The water wasn’t hot enough. It never was. Rory would blame it on the crappy pipes in the old house, but really he’d lost sensation over the years from the scalding showers he always took. Always. Until his skin burned red. Today was like every other.

He ducked under the showerhead and let the water run down over his neck and back. Let it drip from his hair into his face. And then the water gathered and streamed from his nose and lips.

After his “episode” the other night, Rory had been back at training the same as he always did. All day every day. The lads had teased him mercilessly in the locker room and on the field as he’d expected. They’d coined him the “Crazy Scotsman” and the “Flying Scotsman.” All manner of names to call him on his pish. And fair enough. He’d been out of line. All his training and refined manners out the window in an evening.

And still, days later, he didn’t know what had triggered it. He’d been struggling with rugby for years, but he’d never given up, never shown any discontent or discouragement, just like his father had instructed him. “You’re Scottish, boy, and I dinnae ken the like of us.”

So why had he gone totally radge? It couldn’t have been because that girl Grace was there. He’d played in front of loads of burds. Nae bother.

Only a few of the Blues players hadn’t given him grief. Surprisingly, Irish had been one of them. But if anyone knew internal torture, he’d be the man. He was lucky to have found Gillian. Or lucky he’d screwed up his life so badly he’d ended up in the States playing rugby instead of back in Ireland. And that had led him to Gillian. And the USA Eagles national team. Lucky fucker.

If Rory could only do the same. Fuck up so badly he wouldn’t have to prove himself anymore. To anyone. It would be way easier than succeeding.

There were days when he didn’t want to get out of the shower. There was something about the constant sound of pattering water, the closed curtain that shrouded him inside, the steam rising from the cubicle that made him want to stay. He lathered and rubbed down his muscles, taking his time with slow deliberate circles.

He was always shattered, and he was only twenty-five.

When the water cooled, Rory swore and turned off the tap. With a screech of the rod, he yanked the curtain to the side and grabbed his towel off the hook. Always aware of others, he made sure he dried off as much as possible before he stepped on the bath rug. Then he got his hair good. The mirror was fogged but he didn’t care for a look anyway. Nothing new to see. He was the same as he was yesterday.

He hung up the damp towel over the shower rod to dry, opened the door, and turned left to his bedroom. Then came to an abrupt stop.

Grace, the girl from the gym, the girl that had tackled him to the ground, was standing in their hallway, right in front of him, holding a suitcase and a lamp in her hands.

Grace didn’t move. Rory didn’t move. Steam still rolled off Rory’s body from the shower. When her eyes drifted to his prick, he covered it quickly with his hands. Her mouth hung open, but then she clamped it shut. She had on a baseball cap backward that lessened her age by a few years. Cute, though, with her hair tucked behind her ears. She was wearing leggings, a big, baggy sweatshirt, and socks. “I’m so sorry,” she gushed out in a whisper and clenched her teeth in a grimace.

“What are yous doing here?”

“Uh, I live here now.”

“What?”

“Long story, and I…uh…can probably tell you later.” She motioned with the hand that held the lamp. “When you have clothes on.”

“Right.” Rory shifted until his backside was on the wall and then started inching along toward his bedroom on the far side of Grace. When he came up even to her, she turned to move her stuff out of his way. He avoided eye contact as he shuffled past. Nothing like being caught in the skuddy.

“Your hair looks good all mussed up like that,” she said.

At her words, he stopped his forward movement and looked up. She was eyeing him from head to toe, a blatant appraisal. Rory raised one hand to pat his hair down. “Uh, sure.” Then at the realization that his dick and balls were barely covered again, he whipped his hand back to shield himself. “Thanks.”

A pinched smile, then she turned and continued down to Padraig’s old room. Didn’t even look over her shoulder. When she entered and shut the door behind her, Rory made it to his room in three long strides and escaped inside. He shoved on his skiddies, some trackies, and a hoodie. He turned on some music and busied himself tidying his room, not quite ready to see her again. It didn’t take long, and he found himself standing in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips. He looked to the door, took a deep breath to gather his courage. It was ridiculous he was afraid of such a wee thing, but there it was. He was hiding.

He peeked out his door just as Grace was coming out of her room. Shit, bad timing as usual. “Can I help you bring anything in?”

“Bless your heart, what a gentleman. My momma would approve. That would be great.”

He joined her on the stairs down. “So how’d yous end up moving in?”

She shoved her feet into tall camouflage boots that looked half wellington, half winter boots. He did the same into his own Meindl waterproofs, not bothering with socks or tying up the laces. As she walked outside, she said, “Well, you know how I wanted to be a part of the Blues?”

“Aye.”

“Aye,” she mimicked, in jest or ridicule, Rory couldn’t tell. From what he had seen of her, Grace was one of those large presences that overwhelmed Rory. Lots of chatter, noise, vibrancy in everything she did. It was the type of personality he was attracted to and repelled by at the same time.

“One of the guys remembered that I was looking for a place to live, so Coach called and asked if I wanted a room. It helps the club’s finances I guess.” She went to the bed of an old baby blue truck with the tailgate already down and climbed in. Pushing a box toward Rory, she added, “Obviously, I’d like to be more involved, but it’s a start. It works for me and helps them out.”

He’d never seen the likes of her vehicle except in some American films he’d watched. It had lots of character, unlike his own Ford hatchback his dad had picked out. But hell, since he had paid for it, Rory didn’t argue.

Rory took the box from her. “You don’t mind living with two lads?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, most of my friends back home are guys.”

He waited for her to grab a red bean bag and a hamper of clothes and hangers, then they walked toward the house. “I’m sure we’re glad to have ye. Anyone is an improvement over grumpy Irish.”

“Well, that’s awful kind of you to say.” Her words were filled with sarcasm, and Rory’s face heated. Luckily, she walked behind him. “Gillian’s fella lived here?”

“Aye, that’s the room you’re taking.” He climbed the porch stairs, avoiding the hole in the second step.

“He’s not so bad once you talk to him. At first I thought he was an asshole, but he grows on you. He and Gillian dropped the keys at my work yesterday.”

He pushed the door open with his shoulder and held it while she walked through. “She’s good for him.”

“She’s just good in general. You can tell. Doesn’t give a fart what anyone else thinks but is kind to her bones. She also gave me some CDs. Said she was on some personal mission to bring the eighties back. It was before my time, but I told her I’d have a listen.”

Only two more trips with both carrying, and they had everything she owned set up haphazardly in her room.

Rory stood in the doorway while Grace peeled off her hat and sweatshirt to reveal a snug T-shirt with some sort of fish on it with a rainbow-speckled belly. Her curvy figure made his cock twitch. “I’ll leave you to it, will I? I’ll be down in the kitchen if you need anything.”

She looked up at him from shuffling through one of the boxes. “Sounds good. And thanks again for your help. I coulda gotten it myself.”

“That’s okay.” He gave her a pinched smile. “My mum raised me well.”

She nodded once. “That she did.”

“Okay then…” With a knock on the doorframe, he turned and left.

Down in the kitchen, Rory readied to make one of his post-workout smoothies. Actually, these days, pre and post-workout. From the refrigerator, he snagged kale, berries, and almond milk, and then a half banana and ice cubes from the freezer. He chucked it all plus chia seeds into the blender. Normally, he’d add a scoop of plant protein powder, but it made it taste even worse than it already did.

He kind of liked the idea of a girl living with him and Del. He’d gone from an all-boys school during his youth to living in the dorms at uni with a bunch of lads, back with his folks for a short time before here with Del and Irish. He hadn’t dated much. But then he hadn’t tried either, his focus always on the rugby. And without much experience with women, his confidence was complete and utter bollocks. He sounded like a complete eejit when he talked to them. Some had shown interest, and he had taken sex when it was offered, but ultimately he lived for the rugby.

And Grace was a definite improvement from Irish. Del was gone all the time so it would be nice for some company. He’d been spending most of his time on his own for the last eight months, and he was starting to get bored. What did that say about him? If he couldn’t entertain himself, it was unlikely he could entertain others. No wonder the boys weren’t onto him to go out on the weekends. That and he didn’t get absolutely blootered like the rest of them. Only a few pints max.

The sludge was a kale green and tasted like shite, but he’d never admit that to anyone else. As an afterthought, he poured a second glass for Grace and headed upstairs.

Music was pumping out her open door, so loud it made Rory cringe. She was singing along when he approached, but only a word here or there. He stayed in the shadows to watch. He felt like a voyeur, but he found life more enjoyable this way. Observed from a distance, no direct engagement.

There was some sort of kit on the bedside table that she unzipped and withdrew a syringe. At the sight, he slinked farther behind her half open door. Was it Padraig all over again?

Rory had never understood, having no inclination himself. After a bit of hash in secondary school, he hadn’t indulged in any drugs. He lost too much self-control. He didn’t like it. While that same feeling was most likely exhilarating to many, Rory had found it…uncomfortable. Scary at times. Much preferred to have his few jars. Rarely even got aff his heid.

Grace raised her shirt and held it in place with her teeth while she gave a quick jab into her stomach. When she was finished, she tucked everything back into her case and let out a long sigh. A new song came on, tinny and synthesized, and Grace perked up. She grabbed a shirt out of a pile and placed it on a hanger. She held the shirt as if she was dancing with a partner, swinging around the room in a bad waltz. Rory pinched the laugh back into his mouth. That was cute. She was most likely high, but bloody cute.

Grace had hung a Brave poster, the Disney animation with the flame-haired Scottish lass, over the side of her bed, which she’d placed flush against the wall, most likely for more dance space.

He finally knocked with one of the glasses in his hand. It wasn’t a solid knock, more of a clunk, but she turned to him, the shirt pressed against her chest. “Oh, hey.”

“I saw you…” Rory gestured to the bedside table.

The smile fell from her face. “Oh, that. It’s no big deal. I have to take insulin for my diabetes.”

“Ah.” That was understandable then.

After she turned down the music, she approached Rory. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Maybe.”

She leaned into him close. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Aye.”

“Don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Your diabetes?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons.” Her normal smiley features were now drawn, sad. She placed the hanger with the shirt in the closet and then turned to him, her hands on her hips. “Diabetes has controlled my life since I was a kid.” She sighed out a big breath between pursed lips. “That and my momma, who worried constantly about it. I’m not gonna die from it. It’s just diabetes. Life has always been about my blood sugar level, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. That’s why I moved. I’m an adult, ya know? I can take care of myself. My momma had it so everyone was looking over my shoulder watching me. It sucked.” 

“That’s not a bad thing. People looking after you.”

She whipped off her hat and threw it on the bed. “It is to me. Here, I just want to be Grace. Not Diabetic Grace, okay? So please, just don’t mention it.”

She was getting irritated, and Rory had only been talking to her for a few minutes. He acquiesced, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

She beamed. “Yep. I’m just like everyone else. Think of me that way.”

That wasn’t possible. From the first day he saw her at the gym to the rugby tackle on him the boys were still taking about, Grace had already made an impact on Rory’s life. Within a few days, she’d etched herself into his mind, an annoying conundrum of attraction and repulsion. On one hand, she had a vivacity that drew him, an energy that he’d love to tap into and take for himself. But if she let him, he’d drain her dry. On the other, her larger than life personality scared him to death.

He lied and said, “Will do.” And to show her that her diabetes didn’t matter, he dropped the subject. “What are you listening to?”

“This is the music Gillian loaned me. It’s kinda good actually.”

“Who are they?”

She shrugged. “Dunno.” Grace grabbed a CD case off the desk and squinted at the small portable player on the same. She turned down the volume. “Track three… Right, it’s called ‘Come on Eileen’ by…Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I think that’s how you say it. I’m more of a country girl, but this ain’t too bad.”

“It’s all right, but I’m not an expert. I never really got into music.”

Grace set the CD case down. “That’s okay. Some people just aren’t into it that much.” She motioned to the glasses in his hands. “Whatcha got there?”

He’d stood there for five minutes with the smoothies and had forgotten about them. “Oh, right. I thought you might want a smoothie.”

“Aw, that’s very nice of you, Mr.… Oh yeah, I don’t know your last name. We aren’t on that basis yet.” She winked at him and nudged him in the arm.

“Cameron, and have a go. I think they’re quite good. Using them to build some bulk.”

She took the glass and sniffed. “Hoowee, what is in this?”

“Kale, almond milk, berries, banana, and chia seeds. I didn’t put protein powder in it. That has a taste that stays with you all day. You wouldn’t want that anyway with all your muscles and all.” He smiled to let her know he was joking. “Cheers.” He tinked his glass with hers.

She made a face and eyed the glass again. “That sounds way too healthy for my new life here, but since you are my roomie and all, and in the name of camaraderie…”