by Cd Brennan
Grace pulled away from him but kept her gaze on his. Those eyes. So beautiful. What was she thinking? He was still panting, as if he’d just run forty minutes of a rugby half. But Grace was a thousand times more enjoyable. A million times.
“We should probably get going.” When Graced stepped back out of his arms, the loss was painful.
“This rain is freezing, and it will probably only get worse. And the drive home, yuck. We should really move.”
“Aye, will we run for it?”
Grace blew raspberries at him. “How about a slow jog?”
He laughed for her, then grabbed the backpack from the ground and her hand. With an easy lope, he headed them down the trail. He stayed a step ahead of her so she wouldn’t see his boner. It was painful to run like this, but Rory closed himself off from the pain as he’d learned to do since he was young.
He had to concentrate on where they were going, lead her around puddles, watch their footing over roots and fallen branches. As the rain lashed down, they slid on the slopes of the trail.
By the time they got back to the head of the trail, they were both soaked. Rory had already hit the fob to unlock the car when they were still making their way through the lot. Rory ran hot so didn’t feel the cold, but perhaps Grace did. She was from Texas and all, and it was his understanding it was hot down there. And had cowboys. And a sports team with cowboys. That was the extent of his knowledge. But he made a point to research it the first chance he got.
When they reached the car, Rory said, “Just shove everything in the backseat, nae bother.”
“Are you sure?” Grace’s hat had turned a darker color with the wet, so that it looked like a blood-red orange. With arms crossed, she hunched against the rain that now blew in horizontally.
“Aye, just get in!”
He didn’t have to say it twice. She threw her wet jacket into the back and jumped in the front, belted her buckle, and cradled her own torso, her body shaking visibly.
Thank fuck for the remote start. Warm air blasted from the vents, but still Grace shivered, her teeth chattering. She reached through the gap in the seats and started pulling at the wet jackets.
“Are you okay?” Rory asked.
“Yep, just looking for the—ah, here it is.” She dragged her backpack around front, set it between her legs, and started digging frantically, pulling out stuff and dropping it to the floor. Small binoculars, the trail map, another fleece vest, her mittens…
“Why didn’t you wear those?”
She glanced at him briefly to see what he pointed at. “Well, I would’ve when it started to rain but after we kissed, I wanted to hold your hand. You know, without the glove.” She said it so matter of fact, no hint of embarrassment or regret. Still she dug. After a water bottle, two zipped cases, one smaller than the other, she pulled out an apple. “This.” And without delay, she tore into it and started eating.
Huh. While Rory was thinking of some more of the same as on the trail, even if it was just a few pecks to warm them both up, obviously Grace was more into her snacks.
“You wanna get going?” Grace said around a mouthful.
“Oh, sure.”
Grace had thrown a switch somewhere between their kiss and the car. Maybe he had pushed her too far when he copped a feel. He hadn’t meant to, but he couldn’t help himself. It was like his mind had gone and his body was in control. The only thing in control.
He considered apologizing again, but she didn’t seem to like it the first time. Instead, he did want he normally did and said nothing.
Chapter 7
“If you don’t get your fucking heads out of your asses and win the next three games, we’re going down to Division Two. You got that, right?”
Like the rest of them, Rory hung his head and took the tirade coming from Coach. He was more than right. They’d only won the single match last year against Tri-Cities, that day when the rain had lashed from the heavens, the match where Padraig had been an absolute legend. The only match that Rory had played a decent rugby game, and that’s because his da had been there. Anyone would kick up their action if they knew a bollocking was coming for them after.
“If you focus at practice, then your play will be second nature in a game. It’s all about training. Conditioning. Accuracy. If you put one hundred percent into a training session, that’s what you will get out of your next game.” He paced back and forth in front of them, a clipboard in his large hands. “Go on then! Shaun, run them through their warm-up.”
Coach stormed off, which was unusual. He was a quiet man, conservative in his words and actions. Rory appreciated that about him. So unlike his father, who was a yeller. Hollered about everything. How any of his employees could respect the man, Rory never understood. And he’d grown up under the tyrant. And to some extent, even at the age of twenty-five, was still under the man’s thumb. He had to get out of it.
Shaun, the Aussie, led them around the pitch in a jog. It was still cold, but at least it wasn’t snowing. The players puffed steam in front of them as they warmed up. They had just turned the last corner when Dick slammed into him, making Rory stumble away from the group. “You gonna go ballistic today again, Rory? Put on another show for us, eh?” Dick shouted from ahead of him and nudged Damian, or Mouth as the boys called him, and the other half of the wings. On the field, off the field, Dick-n-Mouth were inseparable, and both almighty fuckwits. Mouth wasn’t so bad if he wasn’t around Dick, but he chose bad company.
Rory refrained from answering. Talking back got him nowhere. He had learned that early on in life. Shaun started them on their stretches and Rory zoned out again, blocking the banter of the men around him. If they did drop to Division Two, his dad would pull him, no doubt. And he’d just started liking the place here. Didn’t think much of it at first, but things were looking up.
Grace. She was the reason life was looking better, not his rugby.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen her much after they’d returned from the hike. They had been miserable with the cold, and Rory had let Grace shower first. By the time he was done, one of the quickest showers he’d ever taken, Del was home, and his alone time with Grace had come to an abrupt halt. But they’d all hung out at Grace’s insistence until she’d excused herself early to unpack.
He’d hovered outside her door a couple of times but had decided not to bother her. It had been quiet on the other side.
And then yesterday, he had left for conditioning training before she’d gotten home from work so he hadn’t the opportunity to see how she was feeling. See if she was okay with them. And then she was already asleep when he’d returned with Del. Same today except they had practice on the field. Rory had no idea where to go from here.
But she was lovely. And they’d screwed around a couple times. And Rory felt like he needed to say something, do something. Closure of some sort to what had happened between them. But that didn’t seem right. An opener perhaps?
“All right, two teams,” Coach yelled. He and Shaun went through and chose different players for two sides. They were often short for two teams during practice since only a select few players received a stipend, the others volunteers, but played anyway. They chose Rory for Del’s side, and he loped over to fill his position. Rory had hoped to make center on the team, but that was firmly rooted in Del, and he’d given up after the winter break and settled for his position as fullback.
He didn’t mind it so much, the play spread out in front of him, but it gave him too much time to think about the game. He saw them coming and nerves kicked in. That was why he thought he’d be better in another position, like in the forward pack where you were always working, always tackling or supporting a runner, more reaction and not so much…thinking. But he wasn’t big enough, and he doubted he’d ever be. There were only so many protein drinks he could get down his gullet.
The whistle blew, and his practice team kicked off the ball by their fly-half Kevin, who still held his nickname of Keys, still losing them every t
ime he turned around. Rory had yet to secure a solid nickname by the boys. The Flying Scotsman was the closest they’d come. And that was after his daft performance the other night. Not exactly what legends were made of.
If only he could fly. Fast. Run fast. Dodge all of them and run for the line. One streak of lightning past all the defenders, swerving, side-stepping until he made the try. In one fell swoop. The glory would be all his…
Shouts. The boys were shouting about something, but they always were.
There was shouting again, and this time he realized it was at him. The play was coming his way. As the last line of defense, the fullback needed to be on top of things.
“Rory!” Dell yelled again.
Someone had chipped the ball forward, a grubber that had bounced off the ground right into his gut. Oof! The ball knocked forward off his belly and Coach called the whistle. The first touch of the game, and he’d screwed up.
Mitch, or Mohawk to the lads even though he’d shaved his head, clapped him on the back. “Daydreaming again, Rory?”
Rory lifted from bent over to see Mitch smiling at him over his shoulder. He meant well. He was one of the good guys, but it didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. Through the speakers blasted the sound of AC/DC’s “Back in Black.” Ah, Gillian was here. The Blues PT was always trying new tactics to help them out, from music therapy to aromatherapy. At least it wasn’t the harpsichord music from before. And Gillian meant well. All the lads adored her.
“Scrum to green,” Coach yelled, his whistle bouncing off his chest as his heavy steps brought him to Rory’s side. He knew what was coming. The talk, always the talk. His infringement. The loss of the ball.
Coach stepped up to his side and turned him away from the boys assembling on the field. “Rory, you know you have a special place in my heart, don’t you?”
That was unexpected. Usually he got an earful of dedication, effort, determination. All the power words that rallied a rugby player.
“You’re a Scotsman like myself. Even though I’ve been here for thirty-five years, we are still Scotsmen. Strong. Proud. Full of honor. Right?”
Rory nodded. “Right, Coach.”
Coach slipped his arm around Rory’s shoulder and leaned in, as if they had a conspiracy to discuss, being of the same kind, same culture. They were bonded in their likeness. “But I wonder, and not for the first time, if you really want to play rugby.”
“I do, Coach. No doubt.”
When Coach ran his hand down his beard, Rory knew he hadn’t convinced him. “Honestly, Coach, I’ll work harder.”
His brow furrowed, and he clenched Rory around the shoulders tighter. “You work hard enough. That’s not it, Rory. It’s something innate in an individual. A desire to play, the ball handling, the dexterity of the run, the passion.”
“I do, Coach. Seriously.”
Coach’s attention turned to the sidelines, and Rory followed his gaze. Gillian was there taping Young Jimmy’s shoulder. And next to her was Grace, stooping and collecting items from Gill’s bag at her direction. Rory’s stomach tightened. He’d missed her.
Grace looked up just then at the two of them and waved. Not knowing whether she had motioned to him or Coach, he didn’t respond, waiting for Coach to make a move. He did and nodded with a smile. Their interaction with Grace broke the moment, and Coach heaved a sigh. “Well, you let me know if there is anything I can do to help, okay?”
Coach released his shoulders and walked away without waiting for his response. Rory was left standing there staring at Grace, who in return was staring at him. Tonight she was wearing a brown winter hat that sat low on her forehead, one of those flapper styles from the 20s, framing her hair around her pixie face. He badly wanted to say something, but didn’t know what to say. His feet were planted, and once again not cooperating, not moving him closer to a goal.
Grace seemed to recognize his struggle, mumbled something to Gillian, who didn’t stop her patchwork on Jimmy’s shoulder but only nodded, and headed onto the field his direction. Not sure if that was a good idea with the scrum setting up behind him, he wanted to warn her off. But at the same time, he wanted her to come. But desire and reality rarely aligned in Rory’s life, and as the norm, Del hollered him over just as Grace was halfway to him.
Behind him, everyone was watching, waiting. Exactly in the position he didn’t want to be in. With a jerk of his hand, he waved at Grace. “I’ll see you later.”
The last impression as he turned to go was Grace’s brow furrowed along the line of her hat, confusion on her face and embarrassment in her hands as she twisted her gloved fingers in front of her, but she didn’t make a scene, didn’t say anything, and Rory headed for his position at the back of the field. When he glanced over quickly to the sidelines again, Grace had moved back next to Gill, and her attention was on the scrum, not on him.
“Crouch…bind…set!”
With a collective groan, the two teams heaved in the scrum, each trying with brute strength to push the other back. All for a fucking ball. Rory could hear the growls and grunts even where he waited past the 20-meter mark. Green team won the ball, and they passed smoothly back across the line. One of the greens broke free from Austin’s tackle.
Shouts. More shouting.
Fuck. Always caught watching the game, not engaging. Rory sprinted to the other side of the field, trying to head him off as he barreled toward the try line. Austin was a second row, and not too fast, but Mitch came screaming up next to him for an easy pass back.
Luckily, Mouth was there so Mitch had to turn back in, straight to Rory. Nae bother. He got this. But Mitch was wiry, strong, fast and even though Rory got his arms around his middle, he slipped through like a wet noodle, kicking Rory in the chin for good measure as Rory was going down.
When Mitch set the ball down between the posts, a half-hearted practice cheer went up from the green team.
Rory lay on his back, heaving deep breaths. Another missed tackle.
The stars were bright, the cold, dry air leaving the atmosphere transparent to the sky above. So many, so beautiful. It was almost as if he could reach his arm up and he’d be submersed among them.
None of the lads helped him up. Either they were mad at him for the missed tackle or they just couldn’t be bothered. Everyone hurt on a rugby field. Everyone was tired. Everyone worked hard. No time for pussies on this field.
Shaun yelled out, “Take five.”
Right. Rory would stay right here then, nae bother.
“Cameron, off the field,” Coach yelled.
Or maybe not.
He lurched up and onto his feet. His shoulder was a bit stiff so he swung it around to loosen the joint and headed toward the sidelines. As he approached, some lads gathered in a group started hootin’ and hollerin’ about something past the sidelines closer to the clubhouse.
Rory would have ignored their usual shite, but they had started chanting. “Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace.”
What the fuck?
He stepped around Dill Dave, who was now clapping along with the rest of them as they watched Grace pull her sweatpants down her legs. They were the same old ones she’d been wearing the first day she moved in. The elastic caught, her trainer still on her foot, and she hopped trying to pull it off.
“Dill, what’s going on?” Rory asked.
“Coach says that Grace can come have a run on the field.”
“To play rugby?”
The big man shrugged. “I guess.”
Rory did a 360, searching for Irish and Del. He spotted them over by Gillian, neither looking very happy. Of course, they wouldn’t. The club was serious to them, and they expected everyone to consider it the same.
When Irish broke away and headed toward Coach, Rory took one last look at Grace removing her coat and went to join Irish.
By the time Rory walked up, Irish was giving Coach what for, his strong Cork accent making even the nicest words sound harsh in his anger. As cool and collected as ever, Coa
ch had his hands up, soothing Irish’s temper. “She’s going to help out the club by taking care of the gear, including the jerseys, after every home game. It is something small we can do for her in return.” At Irish’s roll of his eyes, Coach continued. “She wore me down, Irish.”
Rory stepped up just as Irish was steaming, his face mottled with anger. “We are barely hanging on to our Division One status as it is. We don’t have time to feckin’ horse around with this shite. Shano and I are headed to the World Cup this year. It’s not feckin’ play time.” He motioned over to Grace, who had started doing stretches, her legs in a V, bent over and touching her hands to the ground. Some of the lads had moved around behind her and were snickering at her ass.
Rory fumed. She wasn’t his by any means, but this shit was degrading, no matter who it was. None other than Dick led the pack of them. Coach spoke up again, stopping him from going over to the lads.
“Ten minutes, Irish, and she’ll be done.”
He didn’t want to share Grace with the rest of the Blues. He wanted her to himself. “She’ll get hurt.”
“Exactly, my point,” Irish said, “None of the lads are going to tackle her if they’re afraid they’ll hurt her.”
Coach clapped him on the back. “Grace can run in Rory’s spot. That’s the least physical.”
“What?” both he and Irish said at the same time.
“Rory needs to step away from the game a minute. He’ll watch with me.”
“Coach, but—”
“It’ll be fine, lad. I want you to watch and analyze the play from the sidelines a minute.”
Rory didn’t know what Coach was getting at, but he couldn’t stand the boys snickering at Grace anymore. He jogged over and stood before her just as she was coming out of her stretch. She smiled, which made him smile. Not hesitating, he grabbed her in a hug, the boys be damned, and mouthed “bugger off” as he held up his middle finger to them behind her back. A few looks of shock, but fuck ’em.
“Wow, Rory, it’s good to see you, too.” Grace lifted to her toes and hugged him back, and he forgot about the lads still circling and pressed his face into her neck.
