Page 91 of Blindsided
Fuck sympathetic looks.
And fuck football while I’m at it because on top of the stellar few months I’ve had, I’m currently nothing but a substitute, riding the bench most games and playing the worst season of my life.
It’s yet another rainy day in Scotland as my sister, parents, and I stand beneath black umbrellas alongside the gravesite of my grandad, Fergus Mackenzie Logan. A piper bellows “Amazing Grace” as the coffin is lowered into the ground alongside my gran. The two of them will be resting in eternal peace together now, I expect.
I think that’s where my grandad has wanted to be since he lost her over three years ago.
There was a lot I learnt about Fergus Logan at the end. He was in that hospice cottage for two full weeks, and the closer he got to death’s door, the more he shared about Gran. He shared stories about their time together at the bed and breakfast. He told me about the holidays they would go on together and the football matches she would let him drag her to. He told me how happy they were to become grandparents and how fond they were of Tilly and me from the moments we were born.
Everything he shared reaffirmed all that he said to me from the hospice bed the week prior. All my life, I’ve always thought my grandad worshipped football above God and Gran. But sitting with him as he lay in bed, struggling to breathe, and calling out to Gran in his final minutes on earth, made me realise how wrong I was all these years.
He was a man in love with his wife.
We ride in a black car to my parents’ house in Dundonald, where the funeral reception is taking place. My sister is weepy the entire ride while I have yet to shed a tear for the man I loved as much as my own father. It’s a strange thing because I’m not a lad who holds his tears back. In fact, I like a proper cry when the moment calls for it. Grandad always told me it was better to get that salt out of your eyes than have it festering in your belly.
Grief is a strange, wicked creature.
The house is brimming with locals who all want to talk about football with me. Considering I’ve been demoted to a non-starting player, I can’t stand there and bear it without ample tumblers of whisky.
Eventually, I grab a bottle of whisky and head upstairs to hide out in my childhood bedroom, draping myself over the small twin bed as I look at all the football memorabilia stuck to my walls. Christ, has my life ever been about anything other than football? Freya’s words from my car echo in my ear about how I could have joined the circus, and my grandad would have been equally as proud.
At the time, I couldn’t believe her.
Now, I know that she was right.
What a surprise, Freya Cook is smarter than me once again.
A knock at my door has me sitting up, throwing my legs off the side of the bed. “Come in.”
Tilly appears, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “Hiding?”
I nod.
She comes inside, closes the door, and sits down beside me. “If I have to hear one more question about who I’m dating these days, I’m going to scream.”
I huff out a small laugh, but don’t bother even trying to smile. “If I have to hear one more tip on how I can get my starting position back, I’m going to kick a hole in the wall.”
Tilly tilts her head and rests it on my shoulder. “Why do people presume to know what we care about most in life?”
Her question draws my eyebrows together. “Are you telling me your life’s dream isn’t to have a boyfriend?”
She elbows me in the ribs. “Are you telling me your life’s dream isn’t to be a football star?”
My voice is flat when I reply, “I thought I already was a football star.”
“Yeah, but that’s not your dream, Macky.”
My brow tightens further, and I look down at her. “What is my dream then, wise wee sister?”
She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks over at me. “You just want to be content and happy.”
My brows lift. “Is that so?”
She nods. “You’ve spent your whole life people-pleasing because you’re so worried about making someone unhappy. Now that grandad is gone, it’s time to make yourself happy.”
I internalize that reply, feeling an ache in my belly because the one person whose happiness I didn’t take care of is the one person I care most about in this world. Tilly stands up and walks back over to the door. “Also, Freya is downstairs.”
I’m on my feet in less than a second. “Buried the lead there, didn’t you?” She smiles a coy smile and shrugs her shoulders while I barrel past her and make my way down.
