Rooster: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (4 page)

“What about Brad?” April says.

“What
about
Brad?”

“Well aren’t you fucking him?” she says.

“Fucking is a loose term, April.”

“Well, can’t he do something.”

“Something like how?” I say.

I’m pacing up and down the room to try and get Oscar to stop crying and April has her
I’m getting dizzy and if you don’t stop that I’ll slap you
eyes on.

“I don’t know. He’s rich enough to support you”, she says.

“We’re fucking”, I say, “from time to time. We’re definitely not married. And, besides which, I want my job back. How the fuck am I going to pay for this apartment?”

“I don’t know, child support?”

“That’s not helping, April.”

“The Rangers are shit anyway”, Cory chips in. “You’re better off at a different team.”

“That’s exactly why I want to be on this one”, I say.

Finally, Oscar seems like he’s calming down so I lay him out onto his rug. Looking after a baby is hard work, but I wouldn’t change him for the world. That’s why I didn’t even think twice about it when I found out. Mom and Dad were shocked, especially because of the circumstances, but as soon as they saw how happy being pregnant made me, they soon came round.

Really, I ought to be in my own place, and I know April says she doesn’t mind, but every night he cries he wakes the whole house up, not just me. She’s really come through for me on this one, because if it were the other way around, I’m not sure I’d have been able to be as supportive. I’m not sure how long it can last because if I’m right at the end of my tether, April must secretly be too.

“What about his dad?” April asks. “I thought you said he was some big deal sports star.”

“He was lying”, I say.

“Well that’s helpful”, April says.

“What did he say his sport was?” Cory asks.

“I don’t want to get back in contact with him anyway, so-”, I begin.

April’s giving me her
I know you’re not telling us something
eyes. She’s got them narrowed so much at me she looks like she’s about to fall asleep. “Did you even look?” she asks.

“He’s Irish”, I say.

“Izzy!”

“What?”

“You have a duty-”, she begins.

“Oh come on April, don’t give me that.”

“Seriously? I didn’t want to push it at the time, because you’d just started your job and things were going super well for you but come on, he has a right to know”, she says.

“I don’t know anything about him”, I protest.

“You know his name.”

“That’s all I know”, I say.

April is shaking her head. “You haven’t looked once, just out of curiosity, not once?”

I haven’t. What would the point be?
Hi Rory, guess what, remember that incredible fuck behind the dumpster at the back of the Chinese restaurant? I’m pregnant.

“He would have made me get rid of it”, I say.

“You don’t know that”, April protests.

“I know”, I insist.

“Come on, you said you only knew his name, not his ethical opinion on things. He’s Irish anyway, they don’t believe in abortion.”

“It wouldn’t have worked”, I say, my eyes narrow.

“You don’t know that”, April complains.

“I didn’t need him”, I say.

“Yeah, well, you might now. He has a responsibility to pay for this one, fifty-fifty.”

“And what if he wants to take him back to Ireland with him?”

“An American baby? That would never happen”, April says confidently.

It might. If Rory knew he had a child over here what’s to say he wouldn’t want to take him all the way back home with him? I can’t imagine Rory’s the kind of type who stays single for long, which means Oscar will have a brand new Irish Mommy already set up for him. I can’t let that happen. This is my baby and I’m not letting anyone take him away from me.

“What was the sport?” Cory asks.

“I told you, I only knew his name”, I say.

Rory

“Rory Alexander O'Connor. What the fuck are you doing here?” Kevin says, staring at me as though I’m a piece of shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?” I say.

Training ground, Saturday morning, where else am I going to be? Alright, it’s been over a year, but this is still my club.

“This isn’t your club anymore”, Kevin says.

Everyone has stopped to look at me. Bent over upturned sticks, helmets askew, some new faces already with bloody noses. Some old ones not even bothering to maintain eye contact.

“That was a long time ago”, I say.

“Not fucking long enough”, Kevin says, and spits at the ground.

“Come on, you’re not seriously going to get rid of your best player, are you? The best player in the fucking league?” I say.

Kevin sighs, looks over at me with dull eyes and then back to his team.

“You lot, keep playing, you, Rory, you come with me.”

Duncan stands when he sees me at the door, rising from his desk like a bloated seal trying to catch a passing bird. Mouth open in astonishment, crooked nose broken too often, red still with last night’s whisky.

“What the fuck are you doing coming back here?” he says, genuinely surprised.

“I thought you’d be pleased to see me, Duncan. This team is shit without me.” I say.

“Get in here and shut the door.”

Kevin leaves us to it and with another sigh and another look of those dull eyes he shuffles off back to the field.

“I didn’t think I needed to register or anything, I was just going to get straight to it”, I say.

“Straight to it?” Duncan barks.

“It’s been a long fucking year, Duncan. I’ve missed the game”, I say.

“They don’t play hurling in Mountjoy prison then?”

“No, they play other games in there.”

Duncan does not look at all pleased to see me. “What are you doing here?”

What the fuck does he think I’m doing here? One year taken away from me and all I want to do is get back into hurling and forget all about it. “I’m ready, Duncan”, I say. “I’m ready to come back.”

“You’ve not only brought this game into disrepute, you’ve dragged this team down with you”, he says.

“That’s a little harsh.”

“Harsh? We nearly folded paying your fines. It’s a miracle there’s even a team here still after the state you left us in.”

“It was self-defense.”

“You were out of control”, he says, spit flying everywhere.

“Look, that’s in the past now.”

Duncan is shaking his fat head from side to side.

“I could go to any other team”, I say.

“What part of banned don’t you understand, Rory?” he says, leaning his large frame out across the table.

I sigh. “I’m working on that, and I can train in the meantime still.”

“You’re not welcome here anymore”, Duncan says.

“Come on, Duncan. I’ve given everything to this team. You wouldn’t be where you are now without me.”

“Aye, you’re damn fucking right we wouldn’t be.”

“The trophies, the championship. Who the fuck have you got in to replace me? They look like twigs. Fucking twigs”, I insist.

I like Duncan. I have respect for him as a player, but as a manager, he’s a fucking twat, and right now he’s up on his feet again, fists on the desk like a monkey, leaning forward towards me with coffee breath that could cut through a lead fucking wall. How can anyone take a person seriously if their shirt doesn’t even fit properly?

“You’re a disgrace”, he says.

“You already told me that once.”

“And I’m going to tell you it again so it sinks in that fucking thick skull of yours. Forget about hurling. Find something else to do.”

“Something else?” I say, confused.

Duncan scoffs. If there is one action that fits this man perfectly it’s a scoff. He’s been here two years to my six. I’ve done more for this club than this man ever will and he’s telling me to find something else. Hurling is nothing without me.

“The door, Rory. I’m showing you the door. Don’t make a scene”, he says.

“You’ll regret this”, I warn.

“Believe me, Rory, I won’t.”

***

I watch my old team train from the other side of the ground, through the mesh of wire fencing that separates the public from the players, and they are shit. I’ve not lifted a stick in a year and I’d still outpace, outplay and outfight any of these men, two or even three to one.

I might not have lifted a stick in a year, but I did my fists, if only to defend myself. Irish men are loyal bastards sometimes, and not everyone was a fan of my particular blend of sporting prowess.

Some others were just fans of rival teams, the players from which always ended up a mess when they tried to cross me.

I’m glad all that fucking shit is behind me now. All I need to do now is get this pathetic ban lifted and find some lovely lass to help me get laid. One year is far too long to leave it and thank God I had that incredible fuck with Izzy before I came back home, because if I didn’t, my head would have been spinning even more than it was. What a girl, and what an incredible fuck. They were right all along about those American girls and thank Christ they were because my memories of that beautiful moment kept me going amongst some dark ones tucked up in the shadows of that dirty fucking cell.

This team is so awful I can’t stay here and watch. How they can get so bad in such a short amount of time is beyond me. I was carrying them, there is no doubt about that, but I hadn’t realized just by how much. Fuck them. Let’s see how long it is before Duncan comes crying and begging for me to come back home.

I go to the pub instead. You don’t get Guinness in prison, so I’ve been making the most of it since I came out. Up on the screens by some weird coincidence, they’re playing highlights of a New York Rangers ice hockey match, which must be one of the first of the season.

I’ve never seen ice hockey in here before, but maybe it’s because I haven’t been all that inclined to notice.

“Fucking fierce game that”, one of the punters leaning against the bar says to me.

“Bunch of pussies”, I say in return. “We don’t wear pads here.”

“No, but we don’t go that fast either”, he says.

“You obviously haven’t seen me play.”

“No, I have, it’s just been so fucking long.”

I twist in my seat towards him. Big enough to be an ex-player, which wouldn’t be all that unusual as it’s a sports bar near the fucking ground. I don’t recognize him, though, which means he could just be any old fucker in here to drink Guinness and rile me.

“I’m working on that”, I say.

“And how far are you getting?”

This is getting a bit too intimate for my liking. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet, but I hope that’s going to change. My name is Francisco Callaghan, Francis.”

He stretches out a hand, which I’m not sure if I should take or not. This guy looks like he could be connected, and prison has made me wary. “Rory”, I say, “but I guess you already know that.”

Francis nods up to the screen.

“What do you really think of that?” he says.

Two.

Rory

This guy can’t be serious.

“It’s not my sport”, I tell him.

“You know how to fight don’t you?” Francis asks.

“I know how to fight”, I say.

“Well then.”

Francis sips his Guinness enthusiastically. I guess it’s probably been even longer for him than it has for me to find a decent pint.

“Isn’t that a bit dismissive?” I ask.

Francis smiles. “I’ve seen you play, there isn’t that much difference.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, we don’t play on ice”, I say.

“Do you know how to skate?”

“I know how to skate. I don’t know how to skate like that.”

“Then you’ll have to learn”, Francis says.

I shake my head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? What was wrong with a phone call?”

“I’ve got family here, thought it better to call in personally as well, seeing as you don’t have an agent anymore”, he says.

“And you’ve run out of players or what?” I ask.

“There’s nobody like you in our sport, not yet at least”, Francis says.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course, I’m fucking serious”, he says.

“I’ve just been to my old club. I haven’t been out of prison more than a few days. How did you find me?” I ask.

Francis lifts up his glass. “It’s a decent pint.”