“I’ll come by with some of my guys,” I said. “We’ll ransack the place. Show them how it’s done.”
Liam’s face lit up like I’d just handed him the world. “Really?”
“Really,” I said.
The warmth that spread through my chest caught me off guard. Passing something on like that—time, knowledge, belief—made my grandad’s last words settle differently than they ever had. Maybe legacy wasn’t about trophies or names etched into plaques. Maybe it was this. Showing up. Making space. Letting someone else feel seen in the game the way I had once been.
Liam nodded like he was locking the promise away somewhere important, then leaned back into the cushions, suddenly less restless.
Maeve, who had been upside down on the arm of the sofa, chose that moment to interrupt. “If Uncle Con’s coming to your school, he has to come to mine, too.”
“Of course. I’ll talk to Coach. See what I can do.”
Mam smiled at me over the rim of her mug, something proud and tender in her expression. “Your grandad would’ve loved that.”
The truth of it settled, deep in my stomach, and I nodded once.
“Yeah,” I said, returning her smile. “I think he would have.”
6
Connor
I looked like a moron.
My hair was gelled to within an inch of its life, slicked back, collar starched, lips dry as hell because I’d just spent the last five minutes breathing through my mouth. “This isn’t a big deal,” I muttered to myself as I stared at my reflection in the locker room mirror. “It’s a press release. For a shared stadium. That’s it.”
But my hands were still adjusting the collar of a shirt I hadn’t worn since our end-of-season awards dinner last year, and I’d changed socks twice before I’d left my apartment. For a man who lived in compression shorts and a rotation of Knight training gear, I felt… overdressed. Or under prepared. Or both. Yeah, definitely both.
Press releases were a part of the job. So why the hell was I hellbent on this playing out without a hiccup? Maybe it was because I was always representing the legacy of the O’Riley name. It wasn’t just a surname. Sometimes it felt like a shadow, a reputation built before I was born. I wasn’t just representing myself and my team today; I was representing a family brandthat gave my grandad a legendary status years ago. It sat heavy on my shoulders, because if there was one thing worse than failing as Connor, it was failing my family. It meant letting down people who’d built their identities around the path laid out for me.
Right here, right now, all I wanted was to get through this press release without looking like a fraud.
Jake popped his head around the corner. “Hey there, sexy.”
“Not now, dude.”
He came in anyway, holding a travel mug and a smug grin. “You do realize the world already knows you’re hot, right? You don’t have to sweat over this.”
“I’m not sweating.”
He looked at my pits, and it made me check too. Thank fuck, they were dry.
“You’re an arsehole.”
He chuckled.
I grabbed the media brief from the bench beside me. I’d read it three times already, but apparently, I liked suffering. Hashtags glared back at me. #Sharedturf was at the top, and I glazed over the others. Photo ops. A thirty second quote about unity and sportsmanship that I’d memorized last night. Followed by a five-to-ten-minute live stream with—
“Is she here yet?” I asked, cutting off my own brain.
“Not yet. Think you scared her off?”
I rolled my shoulders and tried not to scowl. “Unlikely.”
“Yeah, well. Try not to flirt on camera. Or do. Depends how viral you wanna go.”
I flipped him off as he left, then turned back to the mirror. My neck felt stiff. And I’d be lying if I said it was just nerves about the press.
