And Just Like That

Twenty- Four

The August sun was fierce, even over the sound of thousands of voices chanting in the stands. The air inside the stadium was heavy with heat and nerves — and pride. The final whistle had only just blown, and the Ireland had beaten South Africa by a single try.

The whole crowd was roaring. Flags waving, anthems half-sung through laughter and tears.

Down near the pitch, Éabha could hardly hear herself think. She stood when the referee's whistle went, hands clasped tightly around the hem of the Ireland jersey that was just slightly too big on her. It stretched a little across her stomach, the faint curve beneath it unmistakable now — small, neat, but present.

She hadn't cared who stared. She was almost four months pregnant, sitting beside John in the VIP section, heart pounding as she watched Johnny jog toward his teammates, green jersey soaked through, grinning wider than she'd seen him in months.

"That's my son," John said quietly beside her, pride thick in his voice.

Éabha smiled, blinking back tears. "He's unbelievable."

John glanced at her, noticing the way her hand rested protectively over her bump. "He'll be even better when he sees you, you know."

She smiled faintly. "I can't wait to see him either."

⸻

Hours later, back at the team hotel, the corridors were full of noise — laughter, shouts, the metallic hiss of champagne bottles being opened somewhere down the hall. Johnny should have been celebrating. He should have been basking in the glory of the win. But instead, he wanted to go home. He didn't want women making comments. He didn't want to be signing things when he was too tired to function. He wanted his girlfriend, and his own bed.

"Da," he said suddenly, voice cracking. "Get me out of here."

John looked up from where he stood by the door, one brow raised. "You sure?"

"Please," Johnny said. "I can't— I just need a minute. Away from everyone."

John nodded. "Alright, son. Come on then."

He led Johnny down a side corridor, quieter, past the noise and music and into the far lounge at the back of the hotel. The lights were lower there, the air cooler, the chaos far away.

Johnny followed, shoulders tense, until John pushed open the lounge door.

"Go on," he said softly, stepping aside.

Johnny walked in — and froze.

There she was.

"Éabh!" he gasped, the word breaking out of him like it had been trapped in his chest for months. He crossed the room in seconds, scooping her up before she could even say a word.

Her laugh caught somewhere between tears and disbelief as he lifted her off her feet, spinning her once before holding her close. "Johnny!" she whispered, breathless against his neck. "Put me down before you squash the baby!"

He laughed, setting her gently back on her feet but refusing to let go. His hands stayed at her waist, his forehead pressed to hers. "You're really here," he murmured, voice trembling.

"I couldn't miss your last match," she said softly. "You think I'd stay home for that?"

He leaned back to look at her properly — really look. The tiny bump pressing against her jersey, the glow in her cheeks, the softness in her eyes. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered. "I've missed you so much."

He smiled, eyes shining. "How's my boy doing?"

She grinned, without hesitation. "We still don't know if it's a boy."

"It is," he said confidently, resting one hand on her bump, fingers trembling as he touched her for the first time since she'd told him the news over the phone months ago. His thumb moved in small, reverent circles.

Éabha laughed, covering his hand with hers. "He's not kicking yet, Johnny. He's just floating about in there."

Johnny smiled anyway, eyes glassy. "Still. That's my boy."

They stood there in silence for a moment, the kind that swells when everything finally feels right again — the team's laughter faint in the distance, the muffled clink of glasses, and somewhere beyond the window, the hum of South African nightlife.

"I watched the match," Éabha said finally, her voice quiet. "You were incredible. That last try — I nearly screamed the place down."

He laughed, cheeks pink. "You saw that?"

"I did," she said proudly. "Your dad nearly lost his voice cheering."

Johnny glanced toward the door, where John had quietly disappeared, giving them space. "He brought you, didn't he?"

Éabha nodded. "Said you could use a surprise."

Johnny exhaled, still holding her hand over her stomach. "Best surprise of my life."

Her heart softened, her thumb brushing the back of his hand. "You should be celebrating."

"I am," he said simply. "Right here."

She smiled, tilting her head. "You've grown up, Johnny Kavanagh."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, I just finally realised what matters."

He dropped to one knee before she could answer, his hand still on her bump. He pressed a kiss to where the fabric stretched, closing his eyes. "Hey, you," he whispered. "It's Dad. We did it, yeah? We actually did it."

Éabha's breath caught, her fingers threading through his hair as tears welled in her eyes. "He's been waiting to meet you."

Johnny looked up at her, smiling through his own tears. "And I've been waiting for both of you."

He stood again, pulling her into his arms, the noise from down the hall fading until it felt like there was only the two of them — the boy who'd fought his way into a green jersey and the girl who'd fought her way free of everything that tried to break her.

When he kissed her, it wasn't rushed or desperate. It was soft and sure — like coming home.