Page 16

Ellie

“ H ow did you get this?”

The scar in question is long and thin, but also pale and old. Barely perceptible to the naked eye unless you’re as close as I am right now. I trace over it with a featherlight touch, following where it slashes through the fine hairs of his right eyebrow, all the way down to the far corner of his eye.

“During a game when I was thirteen,” Colin answers, “I was on the ground during a breakdown, trying to get the ball out to my teammates when one of my opponents ‘accidentally’ stepped on my face and the studs on his boots broke the skin.”

Accidentally.

So, in other words, the referee ruled it an accident when that’s the furthest thing from what it was.

I grimace, running the pad of my thumb over the end of the scar again. It’s so close to his eye. Too close. Just another millimetre over and what was probably already a bad injury could’ve been a lot worse. I swallow, worry picking away at my nerves.

“Does that happen often?” I ask quietly. “Accidents like that, I mean?”

Colin shifts beneath me, his fingers drawing aimless patterns on my skin through my t-shirt. We’re still in my bed and I have no idea what time it is now, only that sleep basically became a non-existent option for me after what we did earlier. I’m wide awake now, wa rm and safe and relishing in every soft touch and spoken word from him.

I don’t want to sleep.

I don’t want to miss a single moment of this.

Currently, he’s lying on his back and I’m half draped over him with one leg hooked over his thigh. I fold my arms across his bare chest and prop my chin up on top of them, waiting for an answer.

“Not as often as you probably think it does. The refereeing tends to be stricter in the higher levels of rugby than when you’re playing for your high school or a small local rugby club. There are cameras everywhere now, assistant referees on the sidelines and TMOs who constantly watch the game, not to mention the audience members who can get pretty vocal when they see something wrong. It’s difficult to get away with doing something like that without getting caught.”

“But it still happens?”

He smirks, tucking some of my hair behind my ear. “Is this you being concerned for me, Simpkins?”

“Nope,” I grin, “Just doing some research for the article. Readers love details like this.”

Colin chuckles, pecking my lips softly.

“Injuries happen,” He clarifies, “Whether they are intentional or not is the only thing that needs to be determined. Not that the outcome really matters. If the injury is bad enough it could send you off the field for the rest of the game or end your career entirely. It just depends really.”

His tone is light and teasing, enough that it brings a smile to my lips, but a second later, something uncomfortable pinches inside me and my mouth twists as I look off to the side .

Rugby is a contact sport. It’s rough, competitive and challenging on a good day and definitely not a game for the faint of heart. Anyone who plays it knows that there are risks involved and that they’re bound to get injured at some point. It happens all the time. Players get tackled badly and they twist a knee, hit their head or tear a muscle or tendon. Players almost always walk off the field bloodied and bruised by the end of the game. They take time off to heal and recondition themselves, and once they’ve regained their strength, they either return to the game or they don’t.

That’s an inescapable reality, but the idea of Colin getting injured and his promising career being snuffed out so easily makes me sick to my stomach.

I’m lucky. So far, I’ve never had to see someone I care about get hurt so badly that it instils a whole new kind of fear inside you, but I know the threat is always there. Looming. Watching. Waiting. Baring its ugly teeth maliciously. In the end, whether it’s my mom or Luke, Natalie or Liv, Colin or even me, we’re not invincible. We’re only made of flesh and bone, as delicate and perishable as a flower.

“Hey?” Colin says, cupping my cheek and gently coaxing me to look at him. When I do, his mouth stretches with a soft smile. “You don’t have to worry, the chances of anything like that happening to me are very unlikely.”

That’s like telling water not to be wet. I care; therefore, I’m always going to worry, but I nod anyway, turning my face deeper into his palm and pressing a kiss to his skin.

I just hope he’s right.

I feel something cool against my skin and reach for his hand, bringing it down and examining the ring he always wears more closely. Even with all the time we’ve spent together, I still haven ’t had a chance to look at it properly yet. It’s beautiful, the silver band intricately adorned with a never-ending loop of intertwining knots engraved into the metal.

“This for someone special?” I tease.

Colin laughs, his eyes dancing again, most likely grateful that I’ve changed the subject. “You could say that.”

“It’s a Celtic knot ring, right?”

He answers with a nod. “My brothers and I each got one from our parents when we turned eighteen. It symbolises our bond as a family and reminds us that we’re always connected no matter where we are.”

I smile.

I have yet to meet either of his brothers; Graeme and Bryce. My only contact with them thus far has been through social media posts, sport-related articles and the interviews they’ve done for The Craigavon Knights; the Premiership rugby team they both play for. I don’t need to meet them to know that they care about each other though. I can see it in every smile and laugh frozen perfectly in time. My favourite picture I’ve seen so far is one that their mother; Lorna posted of the three of them fast asleep in the back of a car on what was probably a family vacation. Graeme was seated in the middle with Bryce on his left and Colin on his right, their heads resting on their older brother’s shoulders. Judging by how young they looked, the picture was probably taken during their teenage years.

My boys. The love a family shares is indescribable.

That’s how their mum captioned the post and I remembered thinking that I agreed .

We don’t need rings or inanimate objects to remind us of that love. It’s always with us. We can feel it no matter where we go, but there’s no harm in having a small reminder anyway.

“I have something like that as well,” I tell Colin.

I pull away and reach over him, the cold air hitting my bare skin as I fumble around and eventually snag my copy of Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas off my bedside table. I open it, letting the small, wallet-size picture hidden between the pages spill out onto the duvet. It’s of my mum, Luke and I, taken when we went on a holiday to Cornwall years ago. We’re sitting on a deserted beach close to sunset. My mum is at the very back with me seated between her legs and Luke planted in between mine, all three of us laughing and smiling at the camera. I can still smell the salt in the air, hear the waves rolling and crashing behind us and feel the coarse sand slide between my toes.

I pick up it, holding it up for Colin to see.

“It’s not a beautiful ring,” I say, “But it’s sort of the same thing.”

He takes it from me, a small smile curling on his lips. “How old are you here?”

“Twelve. Luke was just about to turn four.”

“Wow, you looked so cute back then. What happened?” He teases, laughing a second later when I smack his chest playfully. After we settle down again, he examines it more closely as if searching for something. “Was your dad taking the picture?”

I go still.

We haven’t talked about my father yet. Until now he’s never brought up the subject and I’ve never felt compelled to bring up it either. Most of the time, I’d prefer not to .

“No. This was taken a few months after he left.” I say quietly.

Colin snaps his gaze onto me immediately, but I don’t look back at him. I keep staring at the picture.

“It’s funny, when my mum told me we were going on this trip all I could think about was how were we supposed to enjoy a family holiday when our ‘family’ had just been shattered into a million pieces by him leaving us.” My throat thickens and tears prick my eyes, recalling the pain and confusion I felt back then. “I was convinced we would never be whole again. How could we be after something like that? Then we went to the beach and spent the day building sand castles, flying kites in the surf, eating Cornish pasties and ice creams.”

That was such a good day. It felt like breaking the surface of the water and drawing in a deep breath after nearly drowning. In many ways, it felt like we were back then.

“This picture is proof that we could still be a family. That we could still be happy without him.” I continue, “And we have been ever since.”

It’s a memory I don’t want to forget which is why I use it as a bookmark and always carry it with me.

“Do you miss him?” Colin asks softly.

“Not anymore . He’s a war correspondent, or at least he was one the last time I heard. I have no idea where he is now or what he’s doing.” Or if he’s even alive for that matter. “He was always away on assignments when I was a kid, so I was used to not seeing him anyway.”

I used to miss him.

There was a time when I would wish for him to come back home and be the father I remember him being every night before I went to bed, but life doesn’t always give you what you want and that’s okay. The older I got, the more I started to understand. The fights my parents tried to hide. The whispered conversations. My mom discreetly wiping away tears so Luke and I wouldn’t see her cry. She still loved him, but he didn’t love her enough. In the end, having him stay would’ve only been more painful for all of us, so ironically, it’s better that he left when he did.

He didn’t have to vanish from our lives entirely.

That choice was all his.

“You asked me once why I don’t like journalism,” I remind him, “Well, you got your answer.”

He nods, flattening his lips. “I’m truly sorry, love.”

I brush the back of my hand across his cheek, smiling sadly. “It’s fine. These things happen, right?”

Sadness contorts Colin’s face and I know it’s not just for me. The strained relationship he has with his father comes to mind and my heart squeezes. We haven’t spoken about that either and something tells me we won’t, not until he’s ready to talk about it, which is also fine. A lot of ground has been covered between us tonight already. I won’t press him, but I don’t like that I’ve brought up something painful for him, even if it was unintentional. Before I can apologise though, Colin’s expression shifts and he grins slightly, like he wasn’t upset a minute ago.

“So, you keep a special memory like that tucked between the pages of a steamy romance novel, huh?” He tsks, handing the photo back to me, “Interesting choice, Simpkins.”

I giggle, feeling my cheeks warm.

“When you put it like that, you make it sound so crude,” I point out .

He tries to grab the book in question, probably so he can read some of it and proceed to tease me about it, but I’m too quick, snatching it out of his grasp before he can open it. He fights me for it, tickling my sides and trying to distract me, but after some playful wrestling, I manage to slip the picture back inside the book and tuck it away safely in my bedside table drawer.

Maybe I’ll let him read it one day, but definitely not tonight.

Colin laughs, conceding defeat, and I feel his arms slip around my waist again, pulling me back in and holding me close. Smiling, I nestle into his side, yawning and laying my head on his chest. I have no idea what will happen tomorrow. I can’t even begin to fathom how things will change after what we did tonight, but I can’t bring myself to worry about that. Not when it feels so good being wrapped up in him like this.

“You don’t have to stay,” I mumble, exhaustion finally closing my eyes.

“I know,” He murmurs back, “But I want to.”

His hold tightens and I smile, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.