quick glance over to Francis tells me he feels exactly the same way, while a look towards Rory tells me if anything, he’s even more determined now to win. If he gets knocked down he’ll get back up. If someone thinks they are better than him he’ll prove to them that they’re aren’t, no matter how long it takes him. And if there is something he knows someone he loves needs, he’ll do everything in his power to achieve it.

The game begins again, and this time, I know we’ve already won.

Fourteen.

Rory

Francis sits across the table from Izzy and I, the unopened envelope on the desk between us the decision that will determine the immediate future of our lives together.

No one knows what it says, all we know is that collectively, we’ve done everything we can in our power to make sure the damn thing says yes.

Two months ago I feared the worst. A leg broken in two places, with a less than favorable outlook over my ability to recover. Despite the miserable forecast, the struggle to get back to full fitness and the uncertainty of our future, I’ve never given in.

I’ve worked hard to get here and I’ve never let my head drop or my heart sink. Izzy has been right there alongside me, and I couldn’t have done it with the support of my family, my friends, my fans and Francis.

It’s all come down to this.

First game back, I spent more of it on my ass that I’d have liked to, but we didn’t lose and I didn’t get injured. That’s a positive, for sure.

“You want to open it?” Francis asks me.

I look at Izzy. “No, I fucking don’t”, I say.

“You know, if it’s bad news, we can always appeal.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Francisco”, I say. “Open the fucking thing so we can celebrate. This Guinness is going warm.”

“You can take the boy out of Ireland-”, Francis begins.

“I’ve never liked champagne.”

“Look”, Francis says. “Before I do this, I just want you to know, I’ve done everything in my power. You are an asset to this team, an incredible role model to sportsmen all over the world. I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you have. I have to admit, I didn’t believe it was possible. I didn’t think they’d even get you out of the cast in time, but you’ve proved me wrong. You’ve proved everyone wrong. The people who thought me bringing you here in the first place was crazy, the people who didn’t think you could play, the people who said you couldn’t skate-.”

“Francis”, Izzy says. “Just open the fucking letter. You can give us your speech after we find out.”

“Right”, Francis says.

I reach for Izzy’s hand and give it a squeeze, while Francis grabs the letter and slices it open with his ice hockey stick styled letter opener.

We watch for a moment while he reads it, my heart beating so fast I feel like it’s going to run away.

“Francis?” Izzy says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Francis puts the letter down, his skin ashen pale, his eyes wet with tears. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Izzy shakes her head.

“We can appeal”, Francis says. “We can do that, we can appeal. It’s not the end.”

Izzy’s head drops and she begins to cry. I look at Francis and watch him fold the letter carefully and put it back into the envelope. From the drawer of his desk, he brings out a bottle of single malt whiskey and three tumblers.

“I’ve been saving this for a while”, he says. “This seems like the most appropriate moment to use it.”

Izzy’s tears fall like fat raindrops on the table and pulling her towards me doesn’t even seem to help. All that for nothing. Everything I’ve done in the last two weeks for nothing. I’ve busted my ass off here and it’s not made a single solitary bit of difference.

I feel sick.

“I don’t feel like drinking”, I say, but Francis has already poured the whiskey.

“If we don’t appeal”, he begins. “We’ll both have to put up with him until the rest of the season.”

Izzy lifts her head like a shot.

“What?” she says.

Francis bursts out into wild, uncontrollable laughter while Izzy reaches for the envelope.

“You motherfucker”, I say, standing up.

Izzy passes me the letter to read. She’s still crying but smiling now too. “I hate you”, she says to Francis. “I fucking hate you.”

“I know”, he says. “But I couldn’t help it.”

“Fuck”, I say, as it slowly dawns on me. “Oh fuck, this is fucking, fuck.”

“Yep”, Francis says. “Fucking fuck.”

I can’t believe how one little word can make sure a big difference.
Granted.
Visa fucking granted until the end of the season. I have never felt better in my life. I knock the whiskey back, lift Francis out of his chair and almost break my back hugging him off the ground, and then I take hold of Izzy, pull her towards me and kiss that girl so hard she practically floats because of it.

“I love you”, I say.

There are still tears pouring out of her eyes and it looks like they are never going to stop. I try and wipe them away with the thick of my thumb but as soon as I’ve cleaned her up more come along to replace them.

“I love you too”, she says. “Like you wouldn’t even believe.”

“I’m still here, you know”, Francis calls.

“You can stop crying now, it’s done”, I say. “I’m staying, I told you I would be.”

“I never doubted you”, she says, “never in a million years. I’m just so fucking happy.”

“Whiskey”, Francis says. “And then you two can fuck off home, while I sort out the logistics and get away myself. It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m supposed to be with my significant other.”

“Done”, Izzy says, wiping tears away from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“And I wouldn’t get too comfortable, Rory”, Francis adds. “You two have still got a baby to bring up, and I’m expecting great things from you out on the ice.”

“Never a dull moment”, I say.

“Not in New York city”, Francis says, his whiskey held high, ready to knock back in one.

That evening, as fireworks light up the sky above us, we make love out on the terrace of Izzy’s run down lower east side apartment, happy in the knowledge that whatever the fuck the world decides to throw at us, we’ll not only face it together, if we do so, there is no way we won’t always win.

I can’t believe how lucky I am, but then again, I guess it’s true what they say. The luck of the fucking Irish must be real after all.

Epilogue.

Izzy

It’s weird how things work out. One minute you’re on a date with a hipster, the next you’re fucking your future husband in the back alley behind a Chinese restaurant, hidden in the shadows of an industrial dumpster. I didn’t even want to go out that night, and because I did, this is where it’s led me. A beautiful baby, an incredible fiance, that
real man
I always dreamed of, and a happiness that I always thought was going to stay two steps in front of me.

It’s not like we haven’t had our challenges to get here, but they are challenges we’ve overcome together and we are stronger because of it.

The New York Rangers made the playoffs of the Stanley Cup for the first time in three seasons. They didn’t end up winning, but they wouldn’t have got there at all if it hadn’t been for Rory.

At the end of that game, a game that went right down to the wire, Rory gets surrounded by reporters. He takes one of the microphones, drops down to one knee and produces a ring from inside his skate. With the whole world and their dogs watching, he clears his throat and looks for me in the crowd.

“Izzy”, he says. “I know we didn’t win today, but that doesn’t matter. I feel like every day I spend with you, I’ve won. From the moment I first saw you, I knew. It’s taken a while for us to get here, but now that we are, I don’t want to ever lose you. Will you marry me?”

The next thing I know the rest of the team are singing to me as I get passed from one fan to the next, over the cage and into the rink, to get gathered up in Rory’s incredible arms and pressed tightly into his chest.

I kiss him deeply and whisper into his ear. “Yes.”