Page 26 of The Fly-Half

“What the hell happened out there?” Devon asked as he sat down, banana in hand. Because that was all I fucking needed right now—dick fruit. “Why’d you get sent off?”

“Bad tackle,” I said, looking down at the pear I’d grabbed before taking a huge bite. I didn’t even like pears. Devon raised an eyebrow at me, his confusion evident. Dammit, why the fuck did he have to know me so well?

“Ref said you spiked him,” Mason added.

“What? There must have been a mistake. You’re always so careful,” Devon said with a wide-eyed frown of disbelief.

“Yeah, well, shit happens,” I said with a grunt as I swallowed, trying not to shudder at the taste of this cursed fruit. “Now I’ve gotta do another, what, five minutes in the bin?”

“You’ll be fine.” Devon smiled at me encouragingly and patted my knee, sending sparks shooting through my muscles. My foot twitched and I fought the urge to jerk away because it wasn’t Devon’s fault I’d been having fucked-up dreams about us.

“Sorry,” I said, giving him the best smile I could manage, which was barely more than a grimace. “It’s my fault you’re a man down, and they’re not going easy on us.”

“Better behave next time then.”

Fuck, why did he have to phrase it like that? Now all I could think about was him whispering that in my ear as my focus zeroed in to the feel of his hand on my knee. It wasn’t soft, but it was warm and—

“Right,” Clive said as he walked into the middle of the dressing room, giving us all his customary once-over. He was a shorter man with a piercing gaze and grey hair, who’d once caused an all-out brawl between England and Australia just by smirking at the wrong guy. His attitude had been legendary and I had vague memories of my dad cursing his name whenever anyone played Australia because he knew just how to get through the gaps on the pitch and under people’s skin. He wasa phenomenal coach, the best I’d ever played for, and while he never took any shit, he also knew how to help us find our feet when we were having a bad day and practically itching for a fight.

“Not our best, but not our worst,” he said to a general round of murmured agreement. “You’re letting them get in your heads. Letting them convince you that they’re walking all over you but it’s only five bloody points, boys. You’re better than this. I know it, you know it, so why are you letting them get to you? You’re doing all the right things, so keep pushing, keep it clean, and it’ll come.”

He had a point and the way he reminded us of all the good things instead of only the bad soothed some of the raw hurt. I’d always hated it when coaches only talked about our flaws, highlighting all the negatives and breaking us down until we felt two inches tall. Yeah, I’d made a mistake today—a bloody careless one too—but it was one mistake and I didn’t need to be reminded of it over and over until I wanted to scream.

Clive finished up with a final few points and then Matty added a few things while I sat there with the remnants of the pear in my hand and Devon’s fingers burning a hole in my knee. At last, Matty finished talking and I was able to make a break for the bin, shaking my head as I tried to get my mind back on the second half and not the constant, irritating buzz of the thoughts needling away inside me.

“Jonny,” Clive said, catching me as I dumped the pear into the bin and wiped my hand on my shorts. His voice was quiet and his expression was soft, and it was only afterwards I realised he was trying not to spook me or rile me up. “You all right? You seem a bit out of it today. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said with another shake of my head. “Just… didn’t sleep well and I’m getting in my own head. I know thattackle was bad but I got frustrated and didn’t think. I didn’t mean to spike him.”

“Happens to us all.”

“I’m sorry, though. It shouldn’t have happened. I could’ve hurt him.”

“And that’s how I know it won’t happen again,” he said softly. “You’re a good lad, Jonny. You’ll get it right. Serve your penalty then forget about it, okay? Don’t hold it against yourself. Or anyone else.”

“I’ll try,” I said, because that was all I could do.

Clive nodded. “Gonna substitute Asher on in the second half. Just giving you a heads-up now—I want to give you time to get your head together. There’s a busy period coming up and I need you focused.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I get it.”

And I did. After my behaviour today and the way I was playing, it made sense to take me off and put Asher on.

So why did it make me feel like I wanted to punch a hole in the wall?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Devon

I hadno idea what the hell was going on in Jonny’s head and I was almost afraid to ask. He’d been all over the place recently and it was irritating the shit out of me.

It wasn’t even just the last few days either. It had been at least a few weeks—ever since he’d brought up the idea of my talking to Peaches. But if he hadn’t wanted me to do that, why hadn’t he said anything? I wished he’d talk to me about whatever was going on in his head, but every time I tried, he clammed up and turned defensive. Something was clearly bothering him beyond what he’d said about wanting to protect me, but I didn’t know if he’d figured out what it was.

And I couldn’t help if I didn’t have a problem to deal with.

I’d lamented all of this to Peaches on Thursday night over our cocktails, getting progressively drunker and more morose as I’d attempted to drown my sorrows in alcohol, syrup, and maraschino cherries. Poor Peaches deserved a fucking award for putting up with me, and I’d ordered him a load of cookies from Aiden as both a thank you and apology.

He’d had a lot of good advice, though, and there were a couple of things he’d said that’d stuck with me, repeating themselves over and over in the back of my mind throughout the last few days.

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