“Dad?” Connie spluttered as he made his way over. Her forehead creased in confusion as she snapped her head up far too quickly. “What are you doing here?”

“The school called, they said you have a concussion—”

“I thought you were away this week.”

“I got back this morning,” he said, and knelt down on the ground before us. His poor suit, I mused. His voice was much softer than I had expected. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

I probably shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him address her so tenderly given that he was her father, but I couldn’t help but cock my head to the side regardless. Connie rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” I interrupted, sitting up a little. I glanced at the man before me. “She had a bad fall. And um—Mr. Andrews—the coach—she needs to get her head checked.”

Connie gestured to me with a limp hand. “Father, meet Alex. Alex, meet my father.”

Mr. O’Reilly smiled at me. The same smile as his daughter, a little amused even with no good reason to be. “Nice to meet you, Alex. Glad at least one of you is concerned for my daughter’s wellbeing. Connie, sweetheart—”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“If your coach and Ms. Alex here say you’re going then it’s not up for debate.” He rose to his feet and offered her a hand. “Come on. You can tell me about the match on the way there.”

“I don’t even know how the match went,” she grumbled. They made their way slowly to the door and I trailed behind them. “I only got to play a few minutes.”

Once we were outside, I cleared my throat to get their attention, fidgeting on the spot. “I—um—I should go back. To the game.”

“You’re not coming?” Connie asked, her shoulders sinking. I smiled tentatively at her.

“I’ll ring you with the score when you’re home, and you can let me know how you got on. Um—It was nice to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Alex.” He reached into his pocket for his keys. “Take care now.”

They won the match, in the end. I caught Orla just as the game ended and she gave me a quick rundown, enough details to satisfy Connie until the next day. By the time she finally called me that evening I had managed to wear down most of my nails, nibbling away at them, unable to focus on anything else. As soon as I left her, I became suddenly consumed with worry, afraid that I had underestimated just how dangerous a concussion could be. I knew next to nothing about injuries of any kind and concussion was a word as foreign to me as hepatitis or tuberculosis. Sure, she had been capable of walking and talking and she didn’t seem to be in too much pain, but what if she had deteriorated? For all I knew she could have been lying in a hospital bed, alone and unconscious, and I had decided not to accompany her—.