Page 9 of Arrogant Rucking Player

“Ahhh—”This is so not good.

“Well, go on then.” Coach showed me his back.

Nearly twenty kids turn on me, over a week of school holiday drills beneath the blistering summer sun reflected in their eyes.

Double ahhh.

I squeezed my eyes and mouth shut as they began a game ofstacks on, each kid piling one on top of the other with war cries over my torso until Coach called it and I was squished as deep into the dirt as I could possibly be. Actually, it might be mud now, consisting of my sweat and no small amount of my fledgling coach’s pride.

Just awesome.

I checked the stands as I peeled my flesh from the grit but I didn't spot Nyla anywhere nearby. Brady loitered around, helping me pack up.

I nudged Leon. “Thanks for taking time out to help me today, Coach. It’s good for the kids to meet a local legend.” He didn’t have to spend his time on us but he’d offered, and it did the kids good to see someone else’s face apart from mine.

“National legend, thanks,” he corrected me with a grin, and a slap on the back that stung. “See you tonight?”

I rolled my shoulders. “Yeah, I'll be there. Eight, right?” It had better not be any later, or I’d be in bed.

The team party culture hadn’t interested me this season, a fact I knew Coach would be relieved to hear.

“Don’t be late.” He jogged away like the heat didn’t bother him at all, and ignored the mums simpering at his silver fox style, along with his pay check and share in the club.

As far as I knew, Leon had been single for a long time and enjoyed the bachelor life with an intention to remain single, and no one else to share it—ever. His choices were his own. I stayed out of it. Whatever trauma the man carried had nothing to do with me.

That was a little different from how my life diverged from the rest of the party team of the league when I headed home each night to a small, outer suburbs house that filled with family at least one day of each weekend. Even so, it was far too big and quiet for me during the rest of the week. Hence the afterparty life to fill the space. Plus, there was sort of an expectation within the younger contingent of the team for it.

But I’d quickly found in my first year with the team that the hollow hours post midnight in clubs and spent with randoms in my bed didn’t suit what I wanted, and… That I also had no clear idea of what I wanted in my life apart from a win each game during the season.

More like what Iwas supposed to need, but hadn’t found yet.

Specifically, that what I hoped to hell was the attention of the single mum I'd been dreaming about for the last week who wasn’t there to pick up her son.

Because someone else stood in her place.

Brady waited beside a man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, who I didn't recognise near the field gate. The man reached out, and he took a step back. My feet were moving before I made a plan to do anything, and my brain caught up with the program.

“Hey, Brady. Who’s picking you up this afternoon? I haven’t seen your mum about.” I gave the guy an easy smile that he didn’t return.

“This is Stu– He’s my dad.” Brady spoke to the ground and kicked up orange dust bunnies with the toe of his stained running shoe.

“Hi. I’m Mason.” The fact that Brady hadn’t given out my name didn’t slip by me.

I stowed the information safely aside along with the way the rambunctious kid I’d grown more than fond of in the last few weeks curled into himself in a matter of seconds, putting distance between himself and the man who sired him, and stopped.

Literally, he stopped moving.

In nearly two weeks of hosting the summer football clinic, that was something I’d never seen Brady do. Unless it was for his personal form of preferred activity, or sleeping, I doubted it happened often.

“You’re the coach, are you?” The man turned to face me, holding out a floppy hand that resembled some variety of fish pulled out of its environment. “Stuart Jennings. I’m Brady’s father.”

“Nice to meet you.” I made contact with him for as little time as possible. The cool, moisture coated palm glided against my gritty once. I suppressed a shudder.

Pale eyes swept over me, taking in the dirt that covered my body, the ink decorating my skin. Hell, even down to what I wore and beyond. I met his gaze head on. In my lifetime I’d endured far worse from kids teasing me about where I was born, not being able to read and write like them when I first came to Australia, why my family looked different.

But in front of Brady I refused to back down before the bully I recognised this man to be.

Thank you for showing me who hurt Nyla.Stuart’swasn’t a face I’d forget anytime soon.

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