“Yet,” Jake mumbled in his not subtle way.
“So…” Dad changed the subject and glanced at me over the rim of his glass. “How’s the stadium holding up after the quake?”
“The quake shifted more than they thought,” I said. “We’re close to a secondary fault line, and the storm finished the job. Pipes under the pitch cracked, drainage failed, and once the water started coming up from underneath, it didn’t stop. The building needs a restructure as well.”
“That’s not just surface damage,” Trent said.
“No,” I agreed. “Weight room flooded. Storage sheds are a write-off. And there’s enough concern about the ground itself that the engineers won’t clear it until they’re certain it’s stable.”
Dad nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “So what does that mean for the team?”
“It means we’re displaced. And currently sharing a stadium with the Valkyries.”
Cait’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s their first pro season.”
“I know.”
“They’ve worked years for that,” she said pointedly.
Cait hadn’t had that. Not really. After college, there’d been nothing solid to step into for female rugby players. No contractsyou could live on. No clear path that didn’t involve juggling training and full-time jobs and calling it commitment instead of compromise. She’d loved the game just as fiercely as I did, but love hadn’t been enough back then.
“We weren’t about to take space from them,” I said instead. “They earned that building.”
Jake nodded, quiet now. “They did.”
Cait glanced at me, something unreadable crossing her face before she masked it again. “Good,” she said. “Because they deserve that season.”
I held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, thinking of everything she’d given up without ever calling it a sacrifice, and nodded once.
It struck me then, the same way it did with Teddy earlier this week, how female athletes do the work anyway, loving the game for years before going professional, even when the structure hadn’t been built for them yet. Cait, back then. Teddy, now. Different generations, similar story. Things I hoped would improve for the likes of Maeve’s generation.
“Sharing is caring,” Maeve mumbled through a mouthful, which earned a glare from Cait. “What? You always say that.”
“I do,” Cait said, reaching for a napkin and dabbing gently at Maeve’s mouth, her tone softening even as her eyes stayed stern, “and I am right. But we chew first, love.”
Maeve grinned, unbothered, and went back to her stew with exaggerated care.
Mam glanced between us, then at me. “It’s very kind of them to accommodate all o’ye giants.”
Jake leaned closer to me, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Your mom thinks I’mbig, dude.”
I nudged his shin under the table. “Keep talking and I’ll test how buoyant you are in beef stew.”
“This stew is really incredible, Siobhan. Your best yet,” Jake said pointedly.
“I’m glad you think so, lad. There’s plenty more on the stove.”
It didn’t matter that it was sixty degrees outside; this was summer for us Irish natives. My mam always made stew in the winter months, come heat or snowstorms.
I liked the predictability of it.
Eventually, after an hour of eating and chatting together, we all moved into the living area, surrounded by couches and fluffy pillows. Much more than anyone needs, but my mam always wanted her guests to be fed, warm, and welcome.
Liam took the spot next to me, fidgeting slightly. “I think it’s cool,” he piped up after being mostly quiet during dinner. “The rugby. I mean, your job.”
I smiled and held his gaze. “You still playing at school?”
He nodded.
