Roofers.

47. After victory.

Ronan POV.

She took a step towards me, for a second my heart leaped from chest and into my mouth, but she stopped before she got too close. She'd hesitated, shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, offered me a slight smile as if the joy hadn't drained from her eyes. It took a few seconds to remember that I couldn't kiss her right now. She waved at me and I watched her heart breaking as she stood there, her arms were where I wanted to be -- wrapped around her frame; keeping her warm as midnight approached. She still smiled, though it doesn't reach her eyes. And I smiled back, awe rendering me silent. Perhaps in another life she could've loved me the way she wanted to right now. I wondered if we'd always have to be like this. If I'd always have to hide like this too. I bit my lip, trying to ignore as my heart sank to my stomach — what good was winning if I couldn't celebrate with her? This was supposed to be the best day of life, but it felt so far from it. Here I was, the champion of it all, but still all I really wanted was her.

That boy — Luka — was beside her. Latching onto her like a lost puppy — like he belonged to be there. Jealousy made me want to stride over there and kiss her just to show him that she was mine. Fear kept me far from acting on it. 

Before I could think, I'd been surrounded — reporters, fans, friends. They came like a swarm of hungry flies, buzzing around me in search of something to latch on to. I could barely breathe and I couldn't see her anymore. I tried to look over the crowd, but I could barely see a thing. When I finally caught a glimpse of her again, I knew she wanted to leave — big crowds were never her thing.

"I'll see you later" She mouthed as she turned around and headed over to the parking lot with the other boy. I wanted to run after her.

"Mr Conners! Mr Conners — how do you feel about what you've achieved today!"

"Mr Conners! To what do you owe your success!"

"Mr Conners! Is there anyone you'd like to thank!"

Mr Conners. Mr Conners. Mr Conners. They yelled. As much as I wanted to go after her, I still had scouts to impress. Losing my shit over these hounding paparazzi  wouldn't look good on me. The other guys on the team seemed to be taking it well, I had to do the same. So I did what I had to. I flashed a smile and said what they wanted to hear. I took pictures with people I didn't know. Kissed a couple of babies. Spoke to so many scouts that my head hurt. Slowly the mess started to calm down; people started going home for the night, and before I'd realised, it was after midnight. I was the last to leave after charming the last couple of scouts. 

I sat alone in the quiet locker room, removing all my gear and packing it all away into my duffel bag. I'd taken a shower to wash the sticky sweat and the smell of grass and dirt off of me.

"Your Mom always said you'd be a great man someday, man, was she right," My father's voice echoed through the empty locker room. I froze, clenching my jaw so hard my teeth should have become powder in my mouth. I couldn't hear a thing but the buzzing of the old lights. Blood pumped into my skull, rendering me dizzy. "But who am I kidding — she was always right, so I guess I should have known."

"What are you doing here, dad?" My voice barely came out as a whisper. It came out as a wisp of air. I couldn't bring myself to turn around, even after I'd slammed the iron door of my locker shut. The clanging of the metal door seemed to echo for so long.

"Congratulating my son," He said, his voice was deep. So deep it made the ground quiver with distaste. His voice echoed around the locker room, bouncing off the walls to remind me just how trapped I was. "What that's not allowed?"

I didn't say anything. Repetition and instinct taught me never to do that around him. When he spoke, you didn't reply. That was how things worked between us. The finite dynamic we'd perfected over the years. I'd made that mistake before. But now he sounded the way he used to when mom was still here. He sounded like the dad I remembered. A sense of genuine joy befell him as if he was actually glad to see me, but I'd fallen for that trick too many times.

So I didn't do it. I couldn't turn around, my body knew better than to do that again.

"What are you doing here, dad?" I asked again.

"Turn around, son. Please? Would you do that for your old man?" he asked again.

This time, I did as he asked. Slowly I turned around, muscles so tense that doing so almost hurt. I kept my head low, feeling my heart race in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, to keep him far — far away from me. But I stood so still. And if a breeze had somehow crept through the doors, I would've collapsed.

"Would you look at me?" He asked, voice so low it had become barely a whisper. For the first time since mom died, he sounded weak. Defeated. With a heavy breath, I did as he asked, raising my head and staring directly at him. I swallowed until my tongue was sandpaper scratching the surface of my mouth. Tears blurred out my vision, but I never let them fall. Not with him. He looked so much better now. His eyes weren't the demented colour of blood anymore. They were grey again, just like mine. Instead of the daily stained wife-beater, he wore a pair of new looking jeans and a blue-collared dress shirt. He looked like the dad I remembered, only much older now.

He stared at me, pressing his lips together as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He stared at me as if he could really see me, as if I wasn't his biggest disappointment. As if I wasn't his biggest regret.

"You... look just like your mother," He said, a sad chuckled fleeing him as he looked up at me. "It's the eyes — and you smile just like her too."

Still, my mouth stayed sewn shut. What does one say to the person who's caused so much pain the way he has? What does one do? Does one smile and laugh and grin as if said person is not the reason you can't sleep at night? Does one pretend you don't still get nightmares of it happening all over again? Do you scream and cry and show them how much you hate them for what they did? Do you hurt them so they can feel the aftermath of the pain they caused you? I didn't know. So I stayed so incredibly still. And yes, I did it because this was the only reaction I could have for all those years. And yes, having him stand right in front of me like that made me feel like I was reliving all of it. And no, I didn't want to let him see me cry, because everything inside me told me that would only prove to him that I was just what he had said I was. Weak. So I stood so perfectly still until even I could forget I was breathing.

"She would've been so proud of you, Ronan" He told me.

By now he'd realised I wouldn't say anything, so he kept talking to fill the empty space between us.

"That girl you were looking at earlier — is she your dominant?" He asked as he sat down on one of the benches. He leaned his head against the lockers.

"I don't blame you for leaving. I haven't exactly been a model father to you. You deserve so much more than that, Ronan, you deserve — the whole world. You deserve to live a good, happy life... and I'm glad that I wasn't able to take that from you too." He murmured. "What I'm trying to say is — well I don't really know what I'm saying, but I want you to know that I was wrong. You aren't weak because you're a submissive and you sure ain't weak for feeling a little more than the rest of us. You're your mother's son, stronger than anyone I know but gentle too — like she was."

"If you're not gonna say anything to me, will you just answer this?" He asked finally. "Your dominant, does she treat you right?"

"Yeah, dad." I replied.

"Do you love her?"

"More than anything," I replied.

"Then that's all that matters — not whatever else in forsaken city thinks, you hear me, Ronan?"

"Yes sir,"

"Life's too short, Ronan. When you have a good thing, you treat it like it's the most important thing you have and you run with it," He grinned as he got up and started to head for the exit "Just like football"

Before he left, he turned around. Tears in his eyes, a familiar smile glued to his face.

"I'm proud of you, Ronan" He told me, "I love you and I'm sorry"

He was gone before I could register it all. He left me standing there, staring blankly as if it had all been a dream. That had been all I'd ever wanted to hear from him, but I'd pegged it for a sour fantasy.

After standing there for a second, I shook it off and went back to packing my stuff up.