Page 85 of Blindsided
I turn to look back at the field, and it’s as if our eyes are pulled together like magnets when I see Mac standing on the grass looking right up at me sitting next to his grandad.
He lifts his arms in silent question.
I shrug and thrust my fist up into the air like I’m cheering.
He laughs, and Fergus nudges me with his elbow. “That’s the first time I’ve seen him not look miserable down there. Maybe you’ll be his good luck charm. Do you have any luck of the Irish in you?”
I smile and shake my head. “Not that I’m aware of. Are they as fertile as Scots?”
Fergus’s nose wrinkles. “Not if they’re Celtic fans. Celtic fans aren’t bright enough to find the right hole.”
I laugh at that filthy joke and turn to stare back at Mac down on the field. The sight of him makes my heart hurt because he’s handsome as ever in his kit, looking like a God amongst men. His hair is shaggy and sweaty from the previous half, and I itch to run my fingers through it again.
“Let’s go, Macky! Give ‘em hell!” Fergus shouts, and I join in like this is a normal Sunday for me, hanging in Glasgow, watching a football match with my unrequited love’s family.
The second half begins, and based on the amount of yelling going on in our section, I venture to guess it’s not going much better than the first.
Fergus spends most of the game explaining to me why Mac’s position is so important on the pitch. “Midfielders run the most and have the ball more than anybody on the pitch, which might surprise most people because they would assume it’s the offensive strikers. But nay, midfielders are the true powerhouses of the game. They have to transition from offence to defence in the blink of an eye. It’s not easy to receive a pass from a defender, turn the ball up-field, and then pass to a forward. You have to be a big-picture thinker when you’re a midfielder and see the whole pitch. Mac is normally great at seeing the big picture, but today, he’s off, and it’s not a pretty sight.”
I cringe at the helpless feeling I have up here in the stands. On the flight over, I had a fantasy that I would show up, and Mac’s game would improve. My presence would spur him to victory, and he’d make his grandfather prouder than ever. Afterwards, he’d tell me he loved me, and we’d all live happily ever after.
Some fantasy.
But honestly, I’m not here for reconciliation. I’m here for Mac. It was selfish of me to let my own hurt feelings get in the way of being here for him when he needed me most. When he was grieving the illness of a man who I know means more to him than anything in this world. What’s happening to Fergus is real and painful, and I need to see the big picture as well. Mac may not love me, but he’s still my best friend.
The final minutes of the match are painful as Rangers give up two goals. I worry Mac’s grandfather could hurt himself screaming so loudly down at the refs, but Mac’s parents don’t seem too worried about him, so I imagine this is the natural Logan volume at football games.
Once the game clock runs out, a staff member for Ibrox Stadium walks over to our section and asks us all to come with her. I try to stand back out of the way, but Tilly grabs my arms and drags me along with them as we make our way down the steps and towards the pitch.
They open a locked gate and usher us down a few steps until we stand right out on the pitch where Mac is waiting, all tall and sweaty, and forcing a smile I can tell he doesn’t feel. His eyes jump back and forth from me to Fergus before he finally says, “Sorry about the match, Grandad.”
Fergus stands in the grass and turns in a circle, shaking his head as he gazes up at the empty seats all around us. “What the hell are you sorry about, Macky? You could have scored a goal in the wrong net today, and I’d still be fit to die with this happy look on my face.”
Everyone laughs, and then Fergus walks over and wraps his arms around Mac for a hug. “I just want to see you happy, lad.”
As Mac embraces his grandfather, I can see the tears well in his eyes. “I’m happy, Grandad.”
Fergus pulls away and gives Mac a skeptical look but says nothing more and then grabs Tilly around the shoulders. He begins pointing out all the seats he sat in for the matches he got tickets to.
Mac offers a soft smile as he walks towards me with a bewildered look on his face. “What are you doing here?”
I shrug and shoot him a smirk. “Turns out, I’m a big fan of football.”
“Are you, now?” Mac asks, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a playful smirk.
“Absolutely. Did you know that midfielders run more than any player on the pitch? I’m so knowledgeable about football now.” I smile, plastering on a brave face even though the inside of my body feels like a tight, coiled spring ready to fling me on top of him.
Mac’s shoulders shake with laughter as he comes to stand in front of me in all his tatted, ginger-haired, statuesque glory. He smells like sweat and man, and I want to reach out and touch him just for the memory. But I’m here as a friend. That’s all Mac wants from me.
Mac eyes me up and down and shakes his head slowly. “It’s good to see you again, Cookie.”
“It’s good to see you again,Macky,” I retort and waggle my brows playfully at him.
His face loses all humour as he reaches out and cups my cheek. “I’m truly glad you’re here.”
I inhale and exhale slowly, willing myself not to turn into his embrace because it means nothing, and if I let myself enjoy it, it will hurt more in the end. I pull away from him and smile. “Can you show us around your new club then?”
We get a tour through the grounds, and then I wait outside with Mac’s family while he showers and changes. When he comes out, Fergus admits how tired he is, so his parents and Tilly say their goodbyes to Mac and me, leaving the two of us alone for the first time in weeks.
