Home & Away (Mr Positive and QuirkyQuill)

[MrPositive]

Prologue
In the rugged hills of West Cork, football wasn't just a game; it was a way of life. On cold winter evenings, as the coastal winds battered the small town of Clonakilty, the locals would huddle together on the sidelines of Atlantic Park, braving the elements to cheer for their boys in red and green. Among them was a wiry teenager named Donal McLoughlin, a name whispered with equal parts awe and disbelief. He wasn't just good - he was something else entirely.

At sixteen, Donal's name was already on the lips of scouts from Dublin to London. He had an uncanny ability to read the game, finding pockets of space where none existed. His right foot struck with precision, and his left could conjure magic. His debut for Clonakilty FC (now defunct and reborn under West Cork Celtic) in the old First Division was the stuff of local legend: a hat-trick in a storm, the ball cutting through the wind and rain as if drawn to his boots by fate.

Clonakilty FC wasn't a big club - just a scrappy, community-driven side trying to hold its own in Irish football. But Donal made them believe. By seventeen, he had led the team to their best league finish in decades. Crowds doubled as locals flocked to see their prodigy, and soon, the offers came pouring in. Scouts called his house; letters arrived promising glory. But it was a call from Newcastle United that changed everything.

At eighteen, Donal left the windswept fields of Clonakilty for the towering stadiums of England. His transfer to Newcastle United was met with skepticism by some - another Irish kid destined to be swallowed up by the bright lights of the Premier League, they said. But Donal proved them all wrong. In his first season, he became the youngest player to score ten league goals for the club, his fearless approach winning over the famously demanding Geordie faithful. The following year, he secured a place in the starting lineup, his pace, strength, and clinical finishing making him one of the league's most promising strikers.

From Newcastle, his career skyrocketed. A big-money move to Arsenal followed, where Donal truly hit his stride. Under the lights of the Emirates Stadium, he became a legend. Over seven seasons, he won three Premier League titles, two FA Cups, and the ultimate prize: the UEFA Champions League. In the final against Bayern Munich, it was his late goal, a diving header, that secured victory, immortalizing him in club folklore.

But the journey wasn't without setbacks. Injuries plagued his later years at Asrenal, and at 31, he moved to Birmingham City in search of more playing time. Though the silverware eluded him there, he became a leader, captaining the side and mentoring younger players.

Even as he aged, Donal's reputation endured. His final stint in England was with Southampton, where his experience proved invaluable in keeping the club in the top flight. At 35, he called time on his English career, leaving behind a record of 182 Premier League goals, countless assists, and a reputation as one of the most consistent strikers of his era.

For Ireland, Donal was more than just a player, he was a symbol of hope. From the moment he made his debut at 19, he became a talisman for the national team. Over 15 years, he earned 142 caps and scored 58 goals, both records. Donal led Ireland to the knockout stages of the 2016 European Championship, scoring a crucial goal against Italy in the group stage. His defining moment came during the 2022 World Cup qualifiers, where his hat-trick against Denmark sent Ireland to their first World Cup in 20 years. Though Ireland didn't progress far, Donal's performances inspired a nation. He retired from international football in 2022, his legacy cemented as one of the greatest players ever to wear the green jersey.

The Return
At 36, Donal McLoughlin stood on the threshold of a new chapter. The journey that had taken him from Clonakilty to the greatest stadiums in the world had brought him full circle. West Cork Celtic had been reborn in the new National League, and Donal couldn't resist the pull of home.

It wasn't just about football anymore. The bright lights of the Premier League had been thrilling, but they were fleeting. Donal wanted something more lasting - a connection, a legacy. He wanted to stand on the same soil where his journey began and give back to the community that had nurtured him.

Present Day
The second season of Donal McLoughlin's return to West Cork Celtic had been nothing short of remarkable. At 38, he wasn't the explosive force he had been during his prime in England, but he had adapted, relying on his experience, positioning, and unwavering determination. With ten games left in the National League, Celtic stood on the cusp of promotion to the Premier League - a feat that would rewrite the club's history books.

As captain and lone striker, Donal had carried the team on his shoulders. His 16 goals for the season had been critical, and his leadership even more so. He'd become the glue that held the team together, mentoring younger players while driving home the idea that they were capable of greatness. The fans adored him, chanting his name from the terraces of Atlantic Park every weekend. For them, Donal wasn't just a player - he was the embodiment of hope, ambition, and pride in West Cork.

But off the pitch, life had taken on a quieter rhythm. Donal had settled into a small house just outside Clonakilty, a place where he could hear the distant crash of the Atlantic and feel the wind sweeping in from the hills. His focus was singular: football. At least, that's what he told himself.
​

---

The community event at the Clonakilty Sports Centre wasn't something Donal had planned on attending. He rarely sought the spotlight outside of football. But Brendan O'Sullivan, the club's manager, had been insistent. "The whole town's turning out," Brendan had said. "It's important for the club to be there - especially you."

And so, Donal found himself standing at a booth, surrounded by fans of all ages. Kids darted around with footballs, their faces painted in Celtic's red and green, while parents snapped pictures and thanked him for what he'd done for the team. He signed jerseys, answered questions about the upcoming matches, and posed for photos, all the while wearing the easy, practiced smile of someone used to public adoration.

The event wasn't just about the men's team, though. It was a celebration of all things football in Clonakilty, and the women's side of West Cork Celtic was front and center. The women's team had been making waves of their own, competing at the top of their league and drawing attention for their spirited play.

Donal didn't know much about the women's squad. He'd seen a few highlights, heard Brendan mention their performances in passing, but his focus had always been on his own game. Still, as the event unfolded, he couldn't help but notice the buzz around their table - a steady stream of fans, young girls with stars in their eyes, and parents eager to meet the players.

It was then, during a quiet moment, that Donal first saw her. She stood just beyond the crowd, casually leaning against a table draped in the club's colors, her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold. There was an air of quiet confidence about her, a calm amidst the noise.

Someone nearby whispered her name: Sophia Grayson.

Donal recognized it immediately - she was the women's team's goalkeeper, the American import who'd been earning rave reviews all season. He'd heard Brendan call her the best shot-stopper in the league, a player who could win matches single-handedly. But it wasn't just her reputation that caught his attention now. There was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

For a moment, their eyes met across the bustling room. Donal felt a flicker of something - curiosity, perhaps? It wasn't attraction, at least not yet. His mind was too wrapped up in the season, too focused on the task at hand to entertain such thoughts. But there was a spark, a faint sense that this meeting, brief and silent as it was, might mean something later.

And just like that, the moment passed. A group of fans pulled Donal back into their orbit, and Sophia turned her attention elsewhere.

By the end of the day, Donal barely remembered the exchange. His thoughts were already on the next match, the next challenge. But in the quiet corners of his mind, a seed had been planted—one that would take time to grow.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Prologue

Summer

“Ireland? Really?” Her brother’s voice sounded dubious over the call, his eyebrows raising up. “Soph, aren’t you…well, better than the Irish league? I don’t mean that negatively, I just think… you could play for a Premier League if you are really set on going to Europe. Something more elite.”

“Jack, stop,” Sophia Grayson shook her head as she sat down on the edge of her bed, holding the phone up so she could ensure her brother received the full brunt of her glare. “The team is good, and the women’s team is in their Premier League. They just need a little help staying there.”
“Right, I mean, I know it's a Premier League, but it’s not the Premier League.”

“It’s not Premier enough for you because it’s not British?” Rolling her eyes, Sophia tried to look annoyed with her little brother, but the look of endearment betrayed her. She had never been able to stay mad at him. The problem was that he knew it. “Look, it’s not just about being in the spotlight. The spotlight is exactly why I’m going in the first place. The league is new, and they are working really hard on creating equitability across the sport. The idea of being part of that is exciting and meaningful.”

“So, you’re leaving the States because you’ve had too much attention from your advocacy to go to another country and…advocate?” Jack spoke slowly as if trying to point out the obvious problem as he saw it.

“I’m leaving the States for different reasons. Yes, it’s been a nightmare here the last couple years. There are still days I show up to practice and there are reporters who want to talk about Callum. They are usually men, they’re usually aggressive, and they’re usually still trying to discredit me. I just want to play soccer, Jack. I’m nearing the end of my career, and I don’t want it to feel like this every time I step on that field.” Reaching up, she ran an exasperated hand through her hair, her fingers snagging on a few tangles as she did so. Her face softened when she looked back at her phone, a small smile crossing her face. “I talked with the head coach of the team, the goalkeeper coach, Nora, and a representative from the association. They really want to get this right, and I’ve lived it. I can do some good there to make sure that their women hopefully never have to go through what we did.”

“You know,” Jack said with a dramatic sigh, “it’s really hard being your brother. You are so perfect at everything you do, I can’t possibly measure up.” He was teasing her, and Sophia knew it, but it lacked its usual tint of sarcasm.

“Hey, little bro, I get it. You’re going to miss me. You’ll be lost without me.” Grinning, her face took on a playful smirk as she watched the indignant look cross his face. He’d been making that face at her since he was four years old. Ten year old her had loved it, the way his little nose would scrunch up and his eyebrows would crinkle together. “You can come visit. We’ll go hiking around. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sulked. “I might miss you.”

“All right. My plane leaves late tonight so I need to double check I have everything ready to go.”

“Why do I have a feeling you have already checked everything ten times?”

“Only eight. That’s a long time to be away.” Laughing, she stuck her tongue at him. It didn’t matter that she was six years older than him and that she was thirty-five years old. The two of them still reverted to behaving like children, especially when they were having an emotional moment.

“All right, sis. I love you.” He sounded resigned, but Sophia could see the pride in his dark brown eyes. The same dark eyes she had also inherited from their father, his Spanish heritage carrying through his children.

“Love you, too!”

Once she hung up, Sophia flopped back on her bed, the snake of uncertainty winding its way through her stomach. Was this a good idea? She would never admit it out loud, but she knew she was running. The last two years had been a circus in the league, and when she and two of her teammates had decided to speak out against the harassment players were subjected to, things had turned ugly quickly. They had all just finished fighting for equality in pay, and Sophia hadn’t felt ready for another large-scale fight. Of course, she hadn’t expected things to turn into the media circus it had.

Earlier in the year, the investigative report had come out, citing all the evidence of sexual harassment, verbal abuse, and toxic culture that had run rampant inside the women’s soccer locker rooms. What Sophia had learned was that if one were bringing to light negative behavior against a good looking, internationally adored, and universally desired athlete, people responded differently. The world was not ready to believe that Callum Barclay, former Scottish football player who had dominated, was a terrible man. In his mid forties, he still had the looks that landed him on young women’s walls.

Sitting up, she shook her head. This was the right decision. It had all been the right decision, but the smear campaign that Barclay had launched against her and her two teammates still lingered, despite the evidence that pointed elsewhere. While Sophia was glad to see sweeping overhauls in the National Women’s Soccer League to protect its athletes, she was still dealing with the fallout. Several coaches had received lifetime bans from coaching in the United States. Callum wasn’t one of them. He’d received a five year ban, and people blamed her.

Sophia had years of perfecting the stone faced expression she wore in games, and that icy stare had been her armor during the last two years off the field as much as on. The goalkeeper had to be tough. She’d developed her reputation as “The Arctic Wall” because she knew how to defend her box, and she did it mercilessly. When she was on the field in her kit, gloves on, she was all business. Her teammates would celebrate goals and saves, but Sophia kept her head in the game and on the moment. Three World Cup appearances, two taking home the trophy and one second place, and two stints at the Olympics had taught her how to focus and shut out the white noise around her.

Lately, it had been too much. People didn’t want to talk about soccer with her anymore. They wanted to talk about the scandal, and she needed to get back to the game she loved. If she heard one more reporter call her the Ice Queen, she was likely to forget all of her public relations training. Thankfully one of her former college teammates, Nora Kennedy, was a striker for West Cork Celtic, so Sophia knew she had at least one friend on the other side of the pond.

Present Day

As a born and raised Floridian, Sophia knew a thing or two about rain. After all, during the summer, it rained every day in her hometown of Clearwater between one and three in the afternoon. Having spent the last several years in Orlando as the goalkeeper for Orlando Pride, those daily showers hit the east coast of the state between two and four. None of that had prepared her for life in Ireland. It rained. A lot. In the months since she’d stepped off the plane in Dublin, taken a car down to Cork, and settled into her flat in Clonakilty, Sophia was certain she’d endured more rain than she had in the last decade.

She’d managed to settle in, though, tackling her role as Celtic’s goalkeeper as she did everything else. It had been a little bumpy with the team when she’d first arrived. Nora had been her biggest advocate to the team. Apparently, her reputation as being difficult to work with and a hard ass had extended to the Emerald Isle, and when she’d first entered the locker room, the narrowed eyes of many of her new teammates said as much. Sophia had played against a couple of them in international competition, but she didn’t know them well. As a longstanding member of the Women’s National Soccer League, it stood to reason that she would cross paths with other players she’d competed against.

It wasn’t uncommon for players to be opponents one season and teammates the next, but the level of unspoken hostility had been so thick it was tangible. Sophie understood, though. The point of the league was to try to build up local talent to represent the club, and the club had brought in an outsider. Not just any outsider, but the woman who’d been deemed a diva. The woman who made unrealistic demands of her clubs.

Thank the football gods for Nora, who had managed to break the ice fairly quickly. About a month in, her team had quickly realized that her reputation was mostly false. Her reputation on the field; however, was not. Their season had taken on a different life than the one before. Celtic had ended the previous season near the bottom of the Premier League, and the staff and team knew that changes had to be made to remain in the Premier League. While the men’s team was working towards promotion, the women were struggling to maintain their position and move up.

Sophia brought a different energy to the team. She commanded the defense with respectful authority, helping shift them and pointing out gaps. Her teammates quickly realized that she would be the first to volunteer to stay back and work with somebody, regardless of their position, if they were struggling with something. They had also realized that her “demands” weren’t what they’d been led to believe.

Not long after arriving, she’d also learned that she would also be expected to represent the team at events. At first, Sophia was anxious, thinking it would strictly be media events. She soon realized that the events were to help build connections between the club and the community. Those were the type of events Sophia loved. Talking with real people about a game they all loved.

That was precisely how she found herself packed in next to Nora and half of the team at a table, the excited chatter filling the space around them. Seeing so many little girls staring with admiration at her teammates almost made her choke up, if she was the sort of woman who allowed emotions to creep out in public. When she was a little girl dreaming of playing professionally, there weren't a lot of women represented. She didn’t have female athletes to look up to, just the men. Looking over to the side, she saw a little girl with dark curly and big green eyes staring shyly at the group of people. She looked to be around ten.

Smiling warmly, Sophia walked over to her and crouched down so that she was looking up at her.

“Hello,” she greeted softly.

“Hi.” The little girl responded just as softly, her Irish lilt barely audible from the short syllable.

“What’s your name?”

“Sophia.” She smiled shyly, her hands clasping in front of her mouth as if she were trying to hide.

“Sophia! That’s my name.” Responding enthusiastically, Sophia grinned at her. “Isn’t it the best name ever?”

Little Sophia nodded her head, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

“Is there someone you want to meet from the team?” Trying to engage her further, Sophia turned briefly to look at her other teammates before looking back at her.

“I wanted to meet you,” she responded, the words struggling to leave her mouth.

“Well that makes me happy. I’m so glad I got to meet another Sophia. Do you play football?” Resting her arms on her knees, Sophia’s brown eyes raised slightly as a woman who had to be Little Sophia’s mother pulled a phone out of her purse.

Little Sophia nodded, but didn’t respond verbally.

“What position do you play?”

“Keeper.” The word came out, again quietly and as if it took effort for her to release it from her lips. Sophia gasped, bringing a hand to her heart.

“Sophia, I love it. I’ll tell you what,” she spoke, reaching behind her and pulling one of her goalkeeper gloves from the last game they’d won. She’d already signed it and had kept it stowed in her jean pocket. “I have been waiting for the perfect person to give this glove to, and I think meeting another Sophia who is a keeper makes you that perfect person. Would you like it?”

The girl nodded, extending her hand out and taking the glove reverently.

“I need you to do something for me, though. When you grow up and become a famous goalkeeper, I need one of your gloves signed too. Okay?” The girl's smile widened, lighting up her entire face. “I think your mom wants a picture. Want to take one with me?” Little Sophia nodded, and turned to face her mother while Sophia wrapped an arm around her and smiled. As they walked off, she stood straight, her knees groaning in protest. Leaning against the table, she crossed her arms over her chest, her expression resorting back to that pleasant professionalism she typically wore. Her brother had been generous in their youth to frequently tell her she had a resting bitch face, and while she’d wanted to be mad about it, he was right. Once she’d had to start promoting her teams and serving as a face of the sport, she had to make a concerted effort not to look that way when she was off the field.

Something prickled inside her that told her she was being watched. Turning her gaze, she locked eyes with an astute green stare. Her face remained neutral as she realized immediately who it was. Donal McLoughlin was a legendary player, even in the states, and while she had never seen him play live, Sophia had seen him in action on television a handful of times. She’d heard his name around the club, but she’d kept her head down during the past months trying to fit into her own team that she hadn’t expended a lot of energy on the men’s team. They both seemed frozen in that stare for a moment, and Sophia wondered what it would be like to defend the box against him. She knew he was good, but how good?

The moment passed just as quickly as it had happened, and Nora had quickly caught her attention.

“Hey, did you decide if you were going to the men’s game with us tomorrow? You haven’t come to a match yet.” Nora gave her a pouty look, knowing very well that it wouldn’t do anything any more than it had when they’d shared a room at Florida State.

“I don’t know. We have a game coming up.”

“Soph, we also have a game coming up. It’s okay to go out and live a little. It’s an afternoon game. It’s not even late.”

“Fine,” sighing as she spoke, she gave Nora a small smile, relenting. Nora pumped her first as if she’d just won a long-standing battle. Which, to be fair, she had. Sophia had always eschewed partying and going out late for early bedtimes and a regimented existence. It was part of the reason she’d been so successful.

“Finally! I can’t wait for you to see Atlantic Park full. It’s a different environment for the men’s team.”

"Of course it is," Sophia responded with a slightly sarcastic smile on her face.

 

[MrPositive]

The weather that day at Atlantic Park was typical for early spring in West Cork—windy, with a chill in the air, and the occasional spatter of rain that never quite materialized into anything heavy enough to stop the game. It didn't matter. The crowd, as always, was out in full force, wrapped in scarves and woolen hats, braving the elements to support their beloved West Cork Celtic. Among the buzzing fans, the name on everyone's lips was Donal McLoughlin, the captain, the veteran striker who had returned to his roots.

It was clear from the opening whistle that Donal was in one of his moods. He had that quiet confidence about him, his eyes scanning the field, assessing the situation, and it didn't take long for him to find his rhythm. The Mayo Warriors had no answer for his movement. As soon as the ball came to him, it seemed to find the back of the net, as though he were possessed by some kind of supernatural force that made the game look easy. By the 25th minute, Donal had scored his first goal of the match. It was a classic piece of McLoughlin brilliance—a perfectly timed run off a through ball, a delicate touch past the oncoming goalkeeper, and then a calm finish into the open net. The fans roared in approval, their chants echoing through the stands, but Donal was already back on his feet, focused, ready for the next opportunity.

"We need more than that," he muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the field, his hands brushing the damp grass as he adjusted his position. He wasn't one to celebrate much, especially in the early stages of a match. For Donal, it was all about the next moment, not the last one.

The game continued, and the Warriors struggled to keep up. They tried to defend him with physicality, but Donal was too smart, too quick. It didn't take long for him to find his second goal. A perfectly placed cross came in from the left wing, curling toward the edge of the penalty area. Donal's instincts kicked in. He darted to the near post, leaping higher than anyone expected, and with a thundering header, he powered the ball past the helpless goalkeeper. The crowd erupted again, but this time, Donal allowed himself a slight smile—a brief acknowledgment of the beauty of the moment.

"Two-nil," he thought, but that wasn't enough for him. It was never enough.

The Warriors were starting to show signs of frustration. Their defense had no answer for Donal's intelligence, and their midfield couldn't break Celtic's lines. The ball was constantly being played back to their keeper, forcing them into constant defense. Even when they managed to break forward, Donal was there, playing as if he had eyes in the back of his head. His experience was telling. By the 70th minute, the game was all but over. West Cork Celtic had a commanding lead, but Donal wasn't done yet. He had already scored twice, but he wasn't ready to settle for a brace. He wanted more. He was used to the pressure, used to the moments where the game came down to him, the responsibility of putting his team on his back.

It was in the final stretch that he scored his third goal, and it was the kind of goal that summed up everything that made Donal so special. A scramble in the box saw the ball deflected toward the edge of the penalty area. Without hesitation, Donal pounced on it. There was no room for error. A quick feint, a half-step to the right, and the ball was curling into the bottom corner of the net before anyone could even react. The stadium was alive, shaking with the sound of fans shouting his name.

"Hat-trick, Donal! Hat-trick!" The chant rang out from the stands, and Donal didn't need to look up to know the faces of the fans who had been with him through thick and thin.

He turned briefly to the crowd, his face impassive but his eyes scanning the supporters. There, amidst the cheering fans, he saw something that caught him off guard—someone he didn't expect to be there. Standing near the side of the pitch, a figure in a dark jacket and jeans, her arms crossed, watching him intently. It was her—the goalkeeper from the women's team, Sophia Grayson.

Donal's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't that he had ever known her, but the brief moment they had shared at the community event the previous day had stayed with him. He had seen her around, knew of her reputation as one of the best shot-stoppers in the league. But this—seeing her watching him in the stands—felt different.

He couldn't afford to get distracted. The game wasn't over, and his teammates were still pressing for more goals. Still, he couldn't help but steal a glance in her direction, wondering if she was there to see him, or just here for the match. His mind quickly refocused as the game continued, but a part of him remained drawn to her presence.

The final whistle blew, and the game ended with a decisive 4-0 scoreline. Celtic had dominated from start to finish, and Donal had been the star of the show. The crowd rushed to their feet, chanting his name in unison. The victory felt sweet, especially with the hat-trick, but Donal didn't bask in the spotlight for long. He knew there was work to be done. The season was far from over, and the challenge of securing promotion still loomed large.

As he walked off the pitch, his teammates congratulated him, but Donal's mind was elsewhere. His eyes were once again drawn to Sophia, who was now making her way toward the exit, her head held high, walking with the kind of purposeful stride that suggested she had already made up her mind about something. Was she leaving so soon? He couldn't be sure, but there was a lingering feeling in the back of his mind.

Later, as he sat in the locker room, catching his breath after the match, Donal couldn't shake the image of Sophia from his thoughts. There was something about her, something that intrigued him, but he couldn't quite place it. She was strong, determined, and had the kind of presence that was hard to ignore. But more than that, he felt as if he had seen a side of her—a quiet, composed side—that mirrored his own. A part of him wanted to learn more.

For now, he had to focus on the next match, on the team's goals, and on the bigger picture. But for the first time in a long while, Donal McLoughlin found himself wondering if the game he loved could also offer him something more. Something that went beyond football.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“Why is your rain so cold?” Panting, Sophia stretched her arms above her head in an effort to take a deep breath. Raindrops dripped to her shoulders from the messy bun piled on top of her head. The pink hue on her cheeks and nose was a testament to both the cold air and the physical exertion from the run she and Nora had taken. Nora laughed, looking not the least bit bothered by the rain shower that had caught them two miles into their run.

“Seriously,” Sophia chuckled, shaking her head. “Why does weather like this exist?”

“You’ve been here long enough, Soph. You should be used to it by now.” Still grinning, Nora opened her passenger door and grabbed her water bottle, taking a quick swig.

Sophia did the same from her own car, grabbing a towel along with her water. The rain had eased up just before they had returned back to the cars. Swiping her face with the towel, she draped it around her shoulders as she drank from the cold water.

“I'm not sure one can acclimate to this.”

“You play games in it just fine,” Nora pointed out, physically pointing a finger in her direction.

“I don't feel it during the games.” Shrugging, she ran a hand on top of her head, smoothing the flyaways back down. “This is different. But, this trail is worth it. It might be my favorite you’ve shown me so far.”

The third week she’d been in Ireland, Nora had insisted on showing her the Rathberry-Kilkeran Loop for a trail run location. Sophia had always preferred to run on a trail to pavement. She liked the stamina it built up, and she could feel the difference when she was on the field. The loop had taken her breath away. The two women had hiked it first, and this was their third time running it. It was times like these that Sophia couldn't believe how fortunate she was that her career had given her an opportunity to explore so many beautiful places.

“I knew you would like it.” Both women began the quick task of switching their shoes. Sophia put her wet, grassy tennis shoes in a bag, slipping off her socks and sliding on a pair of flip flops.

“What time are we meeting at the gate?” Twirling her keys around her fingers she walked around to the driver side.

“How about an hour before kickoff? I also want you to meet Kieran after the game.” A small flush appeared on Nora's face at the mention of the men's midfielder. He had asked Nora out on a date during the previous month, and things had been progressing between the two.

“Can't wait! See you then.” Waving at her former roommate, she hopped in her car and immediately turned on the heater.

A couple hours later, she stood in the stands with Nora and several of their teammates. Sophia had always appreciated the environment of European football stadiums. They carried a very different level of electricity than in the states, and as supportive as the women's fans were, the stadium reached a volume level that was incomparable.

Sophia’s eyes were transfixed on the game as it played out in front of them. She hadn't realized how intently she'd been watching until closer to the end when Nora nudged her. Hard.

“Hey. Grayson. Just watch and enjoy the game.” Rolling her eyes, Nora wore a smirk on her pale face.

“I…am?” Confusion burrowed between her eyebrows as Sophia looked truly perplexed.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “you're not. You've spent this whole time analyzing the game. Turn that part of your brain off, and just enjoy the game. Sing. Chant. Clap. Do… something other than create permanent wrinkles between your eyebrows.” That last part made Sophia laugh. She realized Nora was right. Her eyes had tracked the ball around the field, her mind studying everyone who touched the ball. Given the nature of the game, she found herself watching McLoughlin through much of the match. She tried to read his body language when he approached the goal, and could tell before the opposing keeper that his instincts had sent him defending in the wrong direction. Donal’s quickness and certainty had never really been captured on television the way it felt in person and she could appreciate the speed and strength in which he delivered the ball more acutely. It made her fingers twitch, wishing she were the one inside the box.

“Soph!” Nora’s voice pulled her back out of the recesses of her thoughts. “I need you to tap into eight year old Sophia Grayson, standing in front of the television set, jumping up and down while her favorite team played. Or the little girl doing the Chop after her Noles scored.“

“Fine. Yes, ma’am,” Sophia laughed, her Southern twang bringing out a ‘y’ sound in the middle of ma’am. Despite feeling out of her typical element, Sophia joined in the chanting with her teammates, trying her hardest not to feel foolish. She had nothing against it. In fact, she loved to hear a fan base’s enthusiasm. It just wasn't something that came naturally to her. Nora was right , though. There was a time she did have that lightness watching their sports.

When the game ended, Nora grabbed her arm.

“They have to get promoted,” she said, her voice practically squeaking. “This is their season.”

“They certainly look to be on track,” Sophia responded.

“I could watch Donal McLoughlin handle a ball any day of the week.” Fiona Taggart, their left forward, piped up as the group of women began to climb the stairs.

“Aye,” Isla Blair, their backup goalkeeper who had joined them from Scotland during the transfer window, added. “I bet he handles a woman with just as much power.”

“Isla!” Nora exclaimed, her voice hitting an impeccably high octave.

“What? I'm just saying. You know those thigh muscles are capable of -”

“Oooookay,” Sophia interjected, her eyes carrying the incredulity that Nora’s voice had conveyed. “That's like talking about a coworker.”

“Those shorts don't hide much. It's clear he's -”

“Isla!” The other five members of the team practically screeched her name, causing the red head to cackle. At this point she was toying with them.

They walked down to the staff entrance and each pulled out their team badges. After being allowed through, they went to wait in a lounge area, waving to a couple of club staff members who were doing the same. Nora texted Kieran when they'd arrived, but they all knew they would be waiting for a bit while the coaches had their post-game debrief and the players went through their cool down routines.

Half of the women lounged on several of the couches, enjoying the warm dry air. Isla and Sophia grabbed a soccer ball that had been abandoned in the corner and started tipping it to one another with their fingers, looking more like two volleyball players warming up.

Eventually the sound of men’s voices rumbled through the hallway and a few of the players came in, Kieran the first to cross through the door. Isla had just hit the ball back to Sophia when Finn Kelly, the men's primary goalkeeper, jumped in front of her and intercepted the ball.

“Ha!” Exclaiming triumphantly, he turned around, a wide smile on his face. Standing a full eight inches taller than her, he had to look down to meet her eyes. “Sophia Grayson.”

“Finn Kelly,” she said his name with as much enthusiasm as he said hers. Though she hadn't met all of the players on the men's team, the goalkeepers from both teams had a standing lunch meeting once a week.

“Did you come to scope out the master of the box? Trying to pick up some of my moves?” Finn tossed the ball back and forth between his hands as he spoke.

“Oh, absolutely,” Sophia's playful sarcasm came out when she spoke, her left eyebrow raising. “I have now been fully educated on how to stand around and take up space for ninety minutes. Please, share more of your amazing techniques with me. I'm pretty sure I saw you twirl at one point.”

“Hey, I can't help it if McLoughlin didn't let anyone else touch the ball.” Pretending to look affronted, he offered her a wink before turning to chat with Isla, who had joined them. Shaking her head in amusement, Sophia walked over to where Nora stood with Kieran. They were quickly introduced to one another before Nora threw out the idea of everyone grabbing dinner together.

“Yeah,” Kieran nodded, “I’ll throw it out to some of the other guys and see who wants to go. Daily Dose? I need all the carbs I can get.”

“Sounds good,” Nora watched Kieran walk out of the room to rally some more players before turning back to Sophia. “You're coming, right? I promise you won't combust if you stay out past six.”

“Why not?” Rolling her eyes, Sophia gave in without a fight.

“Yes! Let's head over to get a table.”

 

[MrPositive]

Donal leaned back against his locker, exhaling deeply. His body ached in that familiar, satisfying way that came after a hard-fought match. The three goals he had put past Mayo Warriors' keeper should have been enough to leave him feeling elated, but instead, his thoughts were unsettled. He'd caught sight of her again—Sophia Grayson.

The American goalkeeper had been at the match, standing in the stands with her teammates. He'd seen her out of the corner of his eye after his second goal, and while he hadn't let it distract him during the game, the memory of her intent gaze lingered now.

"McLoughlin!" Kieran's voice broke through Donal's thoughts. The midfielder strode into the locker room, a grin on his face. "A few of us are heading over to Daily Dose for dinner. You should come. It'll be good to relax for a bit after the match."

Donal hesitated. He wasn't one for large social gatherings, especially after games. The pub would no doubt be loud and bustling with fans still buzzing from the win. But then he thought of Sophia. If the women's team had come to support their male counterparts, there was a good chance some of them would be at the restaurant as well.

"Alright," he said finally, grabbing his jacket from the hook. "I'll come for a bit."

Kieran raised a brow, clearly surprised. "Didn't think you'd say yes. Figured you'd be off to brood somewhere or study match footage."

Donal smirked. "I can't let you have all the fun, can I?"

The two made their way out of the stadium and into the chilly West Cork evening, joining a small group of teammates headed for the restaurant. By the time they arrived, the Daily Dose was already lively. The familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air as Donal stepped inside.

"Over there!" Kieran called out, spotting Nora and her group at a large table near the back. The women's team had already staked their claim, and from the look of things, they were in high spirits. Donal followed Kieran's lead, weaving through the crowd until they reached the table.

Nora greeted them warmly, introducing Kieran to the rest of her teammates. Donal offered a polite nod to the group, his eyes scanning the table until they landed on Sophia. She was seated toward the end, her dark hair now down and framing her face. She looked different out of her kit and away from the pitch—more relaxed, though no less striking.

Kieran gestured toward an empty seat across from her. "Take a load off, Captain," he said with a grin before pulling up a chair beside Nora.

Donal slid into the seat, trying not to let his presence seem too deliberate. "Evening," he said, his voice low and even, addressing the group as a whole.

A chorus of greetings followed, but it was Sophia's quiet nod that held his attention. She didn't say much, which he appreciated. Small talk had never been his strength, and he found himself grateful for the comfortable silence she seemed to carry with her.

As the evening wore on, Donal found himself drawn into the conversation around the table. Kieran and Nora's easy banter kept everyone entertained, and even Isla's playful jabs added to the lighthearted atmosphere. Donal contributed when necessary, but he mostly observed, his gaze occasionally drifting back to Sophia.

At one point, the conversation turned toward the game. Fiona, the women's left forward, leaned forward with an eager grin. "Donal, you've got to tell us—what goes through your head when you're lining up a shot like that second goal tonight? That header was pure class."

Donal shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not much, to be honest. It's instinct. You see the ball coming in, you know where you want it to go, and you trust your body to do the rest."

"Instinct," Isla repeated with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I'd like to see your 'instinct' take on Grayson here. She'd probably shut you down faster than you could blink."

The group erupted in laughter, and Donal allowed himself a chuckle. His eyes flicked to Sophia, who met his gaze with an unreadable expression. For a moment, he considered responding, but the weight of her steady gaze stopped him. He wasn't sure what he would have said, anyway.

As the plates were cleared and the evening began to wind down, Donal finally worked up the courage to speak directly to Sophia. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but firm. "You were at the game tonight."

It wasn't a question, and Sophia's brow lifted slightly in response.

Donal continued, his tone thoughtful. "You've got a keen eye. I could tell you were studying the match."

Her lips curved into a small smile, but she didn't reply, and Donal felt a flicker of frustration at his inability to draw her into conversation. He wasn't used to feeling unsure of himself, especially not off the pitch.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“Kings had us 1-nil back in October. I know we’ve gotten better since then, but they're still at the top of the leaderboard,” Fiona twisted a napkin around her fingers as the women all looked at her when she spoke. They had fallen into conversation about their game the next afternoon against the Kilkenny Kings. The Kings had started the season as the number one team, and had yet to fall below that number. West Cork had started the season in the second to last spot, a testament to the previous season. They had since managed to climb to the middle of the pack, but that wasn’t good enough for any of the remaining women on the team.

“Given they have three women from the National team, I’d say it wasn't a bad loss,” Maura O’Brien, one of their other defenders, piped in.

“Any loss is a bad loss,” Sophia spoke up, her voice calm and steady where the other two had been peppy.

“Some losses feel worse, though,” Nora pointed out as she leaned back on her chair.

“We can win,” Sophia's brown eyes met Nora's. “We hadn't found our stride yet as a team when we played them.”

“How did they outplay you all last time?” Isla threw the question out, her eyes looking between the other women. Sophia’s jaw tightened slightly as Nora and Fiona winced.

“Let's just say,” Maura spoke slowly, her tone a bit timid, “that one of the defenders who was dismissed during the January window contributed to their one goal.”

“That's a generous way of putting it,” Nora grumbled before taking a sip of her water, a disgruntled look on her face.

“How did she do that? Did she accidentally send the ball into our goal?”

“No,” Maura answered, looking tentatively at Sophia. “That would have been forgivable. She didn't listen to our goalkeeper when she told her to move. She ended up blocking Sophia so when Sophia tried to make a dive for the shot, they collided instead.”

“Oh,” Isla looked scandalized at the thought. Defense not listening to their goalkeeper was as serious a crime as an American football offense not listening to their quarterback. When a keeper told a player to move, they hauled ass without a second thought.

“As I said,” Sophia lifted her glass in mock salute to Maura and Nora, “we have found our stride. I have full confidence that tomorrow's game is ours.”

“The Defensive Divas are going to rock their world,” Nora grinned as she raised her own glass. Maura laughed as she did the same. Sophia winced slightly at the nomenclature. She hated the word diva. It had been thrown in her face verbally and in writing so many times it made her stomach physically clench. She knew Nora used it intentionally and without any maliciousness, so she swallowed her grimace.

“You have to take ownership over that word. If you own it, it loses its power!”

If only it were that easy.

“Oh! They’re here.” Fiona’s eyes lit up as she scanned the group of players that had entered the restaurant. “Ooh…yes. He came.” A maniacal giggle escaped the young woman, and nobody found it necessary to ask to whom she was referring.

Sophia committed the names of the players she didn’t already know, glad to put a face with a name. They heard about the men’s team frequently, but it had been so hectic settling into a new country and new routine that Sophia hadn’t attended a game until today. She’d seen a lot of them around the training facilities, but she had a tendency to stick to herself if she wasn’t with a teammate. Over the past two years, she’d tried her best to make herself invisible whenever she could. As everyone grabbed a seat, she gave Finn a small half smile as he sat diagonally from her.

The conversation quickly shifted, and Sophia sat back, happy to allow other people to take center stage. Every so often she noticed a fan looking over their shoulder at the table, and she was pretty certain a couple of them had tried to subtly take photos from their cell phones.

She quietly studied Donal when his eyes were focused down the table, the weight of who she was sharing a table with not lost on her. Sophia had met some of the greatest players of all time, and she had never been one to fangirl. This wasn’t fangirling, exactly. She respected greatness in the sport, and she had to actively bite her tongue not to start picking his brain apart. When she’d met Mia Hamm with her high school travel team, her teammates had all shrieked and giggled, asking for autographs and pictures. Sophia had stared intently and asked her to share everything she could about learning how to read body language more effectively from the opposing team’s forwards so she could more effectively defend against them. It wasn’t until after the fact that her coach gently let her know she had come across a bit strong. In the years since, Sophia had learned to bite down her natural inclination to treat all great football players as walking encyclopedias.

"I'd like to see your 'instinct' take on Grayson here. She'd probably shut you down faster than you could blink."

Hearing her last name unexpectedly, Sophia’s gaze broke Donal and flashed to Nora briefly before meeting the man across from her again. She kept her face neutral, not entirely sure how she felt about Nora’s claim. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Sophia had learned humility in her early college career, and never took anything for granted when she stepped on the field. Her finger twitched at the thought of getting into the box against him, though. Either they would be evenly matched, or he would likely kick her ass. Whenever she found someone who looked like they could outright punish her on the field, Sophia craved the opportunity to find out. It was how she’d gotten better so early in life as a goalkeeper. She found the players who constantly scored on her, and then practiced with them until they couldn’t get a shot past her.

As his eyes met hers, she studied him, trying to read his expression. Did he presume he could, in fact, outplay her? Her experience had taught her that most men always assumed they were superior to their female counterparts in a sport. She didn’t know enough about his temperament or character as a player. Neither of them responded, and Sophia almost felt for a moment like they were sizing each other up.

“Well, it only seems fair that we go cheer you ladies on at your game tomorrow,” Finn interrupted the silence, and Sophia’s gaze flickered down to him for a moment. The group fell back into a comfortable buzz of conversation as their food was delivered. After sitting in the cold air all afternoon, Sophia was grateful for the steaming bowl of prawn curry, relishing the way it warmed her from the inside out. The conversation quieted slightly as half the table put away large quantities of pizza, while the other half had taken advantage of the restaurant’s eclectic array of entrees.

Donal’s movement towards her caught her attention immediately when he leaned forward, and she looked up, a bit surprised at his statement. The sarcastic side to her personality wanted to respond with a resounding “Well, duh. We were all there.” Her Southern manners held her tongue in place, quickly reminding her that she didn’t know this man, and sarcasm was a love language reserved for friends.

"You've got a keen eye. I could tell you were studying the match."

The observation made the left side of her mouth quirk upwards in a smile.

“I was,” she said, amusement in her tone. “Apparently I am incapable of just watching a football game for pure enjoyment, according to Nora. I cheered. Or, I guess, chanted? Once. At the end.” A look of playful helplessness crossed her face as she shrugged her shoulders. The mirth was quickly replaced by a more analytical look as she studied his face once again.

“You were relentless out there. I’m pretty certain I saw the other team’s keeper cross himself when the final whistle blew.”