Chapter 5: Rowen, Part 1

"Rowen!" My dad's voice booms through the computer. "What's the craic, boyo?"

I smile as he sits back and comes on the screen, his flaming red hair sticking up in all directions. No one has ever questioned my paternity. From our bright blue eyes to our lily white skin to the hair…the famous hair…there is no question who my father is.

But our looks and our soccer skills are the only ways we're similar. Our personalities are very, very different. He's loud and boisterous. I'm quiet and some think shy. He's the life of the party. I'm the one who observes the party from the outskirts. When he was in his prime, he got lots of press and reveled in it. I'm happy to watch my teammates take the glory. So yeah, personality traits…those I got from my Mam.

Despite all our differences, in a lot of ways my dad is my best friend. We used to tour with him when he was in the European league so he was always around. Once he retired and we moved to Detroit, he coached every single one of my teams until middle school. Even after that, my soccer coaches would call him to help out sometimes. It was sort of a shock to go off to college and not see him every day. I've gotten used to it over the years. But our Skype times are still some of my favorite times of the week.

"Hey, Dad. I'm tired. Real tired."

He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. "Still trying to get up to speed with the professionals, aren't ya?"

"He is a professional, Ryan," my mother says as she sits down next to him, playfully slapping him on the arm.

"Aiy. I know that," he says as he puts his arm over her shoulder, his thick Irish accent coming through. "But it's different when yer first called up."

"No kidding. They can run circles around me. It's intense."

"That's why they work you so hard on the practice team. Gotta get your endurance up."

"I thought they worked me hard on the practice team," I say rubbing my hand down my face. "But it was nothing compared to this."

"That's just cause yer getting used to people being on yer level. Yer used to being the best on that field. It's going to take some time."

"I know." I sit back and cross my arms over my chest and stretch my legs out. They're still sore from all our conditioning today so it feels good to stretch. "But it feels like it's taking forever to get up to speed."

"Give yourself time, Rowen," my mother says quietly, holding a mug in her hand. My guess is she's drinking that fancy raspberry tea her sister got her for Christmas last year. She's been addicted to the stuff ever since. "You know it takes most players years to get even a little playing time. You're already ahead of everyone else."

"I know, Mam. I promise I'm not worried or anything. Just…really tired." A yawn overtakes me, right as the words come out of my mouth.

"You're eating enough protein, right?" she says. "Carbs are important for fuel, but protein is what powers your muscles and helps your endurance."

"Yes, Mam." My dad chuckles as I try not to roll my eyes. "There's nothing different about my food intake. I'm not drinking too much. Not partying too mu…well....not that much." I smile shyly and my dad laughs. He's no dummy.

"Getting langered with your teammates after the games, are ye?" My dad smirks and raises and eyebrow. I can feel the blush start to creep up my neck. It's the curse of my Irish roots. I can never, ever lie to my parents. My own body gives me away.

"Not a lot," I defend. "We've only gone out a couple times." My thoughts veer off and all the sudden thoughts of Tiffany in that back room, naked in that bed, roll through my mind. I was kind of excited when I met her that night. She was funny. And smart. And witty. And so unbelievably beautiful. She's still all those things. I just don't know how to wrap my brain around the fact that she's a groupie, too.

"So I talked to Fred Manahan yesterday." My dad's voice breaks through my thoughts.

"Yeah?" Fred Manahan is the general manager for the Mutiny and has worked with my dad for a lot of years on a lot of different projects. I try to keep that relationship on the down low. I don't want my teammates catching wind of who I know on a personal level. Nothing like thinking there is nepotism happening to bring a team together. "What did Fred have to say?"

"You know the powers that be haven't been very happy with Shivel for a while."

"I figured." I can feel my face going hot. I hope he's not saying what I think he's saying.

He smirks at me. "Don't get caught up in the shenanigans, mac. Yer being groomed to take his spot. Maybe as soon as sometime this season."

I feel my eyes widen. "Holy shit." Thoughts run through my head as I try to process how that would work. Does Shivel know? If not, how will he react when he finds out? He's a real dick already. I can't imagine what would happen if he found out I was trying to take his job. If he leaves will he stop having parties and will Tiffany stop going to them?

My thoughts drift to Tiffany again, clad in only a white sheet, dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders. Smiling at me, beckoning me to kiss that luscious mouth of hers and kiss down the column of her neck…

"Who is she?" My thoughts come to a screeching halt when I hear the deep rumble of my dad's baritone. I look up at him, not realizing I had zoned out for a minute.

"What? Who's who?" I ask, trying to play it off. I know it's a futile attempt, but my dad has preached to me my entire life about the benefits of committing to one woman. I'm sure he wouldn't like to hear what I've been up to.

"Don't give me that shite, boyo," he growls. "You keep zoning off and getting red as a tomato while yer thinking. I can see right through you. Who is she?"